by Eliza Daly
“That’d be great. I at least have to buy you lunch for doing all this.” She eyed the grease on his hands. “Sorry about that. I’ll go get a cloth.”
“No big deal. I’ll get one from my office.” He gestured toward the building behind them, next to hers.
Monica turned and her gaze landed on a sign in the window.
Marriage isn’t a word, it’s a sentence. I’ll set you free.
She glanced up at the sign over the door. Reed Walker: Family Law.
Focusing on Chico’s lunch specials when she’d driven up, she’d failed to notice the new signs. “A divorce lawyer?” she muttered in disbelief. Her gaze darted over to the guy. “You’re a divorce lawyer? I thought you were a client.” Being attracted to a divorce lawyer was much worse than a client. Suddenly his eyes didn’t seem as blue and his arms looked wimpy. No way was he Italian. Or her soul mate. And what kind of straight guy wore lavender!
“A client?” He laughed as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Ah no, I just started moving in and stopped by to introduce myself.”
“You have to take down that sign.” Monica pointed at his window.
“It’s my company motto. Helps attract business.”
“Maybe for you.”
He arched an amused brow. “That’s the idea.”
“You can’t promote divorce.” She clutched his suit jacket, crumpling it in her hand.
“I’m not promoting it. It’s a fact of life. I don’t have any control over the average marriage lasting seven years, or that one in every two ends in divorce.”
Monica’s gaze skittered around frantically as she searched for a response that didn’t involve whipping the socket wrench through his window and mauling the sign to shreds. She spied a black Mercedes parked up the street. The license plate read No Mer-ce.
“Is that your car?” she demanded, pointing at the Mercedes.
He nodded, wearing a cocky grin. “Would you like to take it for a spin?”
She glared at Reed’s car then over at him, hand on hip. “You obviously have a relationship phobia, afraid of marriage.”
The smile vanished from his face and his look turned serious. “I’m not afraid of marriage. I’m all for it. If people didn’t get married, I wouldn’t have a job.”
She put a death grip on his jacket, scrunching the material up in her hand. “You’re such a . . . lawyer.” A gazillion nasty lawyer nicknames and she couldn’t think of one she was so flippin’ mad. Eying his jacket crumpled in her hand, he looked slightly peeved. “Can I have that?”
She thrust the jacket at him.
He took the jacket and shook it out. “What are you so worried about? Doesn’t bother me being next door to a business that promotes romance and marriage.” He slipped on the jacket, then swept a hand firmly down a sleeve, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles.
“If somebody wants to get divorced, seeing my company isn’t going to change their mind. But if my clients see your sign and have any doubts about getting married, which most guys do, they might back out on an engagement proposal.”
“If they’re that easily swayed, they shouldn’t be getting married in the first place. They’d just be coming to see me in another year or so.”
He was right, which ticked her off even more. “Not if you aren’t here!” She spun around and stormed toward her office.
“I’m guessing lunch is off,” he called after her.
Smug bastard. Heart racing, hands balled into fists at her side, she marched inside. She bolted past Jordan on the phone and into her office. She scooped up the smiley face foam ball on her desk and whipped it against the wall. She began pacing back and forth in front of the desk.
His sign was huge. It might as well be done in pink neon lights. You could see it all the way down the block. And think of the clientele he would bring in. Scorned, negative, down-on-love people like Hope. She’d probably be able to hear them bitching about their spouses through the walls.
She threw open her top desk drawer and spied a yellow folder containing a business plan for her next prospective venture, should this one not succeed. She worked on it in her spare time. Jordan had scolded her last week when she’d discovered it in the drawer, claiming Monica was attracting negative energy.
Maybe she was right.
She snagged the folder and stuck it in the bottom drawer, then slammed the drawer shut. Instead, she snatched up the small charm bag Jordan had made off her desk top and squeezed the life out of the gold silk bag, which contained the herb hawthorn to ensure success, a jade stone for prosperity, cinnamon, and her business card, sprinkled with a few drops of jasmine—what used to be her favorite essential oil.
Although Tinker Bell had sprinkled Wendy with pixie dust, if Wendy hadn’t believed she could fly, she would have leapt out the window and plunged to the ground. Pixie dust was a spell tool, same as herbs and oils, to keep one focused on achieving a goal. But belief was the core ingredient. If Monica believed she could soar, she would.
