7. Grayson
Three Months Later
“ I do. I did. I’m done,” I read the words out loud while the bass of the song A’ja just requested the DJ play thumps in my chest.
The letters of my supposed divorce mantra glows in the light of the lit candles lining the exterior of the cake Chantel sat in front of me, and although it’s stupid, and a little too Pinterest circa 2010 for my taste, I can’t help but smile.
I am done.
After months spent in the presence of the relentless force that is Xavier Allen and countless hours rebuilding my life and business, I am done.
Divorced.
Free.
And not quite as broken as I thought I’d be when the ink dried. That’s not to say the process wasn’t hard. That there weren’t moments when I thought it’d be easier to walk away with nothing than continue to fight the legal machine that is the Lucas family. That there weren’t times, like the day of trial when Brian and Noelle walked into court holding hands, when I wondered if there was no end to the embarrassment and shame of having once loved that man. But there was an end, and this is it. I’m living in it.
“Say it like you mean it, hoe,” Kendra shouts, holding up a glass of champagne. “You said you do. You did. And now you done!”
A laugh bubbles past my lips, infectious in its nature as it passes to every one of the women in the booth around me. It’s only the four of us—me, Kendra, A’ja and Chantel—but we’re loud enough to be a group double our size. Even Chantel has come out of her shell, drinking and squealing and cracking jokes with the rest of us. This little divorce party was actually her idea. She said one of her co-workers did it when she split with her husband last year. The older lady had opted to stay at home and burn her wedding dress after she trashed it with her friends, but A’ja talked us into putting our own spin on it, which is how we’ve ended up bouncing from one club to another over the course of my first Saturday night as an officially single woman.
Luxe, the newest club leaving its mark on Fairview’s nightlife, is our fourth and final stop. Kendra suggested we save it for last because she claims they have the best selection of men to end your night with. I told her I wasn’t planning on taking a man home tonight, but it didn’t stop her from forcing me into every piece of sheer, lace or skin tight black fabric in my closet until we landed on an outfit everyone but I agreed was my look for the night.
Personally, I thought the strapless, black corset made of nothing but mesh and satin covered boning that hugs my ribs and accentuates my curves while exposing my stomach and almost all of my breasts was a bit too much for a night out on the town, but then Kendra talked me into pairing it with black, wide leg cargo pants and black heels with a pointed toe and suddenly the look came together. It’s the perfect mix of casual drama and glamorous nonchalance, which is exactly what the vibe at Luxe is.
“Come on, Gray.” Chantel nudges me, her eyes wide, encouraging and maybe a bit mischievous. It’s that bit of mischief that gets me to comply. I pick up my glass of champagne and lift it to meet Kendra’s, and everybody follows suit. They’re as quiet as they’ve been all night as they wait for my declaration, so I decide to just go for it.
“I DO. I DID. I’M DONE, BITCHES! ” I scream before tossing back my champagne and gulping the bubbly liquid down in one go. The women around me cheer and whoop their approval, turning my mantra into their own so that I’m blowing out the candles on my divorce cake to a chorus of: “ She said she do. She did. And now she done! ”
“Y’all weren’t half as enthusiastic at my wedding,” I muse once the cake is cut and we’re all eating the small slices of chocolate goodness we took before the server assigned to our table spirited it away and replaced it with more alcohol.
“That’s because nobody wanted you to marry his ass,” A’ja retorts, tossing her blonde, knotless braids over one slender shoulder.
“I know, A’ja,” I sigh, hoping conceding that fact will stop her from going off on her ‘Brian was never any good’ tangent. They’ve become more frequent now that Brian and Noelle are openly together. “But I’m saying, it was a party with free food, free drinks. Bernard even paid for everybody’s flights to the Bahamas. Even though I was marrying the wrong man, y’all should have still had a good time.”
Lord knows I didn’t. Brian and I spent the entire week arguing about everything from the time of the ceremony to the fact that his mother insisted on having two outfit changes during my day, and both of the dresses were white.
“ I had a great time,” Kendra chimes in.
Chantel rolls her eyes. “Girl, we know. You came back pregnant with Crew.”
Kendra smiles fondly at the mention of the snaggle tooth, almost seven year old who has us all wrapped around his finger. When Kendra found out she was pregnant, we were all shocked because she was only twenty-one and hadn’t yet graduated from college, but we still rallied around her. Mama, Aunt Nita and Aunt Marcel took turns staying with her during the week, cooking and cleaning and taking care of things so she could focus on school and being a mom.
A’ja, Chantel and I stepped in where our mothers couldn’t and Crew’s father wouldn’t, which means we all got to play integral roles in his life. Even now, with her career well under way and her confidence in her abilities as a mother through the roof, not much has changed. We’re still the village Kendra leans on, and she’s still our resident hot girl with looks and sass to match her big ass brain.
