Chapter 2
PAIGE
“It’s so good of you to join us,” Max says dryly as I enter the room, feeling like I need another shower.
My whole morning has thrown me for a loop.
Max states the obvious. “Let’s be quick, I have another meeting to attend.” Then he jabs the knife in. “And my client will not be billed for my time today; instead, I will be charging you directly, Ms. Bradshaw,” he adds casually before I’ve even had the chance to sit down.
I already hate this stupid day.
“Consider it paid.” Screw you, Max Hart.
I pull out a chair around the boardroom table, take a seat, remove the case file from my workbag, and open it flat on the table.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” My eyes shift between Tate, my client, and Stella, his wife.
Well, soon-to-be ex-wife. I feel sorry for her.
Life with Tate must have been dreadful. Why she went on to procreate, four times over, with the cretin, I will never understand.
I apologize further. “It won’t happen again.
And as per my conversation with Mr. Hart, we will schedule any further meetings for the afternoon. ”
It’ll be easier for me that way.
Since Alfie, who is now one year old, arrived, my mornings have been total chaos.
I honestly can’t remember the last time I managed to leave the house on time.
It took two outfit changes and Emma, my nanny, arriving late because she got stuck in traffic, before I finally headed out the door.
Only to realize I had forgotten my laptop and had to turn the car around to get it.
Then, to make things worse, I got stuck in the worst traffic imaginable.
What a day this is turning into.
“As long as afternoons suit my client, then we’d be happy to accommodate,” Max replies, a faint smirk shaping his lips.
Max Hart can fuck off. The last thing I need is his stupidity this morning.
“I prepared these in advance to save time.” I lift the proposal out of the case file that I agreed on with Tate yesterday and slide two copies across the table, one for Stella and one for Max.
I fake a smile. I’m nothing but efficient and Max knows it.
“As you’ll see from our alimony proposal, Mrs. Young will receive indefinite support, given the eighteen-year duration of the marriage.
” I then proceed to list how the property they own will be divided.
“We propose discussing child visitation further at the next settlement conference.”
Stella and Max study the proposal before Max lifts his eyes to me, one brow rising as if impressed that I made Tate agree to it all. “On first glance, this seems satisfactory, but I will need to go over this with my client in private,” he states.
I nod my head in acknowledgment, feeling smug. I know they’ll accept. It’s the least Tate can do for his wife, considering that he cheated on her throughout their marriage.
If she ever trusts another man enough to remarry, it will be nothing short of a miracle.
Trust.
It’s such a small word, and yet it’s heavily weighted with promises.
Max Hart is another one not to be trusted. He’s San Francisco’s most eligible bachelor.
According to the office grapevine, he’s like a grasshopper, jumping from one bed to another. I don’t know how true that is, and I shouldn’t make assumptions, but there you go, I have, based on the rumors.
He told me once that he would never settle down during one of our many heated arguments.
Something to do with me being too argumentative, and reminded him of why he was single, or something equally predictable.
I mean, apart from him being a complete pain in the ass, the guy has everything going for him.
Naturally attractive, moves in high-status circles, has an adventurous lifestyle, but he’s also emotionally unavailable.
Having worked in this job for a long time, you become cynical about love and if he’s anything like me, he probably doesn’t believe in lasting love either; it inevitably ends in disappointment and messy breakups.
So, yeah, when it comes to Max Hart, I understand why women get hooked on the chase.
He’s a guarded Lothario with an air of mystery around him.
Devastatingly handsome, though, and I see the appeal.
Sometimes, Max makes me forget what I was about to say because I get too distracted by the way his sculpted muscles flex under his crisp white shirts.
He rarely wears a tie and always leaves just enough buttons undone to push the boundaries of PG.
What can I say? I’m a sucker for a hairy chest. Don’t judge.
His skin is sun-kissed all year, making him look healthy and wholesome, and his wavy hair, longer on top and sitting just above his shirt collar, only enhances his chiseled jaw and makes it look even more defined.
