Chapter 11
11
“ O f course Rhett’s attorney is hot,” Brielle whispers when we’re at the conference room doorway at Terrance’s law firm.
Yes, I will call it Terrance’s firm until the day I die.
Never Adrian’s.
I frown, hating that Brielle is right.
Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to hear women gush over him. They did it at Adaway and Williams too. And now, he’s the main topic of conversation here. According to Amelia, a few women have already asked him out.
The boardroom is all business with its bland cream walls and long, chipped table. The wall paintings and Berber carpet are outdated. It also smells like a concoction of three different colognes.
Adrian and Rhett stop talking when they notice us.
Rhett glowers, dressed in a floral button-up, like he’s ready for a Hawaiian cruise.
Adrian, wearing a sleek black suit, stands from his chair and extends his hand toward me.
“Essie Lane,” I say in the most professional tone I’ve ever used in my life .
Adrian smirks. He gently takes my hand and sweeps his thumb across it, causing me to shiver. “I’d like to say we already know each other pretty well, Essie.”
I quickly jerk my hand from his hold and ignore Brielle’s side-eye.
“Brielle …” She pauses, unsure which last name to use, and I smile when she decides on her maiden. “Hermaker. That asshole’s ex.”
Rhett doesn’t bother standing. He stays in his chair and pushes his chest forward. He thinks he has this in the bag. What a scumbag, dragging his high school sweetheart and the mother of his children through hell over money.
In high school, even when he was with Brielle, he asked me for a blow job once. When I told her, he said I lied, and she didn’t believe me. Another time, during sophomore year, he tried to corner Mia against a wall at a homecoming party. She kneed him in the nuts and threatened to castrate him if he ever looked at her again. I’m sure the nanny wasn’t the first time he cheated.
“Just accept my terms, Brielle,” Rhett says as soon as we sit across from him. He huffs. “This is a waste of my time. I have better shit to do.”
“Like what?” Brielle asks, spit leaving her lips with that one word. “Screwing the nanny?”
“Get over it and move on.” Rhett clenches his jaw. “I sure have.”
“That’s easier said than done,” Brielle fires back. “But maybe the next guy I marry won’t last only three seconds and have a penis smaller than my pinky.”
I cover my mouth to stop myself from laughing.
Adrian snorts, resulting in a glare from Rhett.
Not in the mood to listen to their bickering, I open my folder with Brielle’s information. “Let’s start with spousal support.”
Rhett releases another huff. “She can get a damn job.”
“The only job she’s had for years was working for you, in and out of the home,” I say, beating Brielle from talking more shit. “She needs assistance to provide and care for your children while getting on her feet.” I sigh. “Come on, Rhett. Let’s be fair here.”
“If she needs something for the children, I’ll buy it,” Rhett argues. “But I don’t want a dime going to her. We’re done, so I have no responsibility to care for her any longer. Give me custody if she’s too broke to care for their needs.”
“As if you’d care for them,” Brielle sneers. “You never even changed a diaper, you lazy bastard.”
Rhett finally looks in his wife’s direction. “That’s what the hired help is for.”
Brielle winces. “Oh, now , you think that’s what hired help is for? Before, you thought the nannies were only there for you to fuck.”
Rhett holds up his hand. “I didn’t sleep with anyone until we separated.”
“Bullshit.” Brielle raises her voice. “Everyone has seen you gallivanting around with the nanny. It’s humiliating!”
“She’s there for the children.”
“The children are with me!” Brielle yells. “Now, you quit wasting my time. I want half of the business because I was there with you every step of the way.”
Rhett grits his teeth. “My family has run that plumbing business for generations?—”
“And it was barely surviving when you took over. I gave you my savings and the inheritance from my grandparents to keep it from bankruptcy. You had nothing when we married, and you'd probably still have nothing if it wasn’t for me.”
“She has a valid point,” I add.
Rhett’s icy glare cuts to me. “Shut up, Essie.”
