Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 25544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
"My client appreciates your interest," Jeanne says before I can answer, "but I'll have to apologize on her behalf. I've instructed her not to respond to anything to keep our meeting as free from compli—"
"Is that Dior you're wearing?"
The interruption comes from Delia, and her voice has gone up an octave.
She's leaning forward now. Her elbow is on the table. Her eyes have stopped tracking the conversation and are tracking my shirt instead, then the seam at my shoulder, then the cuff. She's frowning. Calculating.
"And are those jeans Gucci?"
"Don't be stupid, babe." Sandy doesn't even look at her. He's looking at me, and his mouth has settled into the smirk I know better than I know my own face. "They're knockoffs, obviously."
He turns to me with a little shake of his head.
"You shouldn't have bothered trying to dress up."
Howie chuckles.
"Mr. Lyle." Jeanne says his name with the same sunny smile she used at the door. "If your client refers to my client in that manner again, I will be filing a complaint with the bar regarding your professional conduct in this meeting. And as I'm sure you're aware, the bar in this state has a very low tolerance for counsel who permit verbal abuse of opposing parties at the table."
A pause.
"So please don't chuckle."
The corner of Howie's mouth comes back down while Sandy looks at Jeanne like she’s suddenly speaking in a foreign language.
“Is that...is that a threat?” he finally asks.
"It's a courtesy," Jeanne answers calmly while still smiling. "I find them so much more effective than threats, don't you?"
Risa looks as if she wants to start screaming at Jeanne, but since Jeanne’s smiling that scary smile of her still—
Risa turns to me instead, her favorite person to bully.
"You ungrateful little—"
"Mrs. Pettyfer." Howie cuts her off, and he sounds genuinely irritated for the first time. "Shut up."
Risa lets out a gasp of outrage. "Excuse me?"
"I said shut up,” Howie snaps. “I’m trying to do my job—"
"Oh, now you're going to do your job?" Risa's voice has gone shrill. "When my son's wife is sitting there in Dior she could only have afforded by sleeping with—"
“Mrs. Pettyfer, dammit!”
Howie has now closed his eyes, the pen still tapping against his lower lip, breathing through his nose like a man asking a higher power for patience. Delia, in the meantime, is still staring at my shirt while Sandy seems...preoccupied?
Honestly, I should've just looked away. But all I can do at that moment is just stare at the four of them and think to myself, This...
This is how the rest of my life could be.
This is what I almost said yes to twenty years ago and again every year after.
And unfortunately, it's when I realize this that Sandy happens to look my way.
Oh no.
"What are you looking so smug for?" he asks nastily.
He always does this. Every time something goes wrong, he somehow finds a way to lash out and pin the blame on me.
"I asked for this meeting because I was feeling a little bad that you'd get nothing."
It's a struggle to understand what he's saying when all I can see is flashback after flashback of our marriage, and Sandy making me feel like I’m always to blame.
"I wanted to offer you some kind of help—" Sandy actually surges to his feet in his rage, which comes out of nowhere. "But now that you're acting high and mighty like that?"
I can already feel my body going still.
"Who do you think you are?"
I know what he’s about to do.
No, no, no.
And yet—
SLAP.
It’s just like before. I don't know if it's shock, or if my reflexes are too slow. Or maybe I've become so traumatized that I can't even move.
His hand strikes my cheek so, so hard that it has me swaying, and the whole place falls silent.
Everyone is staring at Sandy in shock. His own mother included. Because his entire life, Sandy has always been the charming, good-looking, easygoing guy.
Howie has finally stopped tapping his pen. His mouth is open. His eyes have gone wide.
Risa has lifted one hand and pressed it flat against her own chest, and her face has gone the kind of white that takes a moment to set in.
Delia, alone among them, is not looking at Sandy.
Delia is still looking at me.
And I...
I never tried to change anyone's opinion about him.
No matter what he did, no matter what he said, I always told myself it was a fluke.
That he had an excuse to do it.
But now I know...
"That's the last time you'll ever hurt me," I whisper.
I can never let him get away with it again.
"Oh yeah?" Sandy has somehow lost it. He doesn't seem to realize how everyone is looking at him. "What are you going to fucking do?"
His hand is already coming up as he leans forward...
But he never gets to do anything again.