Chapter 7 #3
“Okay. Gimme a sec.” Anna’s voice turns muffled as she pulls the phone away and orders her lunch, and I let my gaze drift over David’s desk while I wait.
It’s bare apart from a laptop, a planner and a pen.
In fact, his whole office is bare, yet exquisite.
Looking around properly now, I can tell that this is an office made for sin.
I’m under absolutely no pretences that David is a good guy.
He’s a divorce lawyer, for Christ’s sake.
Aren’t they notoriously nefarious in their ploys to win cases?
Especially the wealthy ones, which David so very clearly is.
Don’t get me wrong, his office is beautifully modern and luxurious with its dark furniture, clean lines and glass accents, but lacking any personal effects that show any sign of personality.
No photos, no books, not even a coffee mug.
The only thing I can see that’s not functional is a large, beautifully painted canvas that hangs on his wall to the left.
It’s a swirl of dark abstract colours, flecked with gold that sort of looks like a wild, beautiful storm.
I can’t help but scoff to myself. His office is exactly like him. Beautiful, yet cold.
“Can I borrow your gold mini dress?” I ask Anna when she returns, pulling my gaze toward the window.
I know she’ll say yes because I’ve already worked my way through half her wardrobe.
I never had reason to own clothes that are nightclub appropriate, and I certainly don’t have the money to buy any now.
The only events I attended while married were galas and balls that I had to attend with Daniel, and something tells me a floor-length gown wouldn’t be appropriate for a club opening, not that I would risk going back to our marital house to get one.
Lucky I already had a collection of shoes and bags at the apartment when I moved in.
“Of course, it will look bloody gorgeous on you! I’ll come over early and we can get ready together.”
Despite the situation I currently find myself in, excitement flitters across my skin.
“Sounds good! I’m babysitting Leo on Saturday afternoon but I’ll be home from about six onwards. What’s the name of the club?”
“Ubriaca.”
“Ubriaca,” I muse. “That’s drunk in Italian.”
“Is it?” Anna cackles. “Well, I plan to get very Ubriaca Saturday night! Gotta go G, talk laters.”
We hang up and I slip my phone back into my pocket. Someone clears their throat right behind me, causing me to startle.
“Hope I’m not interrupting,” David drawls sarcastically as he moves past me and takes a seat behind his desk. I didn’t even hear him come back in. “Where were we?”
He leans back against his chair like some kind of dark prince, the view of Melbourne city sprawled behind him through the cascading glass wall.
I sit up a little straighter in my seat.
I might feel wildly under-dressed and under-whelming sitting in front of him now, but I refuse to let him know that.
“We were interrupted just as you were trying to insult me,” I say, drumming my fingers on my knee. “Again.”
“Insult you?” He cocks a brow. “I was just being factual. It is your job to sleep with men, is it not? If there’s an insult there, it isn’t from me.”
I scoff. “Okay, look, this is not a good idea.”
“What isn’t?”
I pull my ponytail over my shoulder and twirl the ends through my fingers, while David observes my movements with laser-like intensity. The back of my neck prickles.
“You. Being my lawyer. It’s a bit awkward, and probably unethical. Isn’t there some kind of law against conflict of interest?” I say, gesturing at the space between us. “I would say there’s a conflict of interest here.”
“That’s not exactly how it works,” David says slowly as his eyes drag back to mine. “Surprisingly, most of what happens in Law and Order SVU doesn’t reflect the reality of the court room.” He clears his throat. “Besides, I would call that night more a conflict of disinterest.”
Ouch. Why are the most beautiful ones always the biggest assholes?
“Well, I’m not the one who paid you to be in the hotel room that night, so I would say maybe there was maybe the tiniest bit of interest there, wouldn’t you?
” I say overly sweetly, batting my eyelashes at him and refusing to let him know he hurt my feelings.
I like the way it feels to stand up to him.
It doesn’t come with fear like it always does with Daniel.
Instead, it gives me a rush. Makes me feel like his equal, when I have every other reason to feel beneath him.
David’s nostrils flare. He clearly isn’t used to anyone talking back to him. Satisfaction curls in my gut.
“Turns out,” he says with a sneer, “I didn’t actually pay anything.”
