Page 4 of Pretend You're Mine
“Look who’s talking,” he said from beside her. “You got about five different boyfriends after we split. And where are they all now? Chase them away with that winning personality?”
I cleared my throat.
“Marybeth.” I gave her thin smile. “Ryan.” I nodded.
I tried to keep my tone calm and neutral. No need to add fuel to an already simmering fire.
“So, shall we get started?”
Mrs. Birmingham stomped her foot like a petulant child. “Let’s just get this over with.”
If either of them had been willing to give an inch, we could’ve had everything worked out in a reasonable amount of time. But it wasn’t to be. The fought over the meager possessions they had, and just about anything else they could think of to fight over, and it got ugly.
Even their initial divorce lawyers had walked out on them. I was doing this as a favor for a friend, but it was fast becoming a professional pain in the ass.
Finally, I stood up.
“Let’s reconvene next week.”
“Next week?” Mr. Birmingham sputtered. “But I thought….”
“Nothing can be accomplished here today, if neither of you will give an inch, Ryan.”
So, I walked over to the door and opened it for them. After they left, I waited a few minutes to ensure that they were out of the building’s lobby, and then went home myself.
Sprawled on my couch, I checked my phone again. Naomi had finally responded with a terse what do you want?
Clearly, she had no recollection of our night together. Even mine was blurred around the edges, I had flashes of a leggy blonde woman with an intoxicating smile, an about-city romp in a taxi, and one wild idea on our way to the all night wedding chapel that catered to folks in our exact state of inebriation.
In any case, the best thing to do now was to get to the heart of the matter.
I called her. After a few rings, likely to indicate just how uneager she was to talk to me, she picked up. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t hang up.”
“Because the marriage certificate I showed you is legit. And because I can explain last night if you’ll see me.”
“Why can’t you just tell me over the phone?”
“Explaining in person would be easier.”
“And if I say no?”
I said nothing.
“Who are you anyway?” she was asking.
“Xander Peterson. A lawyer in downtown LA.”
“Oh good, you’re a lawyer. So you probably know how to fix this disaster, right?”
At that point I was willing to tell her anything to get her to talk to me. “Yes.”
She exhaled audibly on the other end of the line. “Fine. Where?”
“Ocean 55,” I said. “Tonight, at seven. I’ll pick you up.”
“That’s fine,” she said. “But I’ll meet you there.”
She hung up, and I was left with my phone in my hand. My sweet dog Walter had crouched at my feet and was tipping his head my way curiously.
“This is important,” I explained to him. “If this dinner goes well, it could save me a lot of trouble over the next month.”
3
Naomi
What exactly did he want to explain to me? He said he was a lawyer and he said he could fix it. There really wasn’t anything else to discuss. I rolled my shoulders, feeling the muscles in my neck and shoulder blades pop and stretch.
I’d been stressed from the moment I pulled on the stupid sexy-ish black dress I sensed would make no difference. Before that, even. An atomic bomb of what the actual fuck had exploded in my head the moment Teren and I saw that text. Teren had actually dropped his Oh Henry, while I had reread the text message – and the certificate – at least a dozen times. As much as I had wanted to, there was no denying the situation. I had, despite any sane and natural order in the world, married this guy.
The itchy twines of memories didn’t help either, appearing and disappearing like gull-shapes in a fog.
A flash of Xander’s laughing face. A clasp of his hand. The twist of his lips on mine.
In any case, now at least we were dealing with it. That was what he’d said on the phone. Now, I was walking into the marble doors of Ocean 55; the type of ritzy restaurant Teren and I usually only drooled over in the LA pamphlets I got at my hair place, Eighteen.
Getting in was a bit of a head rush. The place was filled with marble statues of marine life, as well as people who seemed to ooze money. The high-ponytailed hostess at a raised marble platform was already looking at me pitying like she knew.
Why the hell hadn’t I asked him if he was getting a reservation?
Because I was so eager to get off the phone with his crazy ass.
“Hello.”
A hand on my arm made me jump. Xander’s voice was deeper than I’d recalled, he was taller than I’d realized, his face still handsome but somehow harsher than I’d remembered.
