Page 251 of The Wright Man

He responded immediately:

Maleek : Take 'em off. I'll be on the couch. Lights low. Mouth open.

My thighs clenched just reading it.

By the time I got home and kicked my heels across the living room, Maleek followed through on every syllable of that promise—twice.

I was still floating when I shuffled into the bathroom to wash my face and sober up. My hair was wild, my lip gloss was gone, and my thighs were still trembling.

Back in bed, I propped myself up with a pillow and opened my laptop, wanting to check on some upcoming salon bookings before the week hit me in the face.

The top email in my inbox was from Gavin's attorney.

Subject: Change in Mediation Schedule

I blinked. Clicked.

Apparently, at Gavin's request, our mediation had been rescheduled for first thing tomorrow morning.

My whole body sagged.

I sat there, mascara half-wiped, bonnet askew, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons.

The high was gone. Just like that.

Welcome back to real life.

Chapter Forty-Four

Angelica

I pulled into the parking lot five minutes later than I meant to, stomach sour and head pounding. A dull throb bloomed right behind my left eye, the kind of hangover that wasn't dramatic enough to feel justified, just mean enough to make everything feel two shades too bright and two degrees too loud. I'd taken ibuprofen and sipped coconut water on the way over, but neither had worked fast enough. My bra strap was digging into my shoulder, my silk blouse clung too tight at the armpits, and I could already feel my edge control losing the battle with the Maryland humidity.

Great. Just the kind of morning you want to have before walking into battle.

I had five more days to prepare for this mediation. Five. I was supposed to walk in here with my lawyer, a fresh blowout, and a clear head. Instead, here I was—slightly hungover, deeply annoyed, and going in solo. I'd been assured this was just a meeting between me, Gavin, and the mediator. No lawyers. No drama. Just us two grown-ass adults trying to put our marriage to bed without burning the house down on the way out.

Stupid me for thinking Gavin was capable of anything approaching maturity.

I slammed the car door harder than necessary and strode toward the building, ignoring the way my heels clicked too loud on the pavement. The receptionist gave me a polite smile when I checked in. Her floral perfume made my stomach churn. I adjusted my bra, inhaled deeply through my nose, and followed the hallway toward the conference rooms.

The moment I rounded the corner, my stomach dropped.

Through the glass wall, I could already see Gavin, sprawled back in his chair like he owned the damn place, wearing that smug, bitter expression that used to make my chest tighten in anxiety. Now it just made my palms itch.

Next to him sat a short, chubby woman in tortoiseshell glasses with gray curls and a clipboard—had to be the mediator.

But it was the third person who made me stop cold.

A man. Tall, sharp suit, sharper jawline, eyes that looked like they'd seen blood and hadn't blinked. Sitting next to Gavin with a legal pad open in front of him.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

Of course he brought a damn lawyer.

I forced my face into something neutral and stepped into the room. Gavin glanced up, his smirk blooming the moment he saw me. That smug little curl of the lip that used to twist my guts into knots. Now it just made me feel nauseated and furious in equal measure.

"Angelica, hi!" The mediator—a smiling, over-accommodating woman—stood and extended her hand. "I'm Wendy. I'll be mediating today."