He glares at me across his desk, but I’m not about to get into my reasons for returning his money.
Imagine if I told this commitment-phobe that I’m not really a hooker and he’s the first man I’ve slept with since leaving my husband.
He’d probably have a heart attack thinking I’m ready to send out save-the-date’s for our wedding.
The thought does make my lip curl in a small smile, though.
“It didn’t feel right to take your money after I skipped out early,” I lie lamely, faking nonchalance as if it’s no big deal. The excuse would make sense to him as a lawyer; we had an agreement that I didn’t wholly fulfill when I bailed. My reasoning is none of his damn business anyway.
He continues to stare at my face, as if the truth he’s seeking will just appear there, and I sit and will myself not to be the first to look away.
When the seconds stretch into a long, drawn-out moment that borders the edge of awkwardness, he scoffs, offers me a sardonic smile and reaches for his laptop.
“Your marriage,” he says, moving on so abruptly it startles me.
“Let me guess. High school sweet hearts?” He almost spits the words, like the thought of anyone being in love is physically repulsive to him.
Man, this guy really has some issues. However, the sudden change in topic catches me off guard and I answer automatically.
“Not quite. Though we did meet in high school,” I murmur, rubbing my hands up and down my thighs as I bite down on my bottom lip.
It’s in this moment that I fully appreciate the lure of a one-night-stand.
You’re free to say what you want, do what you want and put forward what-ever version of yourself you want to be, all done with the presumption you’ll never see that person again.
For one night, I got to be someone that didn’t carry my past. And now I face the crushing realisation that my true self is about to be exposed.
The weak, dependent, train-wreck with more baggage than an Airbus A380.
“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” I try again. Skydiving with a kite instead of a parachute sounds more appealing than discussing my marriage with David. “Is there someone else who can take my case?” I ask, suddenly hopeful. “The guy who came in before, maybe?”
David runs his hand across his jaw, his gaze so unwavering in it’s focus on me that it sets my skin alight.
My body, the traitorous bitch, doesn’t care about the awful words that come out of this man’s mouth, deciding only to respond to the way he looks.
Unbelievable. It’s that kind of attitude that got me into this mess in the first place.
“No.”
That’s it. No? No explanation, just ‘no’.
“Okay, then. Maybe I should find another firm.” I go to stand, but his voice pins me to my chair.
“I’m the best divorce lawyer in Melbourne,” he says, his low voice reeking of superiority.
But there’s something else laced into it; something that gives me pause.
A hint of panic. Almost like he doesn’t want me to go somewhere else.
But why? He’s made it abundantly obvious he isn’t invested in me or my situation.
“Yes, you’re probably the most expensive too,” I counter, determined to test my observation. I don’t care about the money. His fees will come out of the settlement, and Lord knows Daniel can afford it. I just want to know if he really is trying to keep me here, and why?
“My fees are reflective of my services.” David rests back in his chair again, the epitome of cool, calm, collectedness. Apparently.
“Still, I think I’ll try my luck elsewhere, with someone who doesn’t feel the need to criticise me at every opportunity.” I go to rise again. Surprisingly, he takes the bait.
“Your husband is a famous AFL player,” David drawls, yet I detect a sense of urgency in his tone that is wholly unnecessary.
He captured my attention with those words alone.
“I have experience with them. They can be ruthless, as I suspect you know, which is why you sought out my firm to begin with.” He pauses, letting his words sink in.
“Some clubs have been known to… inadvertently throw their weight behind their players, which can make it difficult for spouses to pursue fair outcomes after a marriage breaks down. They want to protect their valuable players, their investments. Trust me, I’ve represented a few. ”
I hover my ass off the seat. He’s got me, and he fucking knows it.
“Is that why you want my case?” I ask, surprised at the venom that spills out with my words. “Because of who my husband is?”
Why does everything always have to come back to Daniel?
David’s eyes darken, narrowing at the edges as his glare pins me to the chair.
“You could say that.”
He plays dirty, and I should have known that off the bat. I’d seen first hand just how dirty he can be. Unfortunately, I can’t deny that I need this ruthless man on my side. I guess I’ll be sitting my ass back down.