by Lulu Pratt
“We’re not in court, Mr. Stevens. We’re in mediation. Surely you remember there is a difference?” Vivian turns to cock an eyebrow at our mediator, a staunch older woman with a severe librarian bun and laser beams for eyeballs.
The woman doesn’t say anything and scratches a few notes in her notepad. If I was footing the bill for this nonsense, I’d be livid. It’s my ex’s money, David’s bank account, the one under lock and key, that was responsible though, which means I don’t mind wasting as many hours as margaritas I am waiting to drink.
“This all comes back down to your client’s insistence,” the sexy asshole lawyer says, “that there be no prenuptial agreement. My client recommended it for protection of all parties and your client declined it. By law, she isn’t entitled to anything beyond what we are offering. You won’t find better with a judge.”
“Bullshit.” Vivian and I say in tandem. She comes off less bitter than I do.
“A marriage isn’t a business contract, Mr. Stevens.”
“Quite the contrary, Mrs. West. That’s exactly what it is.”
Repeat. Ad nauseam. Every day until I fall over dead. The sexy asshole in the suit sits across an over-glossed table and rattles off reasons why I should be thankful they are offering pennies left in the corners of a cavernous bank account. My shark lawyer calls him an asshat and tells him to try again. Robolibrarian glares at everyone and sighs heavily because no one listens to her.
And then there’s David, my ex. I don’t look at him because I don’t want to ruin my shoes. At this rate, who knows when I’d be able to afford a new pair. He’s staring, though. Intently. Like a lion on the savanna who can’t quite determine if he’s hungry or horny.
Knowing David, it’s both. He’s a terrible lion, among other things.
We’ve been separated for over a year and unhappy for much, much longer. The divorce papers have been long drawn up. But David never signed. And now here he is, dragging me into mediation and demanding a rewrite before he’ll sign. Because in a vulnerable, drunken low point of my life a few weeks ago, David showed up on my doorstep and I was dumb enough to sleep with him.
Now he’s using that mistake to reopen the settlement. Claiming that we shouldn’t be divorced at all, and that our marriage is active and loving and something to be cherished.
“Kate is instrumental to the McArthur brand and you’ve been unable to provide any reasonable proof she isn’t.” Vivian taps her pen cap against the yellow legal pad resting between her lap and the table’s edge. Instead of notes about the mediation session, she scribbles pictures of David losing his head in a variety of ways.
David is abnormally silent. His eyes drag across my skin, leaving me prickling and uncomfortable. Once, it was exquisitely sexy. He was enraptured by my presence and I felt confident, strong, wild. Now I feel like a bug under a large magnifying glass.
Eric Stevens, bane of my existence, leans his elbows on the table so his well-tailored sleeves strain against his muscles. This, despite all the raging bullshit erupting at the table, where allegedly apathetic third parties argue over my livelihood like it was a toddler soccer match, is my favorite part of the whole thing.
“What do you want, Kate?” David interrupts my spiraling daydreams. “Why is nothing ever good enough?”
For the tiniest moment, I falter. We didn’t talk anymore. Words dried up between us the day I found him cavorting through my office naked with the maid.
“David.” His name sours my tongue but my features remain smooth as silk. “I want you to jump off a cliff and eat shit, you miserable motherfu—”
“Okay.” Robolibrarian claps her hands. “This is going nowhere.”
The suits go back to arguing and I go back to fantasizing. It’s the only way I’ve been able to get through these sessions without being drunk or high. Eric Stevens, smarmy asshole, is an obnoxiously sexy smarmy asshole: high cheekbones, square jaw, eyes brown like chocolate, and a toothpaste smile half of our town paid handsomely for. If he wasn’t so bloodthirsty, he would have made a great actor. Instead, he gets his jollies off by harassing me in this stuffy office twice a week.
My daydreams evolved from make-out sessions on his desk to crawling across the table, Whitesnake-style, and ripping off his jacket. All while David watched. His stupid face would freeze in terror while I hiked up my skirt and mounted his jackass lawyer. Nothing sweet, just a good old-fashioned fucking as we smeared sweat and body fluids all over the lacquered table.