She would succeed. She would succeed . . .
Yet, picking herself up and brushing herself off each time she confidently leapt out that “window of opportunity” into a new business venture, only to have it never materialize or immediately fail, was becoming more and more difficult. This business had to succeed.
She shoved the bag in her front pants pocket.
What had she done to deserve a divorce lawyer next door to her? She was a good person. She worked hard to bring love and happiness into people’s lives. She never hurt anybody . . .
The dirtbag spell.
Had she sent negative energy into the universe and now it was returning threefold? Was that really possible? Would Reed Walker put her out of business? Would her soul mate die in some horrific accident before she had the chance to meet him? Leaving Hope and her to grow old together, roomies forever?
A sharp pain pierced her chest and she sucked in some serious air, clutching her chest as Jordan walked in.
Jordan rushed over to her. “What’s wrong?”
“Can’t . . . breathe,” Monica sputtered.
Jordan ran out to her desk and returned with a McDonald’s bag. She sat Monica down in a chair and held the bag over her mouth. “Take a deep breath and let it out slowly.”
Monica’s breathing was coming in rapid, shallow gasps. She inhaled a deep breath, along with the lingering aroma of an egg and cheese biscuit. After several deep breaths, her breathing was almost back to normal. She lowered the bag from her mouth. “What was that about?”
“A panic attack,” Jordan said, matter-of-factly.
Monica shook her head. “No way. I’ve never had a panic attack in my life. I’m so not the type to have panic attacks.”
“Was it a sharp stabbing pain that felt like a heart attack?”
Monica nodded reluctantly. Omigod. “It’s that spell. I have to undo that spell.” She quickly explained the dirtbag spell she’d cast on Kyle and about the divorce lawyer next door.
Jordan shook her head vigorously, looking totally freaked out, sliding her glasses on top of her head. “Did I teach you nothing? You can’t undo a negative spell. The backlash can be even greater. Some people might disagree, but I would never cast a banishing spell.”
“The spell on Kyle wasn’t intended to outright harm him and is keeping him from hurting other women, so the good outweighs the bad. Doesn’t it?”
Jordan slipped her glasses back down on her nose. “Even spells for the greater good can have negative consequences. You cast the spell without Kyle’s permission. You shouldn’t tamper with the free will of another person.”
“I didn’t even cast it, Hope did,” Monica wailed.
Jordan slid the glasses back on top of her head, her forehead scrunched up in contemplation. The consta
nt repositioning of her glasses was a sure sign she was stressing. “But you created it. I don’t know.” She twirled a clump of hair around her finger. “Well . . . I guess the spell doesn’t have to be negative. It can simply be to protect you from evil and negative energy.”
“Whatever it takes to get rid of Reed Walker.”
“Reed Walker is the divorce lawyer next door?” Jordan’s green eyes darted anxiously to the front window, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of the man.
“You know him?”
“I wish.” Jordan hiked up the straps of her bra, exposing her large breasts along the scooped neckline of her lime green top. “Milwaukee Beat voted him one of the city’s most eligible bachelors like six months ago. Some chick at a charity benefit paid five grand to have dinner, and who knows what else, with him.” Jordan looked all gaga over this guy. “He’s totally hot. He’s—”
“Way bad for business.” Monica batted Jordan’s hand away from her breasts as she adjusted them in her bra. “What about Alan?”
“What about him? Two years and I don’t see no diamond,” she said, fluttering her ring-less finger. Her shoulders slumped and she let out a frustrated groan. “But you’re right. We’re meant to be together. It’s in the stars. I just have to get that into Alan’s thick head.”
“Reed Walker won’t be around much longer anyway.”
“I don’t see him going anywhere. He’s a kick-ass divorce lawyer. Has a reputation as a real pit bull.”
Generally, Monica admired anyone who had enough drive and dedication to establish such a successful business. But not in Reed’s case. She wanted him out of business. Or at least out of the building next door.
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Crimson Romance
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Copyright © 2017 by Elizabeth Jane Watson.
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First Crimson Romance ebook edition OCTOBER 2017.
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ISBN 978-1-5072-0521-1 (ebook)
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