TWENTY-FOUR | Operation Divorce | Tinsley
TWENTY-FOUR
Operation Divorce
Tinsley
I was still married.
There was no divorce, not even a pending one. Mitt didn’t draw up any paperwork, and there wasn’t a single dotted line for me to sign. I was stuck, trapped in this hell for convenience. My plan had failed, but I had let it.
After I put myself through torture and went to meet Beau, I couldn’t go through with any of it. The man made me sick to my stomach. I was nauseous beyond belief at the idea of him touching me, caressing me, as he used to when all I wanted to do was deck him in the face. He made me livid, a hot concoction boiling toward the rim and ready for trouble.
I freaked out.
I took the iced cappuccino I never wanted and tossed the cold beverage into his face. Hightailing my ass out of there without turning back and not regretting my decision. Until I was back in the limousine and Albert informed me my husband had called him. I had missed my chance at freedom, but at least I got some revenge.
Mitt knew.
My husband was aware of my whereabouts, but he never showed up. I figured he’d come barreling in and there’d be a heated confrontation with testosterone running rampant. My husband would show his dominance and power he held over me while Beau would fight back—a battle until the finish with me as the winning prize. The clash of two envious men never happened, and I had won nothing but frustration at myself for even meeting with my ex after Mitt forced me into such a mess. I’d never do something ridiculous again, but the opportunity had landed in my lap, and I had to try. I had to make another attempt at forcing Mitt’s hand and getting to him.
I knew I’d have to deal with my grumpy husband’s wrath. Armed, locked, and loaded. I was prepared to go down in a fight, but the argument of my whereabouts that evening never came.
Everything had cooled down since Mitt found out I had been with my ex, and I wondered if the idea of me being with someone else even bothered him. To my knowledge, he had never shown up to stop my poor decision, and he let it happen. Maybe my body was all he wanted after he had ravished my pussy, and I had willingly let him. But none of this made sense since he always made his intention clear—he owns me and nobody else would.
“So, you’re telling me Mitt let you go meet with Beau and hasn’t talked to you about it since?” Holly questioned me a few days later after the event and scratched her head in confusion. “He’s just giving you the cold shoulder?”
“Yep,” I replied with a pop of the P . I couldn’t believe the situation myself.
“Well, you might have to bring the heat because your hubby sounds like a hard man to crack.” Holly sighed as she paced the floor in front of me, and her short brown hair bounced with each step.
Holly had let herself in with the extra key Mitt had promised me, and it was time to plan our next steps. We had to go over the latest developments to plot our next scheme. All systems were go for the operation to get Mr. Mitt Morgan to divorce me.
“What do you suggest?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
Holly stopped pacing and sat down beside me on the lavish sofa. “You need to hit him hard where it’s going to hurt.”
“Kick Mitt in the nuts?” I questioned with a curt nod. “I can do that.”
Holly laughed. “No.”
“Then I’m not following.” I shrugged.
“Go after what he loves the most, and that’s—”
“Money,” I added as a light bulb flashed in my head.
“Bingo,” Holly snapped her fingers.
“I need to spend as much as I can in a short amount of time to raise alarm bells. But how?”
“It’s simple, really. Go to the bank he deals with and pack a punch by taking a huge amount out from his company. Next, spend the money on a high-priced purchase. Morgan’s Law & Associates won’t know what hit them until it’s all gone.”
The plan was genius. This would get my husband’s attention and surely force his hand to sign the divorce papers. An out-of-control wife spending his business’s money would be a hard hit to take. The Morgan namesake couldn’t afford it. There was no way.
“How much should I withdraw?” I pondered as I grinned excitedly and tapped a finger against my chin.
“As much as your heart desires.” Holly smirked.
The next logical step was in place, but I was afraid it might not work. I was desperate enough to meet with my jerk of an ex and ditch Mitt for dinner. I’d been fully prepared for him to come after me like an enraged bull, ready to strike, and he never did. The silence since had made me get icy feet, and I could go for an unwanted slip.
I shrugged, losing sight of the end game. “I don’t know if it will work. Especially after everything that happened with Beau. Mitt didn’t even blink an eye.”
“You won’t know unless you try,” Holly said as she peered down at her cell phone and went to a new Google search. “Let’s see what damage you can do to Mitt. Shall we?”
I clapped my hands. “Okay!”
We huddled close together as we giggled, and soon the excitement fell short. The enthusiasm turned into anger as a news article popped up with a headline I never thought I’d see. An unexpected breaking news story that had nothing to do with me.