“The whole point of these meetings is to avoid a trial over assets.” Robolibrarian’s voice cuts through. “If you aren’t willing to compromise, why the fuck are you at my office?”
“Good question.” David and I say together.
I bet if David watched me fuck his lawyer, he’d like it. He sucks, so of course he’d like to watch someone else plow me. From what I’ve learned in our previous counseling sessions, it’s what he really wanted anyway. Maybe I should have taken him up on those offers so I could have had a good lay for once in my freaking life.
My daydreams resume. Each time smarmy lawyer Eric opens his mouth, I slap it shut. I make him obey my every whim and tell him I’ll only stop if he says the safe word.
“What’s the safe word?” He gasps, so turned on by my feminine wiles he can barely breathe.
“I’m not telling.” I laugh coyly and rip off his pants.
Vivian nudges me to signal this blood bath is finished, for now. Sitting in a chair while someone who doesn’t even know me paints me as a trampy gold digger after my asshat husband cheated and lied and stole everything away from me is unbearable. Mentally banging the opposition was all that got me through it. Vivian knew it and did her best to lead the conversation while I mentally fucked Eric Stevens into a corpse.
Or probably something less gross, if I weren’t so desperate for him to die in a fire, David burning next to him.
We take a separate bank of elevators on the other side of the floor even though David hangs back with his attorney to suck up to a mediator who isn’t going to sway me into settling. Vivian slides out of her heels as soon as the door closes and sighs.
“He’s a dick.”
“Limp as the one in his pants.”
“My condolences. What happened today?”
“Whitesnake. It was amazing.”
“Whitesnake? That is some serious white people shit.” Vivian coughs through a laugh. “Next time, wear a low-cut shirt. Maybe he’ll only screw you mentally from now on.”
I grin. “Oh, it will be my pleasure.”
CHAPTER TWO
ERIC
“And boom goes the dynamite.” Paxton slides a tray of shots to the middle of our table and drops to his seat. “Drink up, gentlemen, for tonight we celebrate.”
“You gotta cut that 300 bullshit out, man.” I grab a glass and a salted lime. “No one thinks it’s cool anymore.”
“Your mom isn’t cool anymore.” Geoff snickers next to me. We cut him a look and he quiets down. No one ever invites him formerly, yet he’s always here.
“To the boards we passed, the broads we fucked and the bros we know.” Paxton holds out his shot glass.
We clink glasses and shoot the tequila. The two pathetic excuses for men at my table suck the lime but I throw mine over my shoulder. Geoff frowns, Paxton roll his eyes and I shrug.
“Tradition, fuckers. Deal with it.” I gesture with the hand now holding a neat whiskey. “I need eight more of these. Becky! Another!”
The waitress shoots me a wink and disappears behind the bar to work her magic. I only come here for Becky and her huge ass crammed into tiny shorts. It’s the highlight of my fucking day, no matter what day it is. I could win the lottery and quit my job tomorrow — Becky would still be my crowning glory.
“One of these days, boys, I’m going to take her home. Maybe Tamara too,” I say, but as the words leave my mouth the image of Kate sitting across the table today pops into my head from out of nowhere.
“I don’t t
hink Becky or Tamara would appreciate you sleeping with either of them, being that they are coworkers.” Geoff’s face screws up again and I briefly consider, for the hundredth time, why we let him play with us in the big leagues.
“Being that I don’t give a shit, I think you should shut your goddamn mouth.” I flash a bright smile at Becky as she slides a whiskey on our table. Her tits graze my arm as she leans over the table. “I’ve got the next round, Becky. Load up these assholes so I don’t have to listen to them anymore.”
“Ol’ Scrooge is prying open his bank vault tonight? Did someone swallow your dick on the way to the bar tonight?” Paxton eyes me over his glass but he points to Becky for another.
“Nah. This McArthur case is open and shut, and that means cash money, boys. That fucker better pay out quick.”
“You’re working the David McArthur divorce?” Becky gasps a little. “The director? Isn’t his wife some humanitarian? That’s you?”