He’s a distraction I don’t need. One I don’t want.
Never.
But it’s hard not to look at him when he looks the way he does: Godlike and one of the most handsome men I have ever set my eyes on.
Not that I’d ever go near him; venereal diseases aren’t my thing.
Also, he’d never look twice at me. Not only does he represent pop stars, movie stars, and models looking to untie the knot, he dates them, too.
I know this because he’s practically a fixture in the gossip columns, always snapped on the arm of whatever celebrity is trending that week.
Somehow, his divorce settlements always come with a happily ever after… not always for the couples involved.
There I go again with my assumptions, but if he’s photographed with them, it must be true, right?
The last I heard, Max was dating the fire chief’s daughter, although she’s not just the fire chief’s daughter; she’s an influencer with over five million followers on Instagram.
Beautiful, influential, and a celebrity in her own right, she’s exactly his type: high profile, high drama, and sufficiently high status enough, sitting above everyone else to make him feel like he’s winning.
“Thank you for this. Your proposal seems reasonable enough,” Stella says, breaking me from my stupid thoughts about Max. She fumbles with the paperwork and shuffles in her seat, looking everywhere but at her husband.
“Are we done?” I ask, my gaze moving between Max and Stella.
“For now.” Max stretches his neck. The thick veins running down his skin that disappear inside the collar of his shirt don’t get overlooked by my obsessed eyes.
He even has a nice neck. How is that possible?
And I’m ashamed to admit that this isn’t the first time I’ve noticed that.
It’s thick from working out at the gym. Hard-earned.
We lock eyes for a second, and that roguish smirk returns when he catches me staring, highlighting his perfect cupid bow and causing his dimples to make an appearance.
God, what is wrong with me today?
I really need to get laid.
It’s been far too long. Years.
I turn my attention away from my nemesis, ignoring the weird feeling I don’t understand in my stomach, and check the time on the large clock on the wall, then point to it. “And we still have time to spare.”
I’m a little pissed at that. Today wasn’t enough time to fulfill my perv quota staring at Max Hart, but it will have to do.
“Thank you,” he replies.
His pleasantries don’t surprise me. Around everyone else, he’s polite and professional, but when it’s just the two of us, we verbally spar, which I both enjoy and hate equally.
I push myself to my feet at the same time Max does and extend my hand for him to shake. “Again, I’m sorry for being late. It won’t happen again.”
Max takes my hand, and then turns to Stella and Tate, asking, “Could you two give us a minute?”
“Of course,” they both reply at the same time.
Stella and Tate awkwardly leave the room, avoiding eye contact. Hell, they’re even trying to avoid the air they breathe. Not that Tate cares, but I see the hurt in Stella’s eyes. She’s in pain and hates every minute of this.
Divorce is a lot like grief.
Unless you’re completely blind or oblivious like Tate, it’s obvious she’s grieving for a family life she’s losing: vacationing separately, Christmastimes apart.
Then there are the friends and family who have to choose sides.
It’s exhausting for everyone, and we shouldn’t forget the guilt of not being able to make it work.
Max mutters under his breath just as they close the door behind them. “I hope she doesn’t kill him out there.”
“I wouldn’t blame her if she did,” I reply, acutely aware that Max’s hand is still in mine.
I instantly release it like it’s scalding my skin and apologize, feeling slightly awkward before sitting down.
“Do you want to change the time of the next settlement conference?” I ask, opening the calendar on my phone that runs every minute of my life.
He sharply bites back, “No. I want to know why you didn’t give me a heads-up on your alimony proposal. If you already had it, you could have easily sent that by email yesterday.”
I slide my gaze away from my cell phone to look at him and say, “In-person conferences are my preference.” I prefer seeing him every week to simply torture myself.
“And off the record”—I drop my voice to a whisper—“I want Tate to see how much this is hurting Stella. Have you seen how much weight she’s lost?
But don’t worry, she will be well taken care of, as will their children. ”
“Did your heart suddenly start caring?” Max taunts, his smirk making a reappearance.