“You right, you right,” she replies, giggling into her hand. “Cash was slinging that vacation dick, and your girl had to catch it.”
“He needs to start slinging some child support your way,” A’ja says, rolling her eyes.
Kendra, like me, is used to her little sister’s comments, so she just laughs and picks up her ever full glass of champagne and takes a sip. “Girl, you ain’t never lied.”
“Speaking of cutting checks,” Chantel says, shifting in her seat to pin wide brown eyes on me. “When do you get your divorce settlement?”
My stomach flips at the thought of the eight-figure amount Xavier secured for me. It’s twice the amount I’d planned to walk away with, and I nearly fell out when the judge announced that he’d be awarding me the money from the trust created per the terms of my post-nup AND requiring Brian to match the amount.
Biting my lip, I split a smile between my three cousins. “It cleared this morning.”
It’s loud in the club. Like really loud. But the moment the women gathered around me process my words, they explode into maniacal cackles and ear-splitting screams that draw the attention of everyone around us.
Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I shake my head. “Y’all are ridiculous.”
“No. What’s ridiculous is me paying for bottle service when you got millions sitting in your bank account,” A’ja says with wide eyes.
“You cursed me out and said my money was no good here when I offered to pay,” I remind her.
“That was before we knew you could have bought the entire club out.”
I wrinkle my nose at Kendra’s statement. “Why would I buy the entire club out? Then it would just be the four of us and that wouldn’t be any fun.”
“True,” she agrees. “And tonight is all about fun, which means…”
“Uh oh,” Chantel says under her breath, suspicion taking over her features as she takes in Kendra’s wiggling brows and bouncing shoulders. “You know what she’s about to say, right?”
“I know, and it’s only a matter of time before A’ja joins in,” I whisper, matching her suspicion and faux dread with the ease that’s existed between us for our entire lives. As sisters who are only two years apart, Kendra and A’ja have always had the other to play off of, but Chantel and I are both only children, so we have an unspoken agreement to join forces in the face of their chaotic sibling bond.
As expected, A’ja takes one look at her sister and immediately shifts into party mode, pushing to her feet and nudging her sister out of their side of the booth. “It’s time to dance,” she says, finishing the sentence Kendra started.
Chantel and I don’t bother protesting because we know it’s useless. After all, the whole point of tonight is to look good, have fun, and be seen. All three goals are easily within reach as soon as we take up space in the center of the dance floor, reciting lyrics about wet ass pussies at the top of our lungs while we make sure that any man who approaches one of us doesn’t overstay his welcome.
We’re six songs in when my throat gets dry, so I catch Chantel’s eye and hook a thumb over my shoulder to let her know I’m going to the bar. She waves me off, too caught up in grinding on the man who has her waist in a death grip to give me a verbal response, and I laugh to myself about just how far my uptight cousin has let her hair down as I weave through the dense crowd and secure what looks like the last open spot at the bar.
“A water, please. Keep the change,” I say quickly, catching the attention of the lone bartender—a visibly stressed Black girl with ginger faux locs—before she moves to the other end of the bar where multiple people are waving her down. She takes the twenty I slide her and tucks it into the front pocket of her apron before retrieving the bottle and handing it to me. I crack the top and offer her a smile, hoping the bit of kindness will make her day a little better. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she calls out over her shoulder, leaving me to hydrate while she goes to handle the rowdy customers waiting for her.
“Sure you don’t want something stronger?” Someone asks from behind me just as I’m swallowing my first sip. I turn slowly, following the dark, velvet notes of a voice I’ve grown accustomed to over the last six months, giving myself time to absorb the reality of hearing it pitched low with the intention of melting away inhibitions and stealing common sense, to wonder if this is how he always sounds when his gravelly timbre isn’t stained with professionalism.
Even though I’d already identified him by his voice alone, I’m still surprised when Xavier and I come face to face. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him in person. After the trial, most of our communication has gone through Mara or happened over email. I haven’t allowed myself to think too much about why that might be.
He runs a large hand over those waves, genuine shock in low, hooded eyes as he takes me in. Suddenly, I’m entirely too aware of the amount of skin I’m showing, and I have to fight the urge to cover myself, to hide from the dark eyes roving over my frame, lingering a little longer on the space where I know, despite every single one of my cousins telling me otherwise, my bare nipples are peeking through.
He clears his throat and brings his gaze back to mine. “Grayson”
“Xavier.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know, just celebrating my divorce.”
“Right.” He nods, and a smug, prideful grin tugs at the corners of his mouth, calling my attention to his full lips and the perfect lines of the dark beard and mustache surrounding them. “Congratulations, again. You deserve every cent you got from that bastard.”
