“I’m sure it’s a quick fix,” I say, composing my face backinto a mask of indifference. “We’ll get an annulment, and no one but us will ever know.”
A breeze kicks up, more stifling than refreshing. Adam runs a hand through his hair and nods. “Guess we need to find an attorney.”
A name pops into my head, unbidden.Oh, fuck. Tyler and I go way back, but the idea of him helping me with this brings both relief and dread.
Adam is squinting at the chapel entrance, clearly unaware that I’ve been frozen to the spot at the mention of the wordattorney. “We could probably ask Beatrice for a name. She must have some references, right?”
“Actually…” I clear my throat. “I know a guy.” At least, I think I do. The last time I saw him—several years ago, now—he hadn’t finished law school yet. I’d actually sort of forgotten he even became an attorney. I pull out my phone. A quick Google search proves that the guy who taught me how to make a bong out of a Pringles can did, in fact, pass the bar. And now owns the web domain StripLawyer.com.
“You just happen to know a guy who practices law in Las Vegas?”
He says it with this skeptical yet unsurprised tone in his voice that has me clenching my molars. I wonder, not for the first time, what kinds of things Adam has said about me behind my back. What kinds of things he might have told Freddie about my past, or my character, or my ability to do my job without someone like Griffin there to prop me up.
I unclench my jaw and answer evenly: “He’s a friend from college.” Or, he was. We lost touch after his last visit out to LA.
Admittedly, it is a bit difficult to reconcile my memories of Tyler—most of which involve sharing a bowl in one of ourdorm rooms—with the idea of a suited-up lawyer. Then again, Tyler always did have a knack for talking himself out of trouble.
“And he’ll be discreet.” Despite my cool tone, my pulse starts to race when I hit the call button. Adam Shaw of all people does not get to judge me or my dealer-turned-attorney pal—but also, I don’t relish the thought of Adam witnessing it if Tyler answers just to tell me to go to hell. Tyler was always the kindest, the chillest, the most understanding… and I still might deserve to be sent to voicemail.
I turn away from Adam as I listen to it ring.
“Tyler Malarkey.”
“Tyler, hey! It’s Eleanor.” There’s a beat of silence. I squeeze my eyes shut and add: “Thompson.”
“No shit. Eleanor? What’s it been, like four years?”
His voice is neutral. Guarded. He doesn’t sound especially happy to hear from me, but he hasn’t hung up on me yet, so I’ll take the win. “Yeah. Been a while. I’m actually in Las Vegas. Are you free today? I was hoping you’d be able to help me out with something.”
“I’m not dealing anymore, but I’ve got my own stash if you want to catch up in person. I’m mostly vaping these days—easier on the lungs. Or I could recommend a couple of local dispensaries?”
“No…” I press the phone harder against my ear and click the volume button down with my thumb, just in case Adam has supernatural hearing. “That’s not what I meant. I actually have a legal situation I could use your help with.”
“Oh, damn. This isn’t your one call, is it?”
“No. I haven’t been arrested. It’s actually… I need to get an annulment.”
Another heavy silence stretches between us. Then, his voice more serious than I’ve ever heard it, “From him?”
Heat floods my face. He means Griffin. “No,” I say quickly. “No, that’s been over awhile. It’s this guy from work. Sort of. We aren’t even dating.” I feel Adam staring at me and ignore him, focusing instead on a pair of Vegas showgirls with big, feathered headpieces crossing the street. “Can we actually have this conversation in private? I’m literally standing outside a wedding chapel right now.”
A pause, then Tyler starts laughing his ass off. I run my tongue over my teeth and wait for him to stop.
“Okay,” he says, making an effort to contain himself. He clears his throat and puts on what I assume is his lawyer voice. “Yes, I can help with that.” He lets out another amused breath. “Why don’t you come by my office? We’ll get you all fixed up.”
“Great. Text me the address and we’ll make our way over.”
“Done,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. It’s offensive how cheerful he sounds when he adds, “Can’t wait to see you again and meet the mister.”
CHAPTER SIXADAM
The maps app is open on Eleanor’s phone, telling us we’ve arrived at our destination. I glance between the screen and the neon sign hanging that reads “Deja Vu.” A smaller sign beside it advertises topless dancers.
“This is the address he gave you?”
“Yeah.” She says this like it’s normal to meet your attorney at a strip club. Of course Eleanor is cool with this—before this morning I’ve never seen her get remotely frazzled over anything. Generally, she could be summed up with the wordunruffled. Any perceived slight or bit of constructive criticism rolls right off her. You just know she goes to bed at night and falls asleep the moment her head hits the pillow. She’s never stared at her ceiling for hours replaying every awkward thing she did that day, writing scripts for conversations she wishes she could do over, or revisiting the time in ninth-grade gym class when she tripped over absolutely nothing in front of everyone. Which is why finding out thatthe dinner last night was Eleanor’s put a pit in my stomach. There’s something unnerving about someone who isn’t bothered by anything.
“So, he works… here.” It’s that, or he gave us the wrong address. I’m not sold on his competence either way. I drag a hand down my face and shake my head. “No.”