“Of course. Who else do you think would be badass enough to take on that titan’s empire?” I spread my arms wide. “You really think there’s another lawyer with half the balls I’ve got anywhere in Los Angeles?”
“Uh, hello.” Paxton clears his throat. “My name is Paxton and I routinely kick your ass in court.”
“Shut the fuck up. Don’t listen to him, Becky. He’s criminal, I’m family. We only see each other in court when he’s crying in his shoes about losing another client to the system and I’m walking happy clients back out to their cars.” I throw my arm to wave him off a little too hard and knock into a busty blonde. “Oh shi—”
“Eric Stevens.” Her eyes narrow before I can fake an apology about getting her shirt damp. “I thought that was you.”
“I’m — sorry?” I look over to Paxton, but he’s got no fucking clue who she is either. However, when an opportunity presents itself… “Pardon me, miss. Can I buy you a drink to make up for ruining your very lovely shirt?”
“Fuck you.” She tosses her hair and storms off, shaking her ass with an extra pop. My head cocks sideways, watching her walk away, and someone swats me.
“Don’t worry, Becky. Your ass is nicer.” Really, I’d have to compare the two, but one should never insult the waitress with a heavy hand and a spotty memory.
“Always the charmer.” Becky laughs with a bite and leaves us.
“Rebecca.” Geoff leans over.
“Is your stage name?” Paxton and I fist bump.
“The girl? The blonde. Her name is Rebecca. You took her home last month, probably fucked her, and probably never called her back.”
I had no recollection of this whatsoever. “Probably.”
“What about that those two over there?” Paxton nods across the small bar to a pair of brunettes gesturing rapidly with wine glasses, telling some sort of animated story I didn’t care to follow.
“They look like your type.”
“All women are our types.” Paxton says, slamming his palm on the table. “Becky! Wine!”
Becky doesn’t look impressed when Paxton points to them, but I don’t need to wow her. A few loose compliments on a slow night and I could have that jealous frown wrapped around my cock in the bathroom in a hot minute. Becky is a hot back-up and these ladies are hot de novos. But for some reason, I’m not in the mood for any of them.
“Which one do you want?” Paxton asks. Geoff scoffs and busies himself in his phone, which is in his best interest if he doesn’t want me to knock him out. This is Man Hour, not toddler fucking playtime. “I kinda dig in the one in the red.”
I shrug.
The waitress feeds a bottle to the table before Paxton goes over to say hi. Generally the top priority is making sure they aren’t too drunk to cause trouble and are as hot as they look up close as they do far away. There is such a thing as Distant Hot.
“Ever think about acting like a decent human once in a while?” Geoff tosses out, still not looking up from his phone. “You know, being loyal and shit?”
“Loyal?” I roll my eyes and lay a heavy hand on his shoulder. He shrugs me off but I put it back with a tight squeeze. “Geoff, let me explain something to you. I bust my ass eighty to ninety hours a week while rich fucks in Hollywood divorce their arm-candy wives or their trophy husbands to go fuck the mailman for the rest of their fucked little lives. With me in the goddamn middle of their bullshit. Once a week, I let my dick loose. I earned that shit.”
Though I know that tonight my dick is staying in my pants, but Geoff doesn’t need to know that.
“Whatever.” Geoff slides out of the seat and throws a twenty on the table. “I’ll see you next week.”
“Whatever.” I shoot him the finger as he walks away and drain my glass.
“Eric fucking Stevens.” The blonde is back, blocking my way. “What are you doing back here?”
Over the top of her head, I can see Paxton pathetically striking out. The one in red actually hands the wine bottle back, mostly full. They look angry. But there’s a blonde with tits hanging out of her dress directly in front of me, oozing desperation.
“Rebecca! I thought that was you but you ran off so fast. I’m so sorry about your shirt.”
“You don’t remember me.” She’s fighting to look angry, but it’s an act. Saying her name was the magic key. Maybe having Geoff around wasn’t so bad, after all. “You were supposed to call me back.”