“Thank you.” I bite my lip to stave off the surge of emotion that rushes through me unexpectedly. “Not just for the congratulations, but for everything you did to make it necessary. I wouldn’t have gotten through this without you.”
He waves me off, which is exactly what he did the last time I thanked him for keeping every promise he made to me during our first meeting. “You don’t have to thank me, Hart. I was just doing my job.”
My cheeks heat in the stupid way they always do when he makes my last name sound like a term of endearment, and I take another sip of my water before responding. “Well, you’re damn good at it.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
We share a short laugh over his lack of humility before silence stretches between us. I wrack my brain for something else to say but come up empty. I don’t know how to do this with him, how to act now that we’re no longer client and lawyer. I assumed he wouldn’t know how to do it either, but he looks so at ease.
He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “So, I’m sure you’re glad to finally be done with lawyers.”
“Only the ones with the last name Lucas.”
“Oh.” He takes a step towards me, towering over me even though I’m easily six feet tall in these heels. “Does that mean I get to stick around?”
My shoulders rise and fall in a casual shrug that suggests it doesn’t matter to me one way or the other, that I haven’t been thinking about that night on the witness stand for months. “If you want,” I say, turning back to the bar and taking another sip of water because being subjected to the intensity of his gaze when I’m also a little tipsy is making my knees feel weak.
Clearly, he does want to stick around. He steps up to the bar too, taking up space beside me. It’s a tight fit, so he has to angle his body to make it work, which means half of his six-foot-five inch frame is pressed against my side and all the air around me is now laced with the notes of sage and cedarwood that make up his scent.
“You here alone?” he asks, lips so close to my ear the question steals my breath away.
Shaking my head, I turn to him, bringing us face to face. “That’d be a sad divorce celebration, wouldn’t it?”
Xavier lifts his hand, signaling for the bartender, while his eyes stay on me. When I was his client, I never allowed myself to be moved by the butterflies that would take flight in my stomach every time he held me hostage in a discerning stare. I told myself that my over reaction to prolonged eye contact was just a sad indicator of how severely disconnected Brian and I were from each other.
Tonight, I tell myself that all of those things might be true, but it doesn’t change the fact that I like how this man looks at me. That I’m pleasantly surprised by the fact that someone who charges hundreds of dollars an hour for his time doesn’t reserve his rapt attention for clients. That even now, when I’m no longer paying him for his attention, he’s still a study in active listening and thoughtful responses.
“I guess that depends on if this is the true celebration or a prelude to the real thing,” he answers finally, and I find myself unable to speak for a moment because I’m trying to sus out whether he meant for his words to be laced with innuendo. I’m certain it’s deliberate. Xavier is always so careful with his words, always aware of the thousand different ways people can read into the things he says.
More than I’ve ever wanted anything.
His words from that night echo in my mind, and I push them away, knowing what they do to me. The way they make me long for things I’ve spent months convincing myself he doesn’t want to give.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean some divorce celebrations end when you leave the club, and others—” he licks his lips, and my stomach twists into a knot when dark brown eyes with specks of gold sprinkled in the irises ghost over the lines of my corset accentuating my cleavage before working their way back up to my face, “—others start at the club and end in somebody’s bed.”
My core clenches at the thought of ending up in his bed, and I’m breathless when I respond. “And I’d need to be here alone for it to end that way?”
“Are you here alone, Grayson?” he asks again, reminding me I never actually answered him the first time.
I bite my lip. “No, my cousins are here with me.”
I swear I see disappointment skate across his features, but if it was there, it’s gone by the time he speaks again. “I’m surprised you guys talked Chantel into coming to the club,” he says, craning his neck to see where the bartender is. I peek over the bar to get a look too and see the same girl from before slowly making her way back down to us.
“I think she’s the only one working, so it’s going to take her a while,” I tell him. He sighs and drops his arm, resting his elbow on the lacquered wood.
“Are you here by yourself?” I ask, eyeing the bills in his hand that look like more than enough to cover a few rounds of drinks.
“No, my brothers and best friend forced me to come out,” he sighs, trying to sound put out even though he’s fighting back a smile. “They claim I work too hard and don’t make any time to celebrate my wins.” He tips his head to the side, pinning me with an imploring gaze. “Does that sound like me?”
“It does actually.”
Truthfully, I don’t know much about Xavier Allen, but I do know that he’s a classic workaholic. His entire life is his clients, his cases and his firm, which can’t leave time for much of anything else. After how hard he worked on my case, I’m glad he’s out celebrating a hard earned win.
“Wait.” I hold my hand up, interrupting whatever response he was about to give me. “What other cases have you closed lately?”
His brows furrow. “I’ve had a few custody cases settled in mediation, but the most significant case I’ve closed this week is…”
“Mine,” I finish for him. “So, you’re here celebrating my divorce, too.”