Chapter 8 #2
Raina clears her throat and rubs the edge of her manicured fingernail over another as she stares down at her hand. She’s hiding something important from me. I can tell by the way she’s currently avoiding eye contact and pulling her delectable bottom lip in with her teeth.
“Say it,” I growl. This case—she—is making me irrationally irritated.
This is such a mistake.
She shrugs casually, like she’s not knee deep in quicksand. “He needed a fake wife, so I made up a fake fiancé. I told him I couldn’t play into his scheme for long because I am engaged.”
Anger seeps into my bloodstream so intensely it boils. I should kick her out of my office right now. Be done with this. Pretend she doesn’t exist as anything more than my sister's friend.
Better yet, I could leave. A walk around the block might keep me from saying something I’ll regret.
Instead of doing either of those things, I go pour myself three fingers of whiskey from the decanter on my bookshelf and toss it back before returning my attention to her. “And who did you say your fiancé is?”
“I didn’t.” She watches as I slowly return to my seat, her eyes tracking my movements.
“He didn't ask?”
“He only questioned where my ring was.”
My gaze dips to where her hand rests on my desk. At some point, she repositioned herself to the edge of her chair so she could lean forward. “And where is it?”
“Being resized,” her answer comes easily. It’s what she told Javier when he asked, I can tell by the effortless way she just told me.
“What’s the name of your fake fiancé, Raina?”
She holds my stare, but I can see the hesitation swimming behind her blue eyes as she struggles to come up with an answer.
“If you’re going to lie, it has to come as easily as breathing.”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” she argues. “The shock of learning I’m married hasn’t even worn off yet.”
“Well, you need to think about it. These are the things the mediator is going to ask when we sit down to discuss terms, and the judge, if Javier escalates this into court. So answer me, Raina. Who is your fiancé?”
“I’ll figure it out, okay? Damn, Luciano, rein your lawyer persona in and relax. I’m not even technically your client yet. Aren’t I supposed to sign a contract, or put you on retainer, or something?”
Scrubbing my hand down my face, I realize she’s right. Not only am I losing my shit over this woman and her lies, but she’s not technically my client yet.
Huffing a breath, I lean over my desk and shove a finger onto the intercom button on my phone. “Lydia, are you in?”
Immediately, she responds, her voice slightly frazzled. “Yes, sir! Your door was closed. I apologize for not checking in when I arrived.”
“No need for apologies. Please print me a copy of the client agreement and bring it in here when you’re able to. Thank you.”
“Give me just a moment, sir.”
“We haven’t discussed your fee,” Raina says when the speaker quiets.
“I’m not going to charge you.” I shake my head, then mutter, “My sister would have my ass if I didn’t help you.”
“So, this is for her?” There’s a hint of sadness in her tone, and it does something visceral to me.
This isn’t good. I should squash the feeling while I still can.
“Yes,” I say, keeping my voice even. “For Vinnie.”
She’s looking at me like she can see straight through my bullshit.
The air around us pulsates with unspoken words, but thankfully Lydia breaks through it as she walks in, agreement in hand. “Hot off the printer!” she declares, placing it on my desk.
“Thank you.”
I’m acutely aware of the door closing behind her, secluding me and Raina from the rest of the world. Swallowing thickly, I push away the flurry of confliction overtaking me.
As always, I skim over the contract and pick up my pen, clicking it as I read the contract I already have ingrained in my memory.
I prefer to write the details that differ per client myself and simply use the agreement as a template.
I feel it builds trust and rapport as they physically watch me write in the terms rather than it being a prefilled standard printable.
“Here,” Raina says with confidence. Breaking my faux concentration, I watch as she slides a hundred-dollar bill across my desk. “Let me be a paying customer. It makes it more legit, anyway.”
I slide it back to her immediately. “I don’t want your money.”
“I know. Just take it, though. At least to activate the attorney-client privilege.”
“That’s not how it works,” I mutter, looking back down at the paperwork.
“Attorney-client privilege activated the moment you emailed Lydia to set up a consultation. I respect the confidence from my clients and uphold that by keeping my mouth shut the moment any form of communication begins in my office, regardless of if I move forward with a client and a formal agreement is signed. Not to mention, you of all people should know I would never repeat your business to anyone.”
“Just take it,” she insists, sliding the bill in my direction again. So I do, not interested in playing games. Without looking at her, I yank open my top drawer and drop the money inside.
When we’ve closed the case and her divorce is final, I’ll give it back.
As I fill out the agreement, adding one-hundred dollars on the blank line for the retainer fee, I nonchalantly ask again, “Who’s your fiancé, Raina?”
I need her answer to be fast, without hesitation, even if she doesn’t have a name yet.
She sighs, and I hear her back slap against the leather as she sinks back into the chair. “I’ll find someone, Luciano. I’m not worried about it right now, and I guarantee someone on SparksFly will play a nice game of house with me for the right price.”
She’s going to resort to a fucking dating app to find someone to play house with her? Wonderful.
Signing my name and dating it at the bottom, I spin the paper and push it to her before placing the pen on top of it.
She doesn’t bother reading through the agreement before she signs and dates, her loopy signature a stark contrast from my messy scrawl.
“There is just one teensy thing I should probably mention…” She trails off, biting her lip as she looks at me from under her lashes.
My cock stirs at the sight, wishing it was me biting her lip and learning what she tastes like. But my mind ricochets her words like the sound of a gong. My internal groan becomes audible as I watch her intently, waiting for the shoe to drop.
“Javier wasn’t taking no for an answer, and I may have given in and agreed to help him.
He sent me two first-class tickets to Spain for this weekend, attached to an email that read: ‘I can’t wait to meet your significant other.
See you in Spain.’ My plan is to just go and hone in on my acting skills.
By the end of the trip, I’m hoping he’ll just leave me the hell alone and not need me for when he gains his title.
I’m going to call it Operation Divorce Papers and see where it takes me. ”
Clenching my jaw tightly, I exhale a breath so deep, my nostrils flare.
I should rip this agreement in half right now before she puts me in the hospital with cardiac arrest.
“Are you out of your mind?” My hands ball into fists on my lap.
“It’s fine.” She laughs unconvincingly. Standing, she grabs her small purse off the chair beside her and smiles. “I’ve got to run—Mickey-D needs to be let out soon. Send me a text and let me know when you’d like to meet next?—”
“Raina,” I try to interrupt.
I won’t even address the fact that she adopted the fleabag.
“—and in the meantime”—she starts to walk toward the door, clearly trying to flee—“I’ll find myself a fiancé and see if I can get Javier to back off. My SparksFly profile just needs to be reactivated again and?—”
“Raina.”
“Yeah?” She flicks her gaze over her shoulder, her hand hovering on the doorknob.
My heart is hammering in my chest cavity, on the verge of exploding. That heart attack seems closer to happening than it should for a man of my age, and it’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience when I hear myself say, “Delete that fucking profile. I’ll do it.”