Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Max introduces his colleague, Sheila Rick, and Shane’s attorneys. Looking at me, he says, “This is highly unusual.”
“That’s not a good start.” I shoot Shane a look that pins him to the chair he’s relaxing in.
“It doesn’t mean bad, but this is not a way my firm typically operates.” Planting the tips of his fingers on the large manila envelope, he drags it across the table closer to him. “We’ve been asked to unseal the requests in the presence of everyone. We’ll negotiate here at the table. If at any time we need a mediator, we can pause to bring one in to hopefully reach a successful conclusion to this marriage agreement.”
Funny how neither of us ever agreed to this marriage, but here we are on opposing sides of a large wooden conference table suddenly fighting for . . . what? Assets I don’t have? Motherfu—
“We weren’t aware of any prior requests,” Sheila says, directing her attention across the table. “Are these terms and conditions?”
“We didn’t have any,” I add. “No terms, and we definitely didn’t discuss any conditions.” I look back at Max. “I’m only requesting the divorce. I’m not after his money.”
“This is highly unorthodox,” he says, shifting a glare to the opposing attorney. When he turns back to me, he pats my arm. “We do not have to accept any offers, Cate, and we can fight any claims. If, at any point, you’re uncomfortable, we can consult in my office. But let’s see what they’re claiming as their share of the marital property.”
“Marital property?” My jaw hits the table as I try to burn Shane alive with one hard glare. How dare he!
Shane says, “I’m not asking for any property.”
“Good, because you know I don’t have any. I lost the house—”
“I know, Cat.” He’s too restrained, leaving me no emotions to riffle through. He’s not like the man I spent time falling for and nothing like the boy I once knew. There’s no familiarity with the person in front of me now except the exterior, and he has his parents to thank for that.
“Then what could you possibly want from me? My 2012 Toyota with dodgy air-conditioning? Spousal support off my salary? What? What is it?”
His attorney whispers, and they both go quiet.
I roll my eyes. Screw this whole situation. I’m done, and we’ve barely started.
Max opens the file and immediately shifts it between him and his colleague, studying it like they’re about to be tested. I cross my arms over my chest to keep my anger at bay and my heart contained as it tries to escape. I knew it couldn’t be trusted around him.
As my attorneys consult each other, I can’t stop myself from replaying everything Shane said in the elevator, landing back on the ending that was never finished. Lowering my arms to my sides, I lean closer to the table, my eyes locked on his, and ask, “What were you going to say in the elevator? What do you want?”
His expression breaks, the man I knew last August returning, even if only for the briefest of seconds. “I want more time—”
“You’re requesting time with my client?” Max asks, holding the paperwork in his hands. He flattens it on the table and points midway down. “Seventy-two hours. Is that correct?”
Shane’s attorney states, “Everything is listed on page two. No other requests or obligations will be required.”
I turn to Max. “What does that mean, he’s requesting time?”
He blows out a long breath, his eyes still analyzing the text. When he turns to me, he replies, “The divorce will be granted after the agreed upon seventy-two hours.” Shooting a look at Shane’s attorney, he adds, “This is bordering on extortion, which is illegal in every state in the U.S.”
I can’t stop from looking at Shane as if he’ll explain instead of being interrupted. When he doesn’t continue, I ask Max, “I have to spend seventy-two hours with him to get cut loose from this sham of a marriage?”
“He has requested your company for . . .” He swivels his chair in my direction and speaks slower like I can’t keep up, which I can’t, it seems. “A period of three days or seventy-two hours, whichever works best for your schedules.”
“Our schedules?” I sound like an idiot, but surely, I’m hearing this wrong or not understanding the legal jargon or something because this sounds a lot like . . . can’t be. I hold my hand up between us. “I hate to go in circles, but what do you mean by my company?”
Max looks across the table at Shane and his attorney, and says, “Again, this is highly unusual and barely legal, but I do have to advise you that an effort to work on the marriage looks better when you go before the judge to ask for the divorce. Most want to know that the parties made every attempt to stay together in cases of irreconcilable differences.”