Page 8 of Cruel Lies

I like that one.

"I'm glad you like it," I drawl.

Truthfully, I don't give a fuck what Todd here thinks of my office. I've already seen everything I need to see in order to determine that his opinion is worth nothing to me. The soft, pink hands and chubby wrists of a man who never lifts a finger for himself anymore… The Hermès tie, sloppily knotted… The vacant, unbothered smile of a former frat boy…

I know what Todd Bradshaw is.

What I don't yet know is why he came crawling to me.

To that end, I arch an eyebrow. "So, Todd…?"

He looks back at me and grins. "I want a divorce," he declares.

Oh, Jesus.Siberia might be too cozy for the partner who allowed Todd Bradshaw here to slime his way into my awareness. I might have to send him to the dark side of the moon instead.

Divorce? I don't dodivorce.I barely practice law at all anymore, to be honest. This entire firm is merely a front to the true business that takes place in the shadows, long after the 9-5crowd has boarded their subways back across the river to New Jersey.

But divorce? Definitely fucking not.

"I think you might've been misinformed," I say icily. "That is not my area of expertise."

He waves a hand like he's batting away a fly, or my words, or both. Somehow, my dislike for the man finds a way to grow another notch. "Ah, I know lawyers. Your kind will do anything if the price is right."

I wouldn't be the man I am if I let rage dictate my actions. So even though I'm insulted enough to peel Todd's smarmy face off his underlying skull right now, I decide to let him live a bit longer.

Why not? I have time to kill, after all.

And walking dead men are nothing if not amusing.

So I smile like I'm laughing right along with him. "Guilty as charged," I say. "Or rather, guilty asalleged."

He chuckles and points a finger gun at me. "Knew it, you wily bastard. Anyway, I need out of this damn marriage. Ten years handcuffed to this shit is… I mean, I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."

I don't, as a matter of fact. A wife wouldn't last long tethered to a man like me before she ended up like Todd here, begging for a way out.

That is, if she was lucky. If she wasunlucky, she'd be in a body bag long before she had the chance to scream for help.

All I say to Todd is, "Marriage is difficult. I've steered clear."

"Well, you're smarter than me, then." He pulls out a monogrammed handkerchief and wipes his face. "I want this shit over with, and fast."

I lean back in my chair to mirror his posture and fold my hands in my lap. "There are a million lawyers in this city who could do that for you. Yet you called in a very delicate favor to come see me instead. Why?"

That perks him right up. He thinks he's back in the game.

"Okay," he begins. "Here's the thing. I don't want a normal divorce. I want—" He pauses, looking for the right word. "I want a clean break. A real clean one."

"Define 'clean.'"

He reaches into his jacket.

I tense, just a little. It's a habit. In my line of work, men reaching into jackets is not always a good thing. But what comes out isn't a gun or a phone or a folder.

It's cash.

A thick stack of it, banded, fresh hundreds. He tosses it onto my desk with a flashy flick of his fingers. "That's a retainer," he says. "Plus a little extra. To show I'm serious."

I look at the money.