Chapter One
Dating Tips from Elsie Dodd
Never bring your ex into things.
“Ivow, from this day forward, in honesty and love, to take you, Elsie Dodd, to be the hero of your own destiny and to give to you all that I have and love, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part,” Elsie said to herself, then popped the cork on an expensive bottle of champagne.
It had taken six lawyers, four depositions, a single dotted line—and nearly all of Elsie’s life savings—but she was finally a free woman. Free to sleep in the middle of the bed, to eat ice cream straight from the carton—free to focus on herself and her own dreams. And it all began with her divorce party, which was supposed to start—she looked at the clock on the wall and grinned—in just under two hours.
The house was decorated with condom balloons, penis-shaped candies, and a Pin the Junk on the Hunk wall game. Not to forget the alcohol, lots of alcohol in every color and variety, which came with Marcus, a twenty-something bartender with the ass of a Chippendale, whom her best friend, Carla, had hired.
Then there was the dress. The insanely expensive couture LBD that she’d charged on her ex’s business account before the divorce papers were finalized. He’d lost his mind, but it was worth every second of Axel’s bitching, because it was more than just a dress. It was a statement for everyone everywhere that the former Miss Portland and current award-winning interior architect was back—and ready to kick some ass.
Today was her day to embrace her strength, channel the inner goddess, and rally. Tomorrow she’d deal with the fallout.
Elsie poured herself a flute of champagne and headed through the modern masterpiece she’d designed from the ground up. It was the sole property she and Axel had owned together. Since she couldn’t afford to buy Axel out, in a few months it would belong to someone else. Her heart ached more over that than from the disillusion she felt over her marriage.
She took a sip of her drink, the bubbles tickling her tongue. She went in for a second sip when the doorbell rang.
Praying it wasn’t her mom, who had a habit of showing up uninvited, she readied herself and opened the door to discover a trunk of a man standing on her front doorstep. He smoothed down his T-shirt, which readCarlon the chest pocket. Perched above his name the logo of a cat wielding a chainsaw.
“You Ms. Elsie Ross?” the man asked, his eyes working extra hard to stay laser focused north of the equator. That’s when Elsie remembered she was in nothing but a cami and short set, with a matching robe that hung indecently high and showed off all one-thousand-and-one of Victoria’s secrets.
“Elsie Dodd,” she corrected, tightening the belt of her robe. She’d changed back to her maiden name the day she discovered Axel hiding his drumstick up a backup singer’s skirt.
Man, what a fool she’d been. She’d ignored the whispers, turned a blind eye to the big red flags waving in the wind, and naively believed him when he said he’d loved her. In the end, her marriage was a complete sham. Had been from the beginning. Sadly, she was the last one in on the joke.
“How can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m Carl, from Don’t Blame the Messenger.” He reached into his back pocket and presented a badge, flashing it like he was the feds, when in actuality it was nothing more than a laminated ID card. “We also do chain saw rentals and cat sitting. I just need you to sign here. Here and here.” He pointed to the three official-looking Xs on the form.
Something deep inside Elsie’s gut told her to back the hell up, slam the door, and call the real feds. Five years of marriage taught Elsie that her ex had the unique ability to put the “dick” in unpredictable. And this had dick-move written all over it.
“And if I refuse to sign?”
Carl looked baffled. He took off his flat tweed cap and wiped his brow before replacing it low on his bald head. “No one’s ever not signed.”
She steeled her eyes and Carl swallowed hard. “Ever?”
“Not a once.” She could tell it was a lie. A big, fat, man lie.
“Can you at least explain to me what I’m signing for?”
“Don’t know, ma’am. I just deliver what they tell me to.”
“And who arethey?”
He didn’t seem to have an answer.
A good dose of anxiety mixed with curiosity coursed through her system but in the end curiosity won out. Elsie used the pen tied to the clipboard and signed for the certified letter. Carl had barely handed it to her when Elsie flipped the envelope over and glanced at the return address.
Panic bubbled in her throat.
“I change my mind. I don’t want it,” she said, but Carl was already on the run.
“Sorry, no take backs,” he hollered over his shoulder, then climbed into the cab of his truck, quickly locking the doors.
Elsie sprinted down the steps in her bare feet, the hot pavement burning her soles. Once she reached the car, she pressed the envelope to the window. With a panicked expression on his face, Carl revved the engine.