“I wanted to. I lost my phone on the subway when I went to New York the next week and lost your number. I’ve been here waiting for you to show back up so I could get it!”
She balls her fists in my shirt. I hold my hands up slightly and get ready to launch a joke when she holds up a hand.
“Save your shit, Stevens. You deleted my number and never wanted to call back. That’s fine. I know your type. We’re going to back to my place anyway and you’re going to lick my clit until I decide I don’t want to look at your face anymore.”
My face cracks into a grin. Even when I’m not in the mood for a fuck, a woman throws herself at me.
CHAPTER THREE
KATE
“And now release into Savasana. Feel the breath leaving your body, wave by wave.” Anna’s silky voice drifts across the room. Her words stick to my sweat-coated arms as I try to relax on the foam mat.
“I hate you.” Lily whispers from the corner of her mouth next to me. “I hate you so much right now.”
“The feeling is mutual.” I whisper back, eyes closed, feeling very much like the corpse this pose called for. “We are never doing this after a night out again.”
“I’m never drinking again.”
“Liar.”
“Your face is a liar.”
“Savasana requires silence, ladies.” Anna gently reprimands us from the front. I’m surprised she hasn’t booted us from the class already because we are forever being lectured. “This is a time of reflection and peace.”
I swallow the sharp laugh welling in my throat. There is no peace for me right now. Anna can’t even feign ignorance because my entire life is pasted across every news outlet and magazine on the planet. Who doesn’t love a good Look How They’ve Fallen story?
Everyone stares at me when I walk into yoga every week as is. They know. They know there is no peace while they gossip over their mat rolls and bare feet. In the way they sneak glances across the room, to see if I’m crying again during our breathing exercises.
I should probably stop coming here. Forever. The hangover doesn’t help.
Anna hits the gong to signal the end of class and everyone shuffles to their feet. I can feel their hot gazes as they leave. I become more corpse-like than ever. Lily chats with a few as they leave, gathering our things so I don’t have to talk to anyone.
“I think it’s time to reconsider a private instructor.” Lily sits next to me once the room is clear. “Fuck David. I’ll pay for it.”
“I would never ask that of you.” I roll to sitting and stretch my sore muscles. My stomach clenches because it’s still ang
ry and everything is hellish. “Besides, neither one of us have a room to crank up the heat to expel the demons or whatever bullshit Anna is hocking this week.”
“I never said Anna.” Lily scoffs. “Someone sexy and bendy. Someone who will guide your body from pose to pose, with big hands and a bigger—”
“Got it.” I stop her. “Let’s not. I’ll die. If I don’t get laid soon, I’m probably going to combust.”
“What about…” Her voice trails off before I can shoot her a death glare. “Never mind. So, we find a hot private instructor who is also willing to be friends with benefits. Let’s be real, there are probably a million of them.”
“Terrible idea. He’ll go running to the press and then everyone will talk about how it’s been confirmed that David McArthur’s money-grubbing ex-wife is a total slut who is trying to bankrupt his empire so she can fuck yoga instructors all day on the beach.” I cut a glance to her. “I mean, I’m not saying I wouldn’t enjoy it. I’m just saying Vivian would literally murder me in my sleep.”
“Fuck David.” Lily helps me up and hugs me tight, our slick arms sliding against each other. It’s gross and I don’t like hugs, but I guess the distress was more evident than I thought. “He’s done enough whoring around for the two of you.”
“For half of Hollywood. But when you’re some big shot director with an Oscar or two under your belt, the world appears to give you a free pass.” I exhale heavily and rest my head on her shoulder. “They are so terrible, Lily. Mediation is going to kill me. It’s so pointless and I swear we’re only doing it because he wants to wear me down. He thinks I’ll bend to his will because he slides me a stupid check. He doesn’t understand it’s not about the money.”
“I know.”
“I was there, Lily. I supported him for years. I worked on sets when no one else would. I made contacts and set up events so he could crawl his way to something prominent. He’s clearly talented, but that fucker would still be stuck in Wisconsin if I hadn’t introduced him to the right people.”
