Chapter 36
‘It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.’
The final hours of Dom’s visit blurred at the edges. A club – subterranean, down a damp brick staircase, where we danced with reckless abandon to music so loud it blocked out all thought.
The sun was beginning to rise by the time we emerged, blinking and staggering, into the ocean-cooled streets of North Beach. Somehow we made it back to mine. Somehow Dom made it to the airport.
It took two full days to recover.
By Wednesday, I was at my desk at Rivertide handling some minor crisis unfolding about a server sync issue. That’s when the call came through.
‘Hey, Florence, Layla Schweizer here.’ Her voice was clipped, efficient. ‘Divorce papers are ready to go. Now I need your input, what’s the best time of day to serve them on Chase?’
I stared at the half-drunk cup of coffee on my desk.
‘Can’t we just mail them?’
‘He has to be served in person. I’ve got a guy. He’s excellent, charges four hundred dollars. Looks like a gardener but moves in like a ninja and gets the job done.’
I imagined Chase answering the door in his monogrammed robe. He’d be about to tell Layla’s ‘gardener’ to get off his property, that he’d already got a landscaping guy, when the papers would be thrust into his possession.
It should have felt satisfying. Instead, it made my stomach churn. Chase would find a way to make it about him. He always did.
‘I’ll have to call you back.’
Layla’s voice sharpened. ‘Soon. We have to get this done to move forward.’
I hung up.
‘You can save yourself the four hundred dollars,’ Rhiannon said, picking at her salad at lunch. ‘Conor and I’ll do it.’
I looked up. ‘Do what, exactly?’
‘Serve the papers.’
I blinked. ‘And how would you manage that?’
‘Pizza,’ she said, like it was obvious. ‘Conor will be the delivery guy. Easy.’
It sounded mad. But then, this was Conor, a man who once talked his way into a tech conference by claiming to be the keynote speaker’s long-lost brother. If anyone could pull it off, it was him.
Rhiannon was about to take another bite when she froze. Voices around us dropped into reverent murmurs. I looked up.
Jack Taletti. Movie star. Demi-god. There was practically a halo above him. He strolled out of the café holding a tray of the lunch special, the chargrilled cheese sandwich.
Rhiannon exhaled like she’d been holding her breath. ‘Oh my God. He is divine, isn’t he?’
‘You sound just like Bunny.’
‘Look at him. I want him.’
He sat at a table near ours, bit into the sandwich, and yes, somehow, even that was sexy.
‘He’s gorgeous,’ I said. ‘But can we circle back to the divorce papers?’
Rhiannon looked at me like I’d lost leave of my senses. ‘I can’t believe you’re choosing legal logistics over that.’
‘I wrote a list when I was sixteen. Called it my Darcy List,’ I said. ‘I wanted intellect, wit… not abs and action man.’
Rhiannon sighed. ‘He is beautiful.’
‘Right now my leading man is Conor, armed with pizza.’
I called Layla and told her the plan. She transferred me to her assistant, who said, ‘Your guy needs to hand Mr Fuller the envelope directly and say, “You’ve been served.” He doesn’t need to explain anything.
No signature required, just make sure it’s him, and that he takes it.
That’s it. Then we file a Proof of Service form, and we’re good to go. ’
Simple. In theory.
I hung up, scribbled the instructions on a sticky note, and stared at them while the rest of the day collapsed into a blur of database errors. Half my inbox was on fire. Someone in marketing had lost an entire presentation folder and was acting like we’d erased the Mona Lisa.
But all I could think about was Conor, standing on the marble doorstep with a pizza box in one hand and my marriage in the other.
That night, I stared at the clock in my dim flat, counting the seconds. Rocky looked at me like I was a criminal for ignoring his need to wee. Finally, when the torture of waiting for news became too much, I threw on boots and took him out.
Fog wrapped the street like an old damp blanket. I kept my hood up and tried to move at pace, but Rocky insisted on stopping at every lamp post and fire hydrant.
We were halfway back when a car pulled up beside us.
‘Hey, Flo!’ It was Conor, hanging out of the window with the pride of a man who’d just conquered Everest.
‘How did it go?’
He was grinning like a lunatic. ‘Chase is a cheap feckin’ eejit. Opens the door, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, took the pizza even though it wasn’t his order, gave me a dollar tip. Then I handed him the papers, said “You’ve been served”, giving it the full cop show treatment.’
‘He was bloody brilliant,’ Rhiannon said, leaning across from the driver’s seat. ‘I was parked halfway down the drive, behind the hedge, listening in.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothin’. He slammed the door in my face.’
Relief washed over me.
‘Jump in,’ said Rhiannon. ‘We’re going to O’Flynns to celebrate.’