Beau Kingston, a father and husband-to-be.
The scumbag got his secretary knocked up and even proposed to her!
Beau had some nerve. Only days ago, he wanted me back and had been texting me since. He was relentless in his mission to win me back, and all the while, he’s been expecting a baby with the woman he cheated on me with. Now, he gave her a big diamond ring with a promise of forever, but it’d serve the bitch right if he did her dirty the same way he did to me.
“Well, I’m glad you never let that asshole touch you,” Holly admitted.
“Me too.” I sighed after the shock wore off and Mitt’s face re-entered my mind. “They’ll get what’s coming to them and so will my husband.”
Operation Divorce was in full force.
WE FOUND THE PERFECT purchase. Something pretty, white, and flashy. The ideal beauty to set Mitt off to get him to crumble. To bend to my will, be in my control, and grant me the end of our marriage.
A car. Not just any vehicle, but one with a big price tag. One of the most expensive in the world.
A Rolls-Royce Droptail worth thirty million dollars.
Mitt was going to flip. I couldn’t wait to see his face and hear the rage in his voice. The sound would be music to my ears, and I’d drive my new car away from here, never turning back.
Besides, I had always dreamed of owning a luxurious, fast-paced machine, like any other person. A goddess on four wheels with the option to ride with the roof down and my hair blowing in the wind. The vehicle comes straight from England with leather seating and extensive use of wood trim. Designers described the ride as extravagant, drawing inspiration from yachts and hot rods. My new set of wheels would please my husband, and he would be over the moon to watch me drive away in it, never to return.
I couldn’t wipe the smirk off my face as I waltzed into Mitt’s bank the next morning and headed straight for the line. I’d never made a purchase of this measure, and I pondered if they’d question it. The thought went away because I was Mitt Morgan’s wife, and I had money at my fingertips. Billions of it.
“How can I help you?” a bank teller asked, but never looked up.
“I’d like to make a business purchase on behalf of my husband,” I answered.
“How much?” She questioned as her fingers typed on the keyboard in front of her.
I paused.
Suddenly, I was anxious. My hands grew clammy, and I was ready to turn around. This was a bad idea, and I never should’ve agreed to this. Abort the mission. Abort!
“How much, Mrs....” She glanced up and back down until she did a double take. “Mrs. Morgan?”
Stay confident. Play the part. I could do this. I should act as if I was rich, entitled, and spoiled to the core.
“That’s right. Mr. Morgan is my husband.”
Thanks to the tabloids, my ass was back on track. My nerves flew out the window, and I was back in the driver’s seat. I was ready to make a payment for my brand-new car.
“Thirty million dollars.”
“Excuse me?” the bank teller questioned.
“I need to make a purchase for thirty million dollars.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And what are you buying?”
“A Rolls-Royce,” I answered as I handed her the receipt for the car and tried to keep a steady hand.
She peered down at the paper and raised an eyebrow. “And your husband is aware of this?”
I giggled. “Why, of course he is. He’s my husband.”
God. I had turned into a good liar.
“The car’s in your name?” she questioned as she glanced up at me and then back at her computer screen.
“Yes, it is. My husband wants us to take it on a cruise for his next business trip,” I explained, as I clapped my hands together and pretended I was a lovesick idiot. “Isn’t he romantic?”
“Very,” she muttered with a smile.
I batted my eyes at her like a loony person, but she didn’t pay attention, and her fingers clicked away at the keyboard. I cut the crap because she didn’t give a shit and neither did I. She probably saw this a lot. Rich wives coming in and flaunting all the money their husbands had while they worked behind a desk.
A few minutes ticked by.
I cleared my throat. “How long will this take?”
“Only a few more minutes for such a sizable amount.”
“Perfect,” I said as I took out a compact mirror and pretended to fix my red lipstick.
After all, I had to play the part of a pristine and proper wife to a billionaire who was eager to spend his money and get everything I ever wanted.
“Transaction complete. We will send the bill of purchase to his office straight away,” the bank teller informed me. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No, that will be all,” I replied as I spun around on my heels and, in the true fashion of a rich wife, I didn’t thank her for her efforts.
I was a rude bitch, but I had to keep up the dramatics. The deal was done, and I couldn’t afford any problems on my way out. I’d have enough to grapple with once my husband found out about our newest investment, and I couldn’t wait to tell him all about it.