“Whoa,” Adrian snaps, turning to Rhett. He leans in, his face close to his client’s. “One thing you won’t do here is disrespect anyone in this room. Don’t speak to either of these women like that. Now, stay calm, Rhett. ”
“Whose side are you on here?” Rhett pounds his finger into his chest. “You’re my attorney.”
Adrian doesn’t flinch at Rhett. “Attorney or not, you will respect all parties in this room, or you will leave.”
Rhett cunningly stares at Brielle. “She doesn’t have bills and lives with her parents, and I disapprove of the living conditions there. That alone should give me custody.”
“There is nothing wrong with my living conditions,” Brielle argues.
Rhett scoffs.
“Is it what they’re used to? No. But that’s where I grew up, and I had no problems.”
He looks at Adrian. “It’s terrible.”
“You liar.” Brielle’s chin quivers as Rhett starts to wear her down. “Don’t you dare insult my parents.”
This needs to stop.
We won’t come to an agreement today.
These two are toxic together.
“How about this?” I say. “We’ll do a home walk-through and take pictures to prove it’s suitable for the children.”
A phone rings, and Rhett slides his hand into his pocket to dig it out.
“I have to take this.” He narrows his eyes at Brielle while walking toward the door. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Fucking asshole,” Brielle snarls as Rhett disappears from the room before slipping her gaze to Adrian. “Where’s the restroom?”
“Out the door, to your right,” Adrian replies with a hint of a smile.
I stand at the same time she does, and Brielle nearly trips on her black heels as she dashes out of the room.
“Your client might be more immature than you,” I tell Adrian while shoving papers inside my folder before pressing it against my chest. “Ava gave me your email address .”
He smirks, rising from his chair and moving around the table. “I’ve been wondering why I haven’t received an email. I waited all night in the diner for you. So long that Margo felt so bad for me that she dropped off a free slice of cinnamon apple pie at my table.”
“I didn’t forget about it because I never agreed to go,” I say, a sudden chill sweeping up my body. “Thank you for the food, though. If you’d given me a real email address, I’d have emailed you my thank-you last night.”
He stands in front of me, cutting off my path to leave the room. “It’s a shame.”
I tighten my hold on the folder. “What is?”
“That your”—he pauses to lower his head so it’s level with mine—“ hot date didn’t feed you.”
Hot date?
Oh, I’m going to kill Ava.
She should’ve at least given me a heads-up about her lie.
My mouth falls open, and for a moment, I’m lost for words.
I clear my throat when they come to me. “He did feed me, but we were sooo exhausted by the end of the night that we needed another meal. He told me to thank you for the carrot cake. It’s his favorite.”
“Ah, and what’s this guy’s name?” he asks in amusement.
“You don’t need to know that. The last thing I need is you stalking him like you are me.”
He chuckles, not at all offended. “Stalking? No. This is called winning your girl back .”
“That’s what all stalkers say.”
“Did you read the rest of the paper?”
“Yep, and none of the inside jokes made sense. You must’ve been thinking about the wrong girl.”
“How did you know they were inside jokes, then?”
Dammit .
He strokes my cheek. I know I should pull away, but I can’t.
“Which inside joke was your favorite?”
I narrow my eyes at him .
“You know what I listened to on my drive here?”
“Cardi B’s ‘WAP’?”
“I don’t even know what that is, but no. ‘Simple Twist of Fate.’”
I shut my eyes, feeling my heart thump. “We have to keep this professional, Adrian. We’ll never go back to how we were in the past. Never .”
His face turns slack. “Essie, please give me a chance to explain myself.”
I take a step back, his hand falling from my face. “No. And no more dinners, flowers, or forced encounters. Please .” I hate that my tone turns almost begging, but I also hate that I’m about to lie to him even more. “I’ve moved on.”
Adrian lowers his voice. “But what if I haven’t?”
I gulp and glance away, positive if we make eye contact, I’ll break. “You’re eight years too late to tell me that.”