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After my run-in with Ethan on Monday, I thought for sure I would have heard from him the next day in some shape, form, or fashion. But I was greeted with nothing but silence, which is even more unsettling in a way. However, by Wednesday, I now know why he didn’t retaliate yesterday because his next move required some preparation.
As I pull up to the office, I see a sign spinner standing on the corner of the street, holding up a giant arrow advertising his firm. “Fuller & Grant will get you what you want in your divorce!” the sign says in big, bold lettering as the man head bobs to his music playing in his headphones.
I roll my eyes as I park my car and hustle up to my office, not at all prepared that there was more to his scheme. A sign spinner is eye-catching, although I don’t know that they really do much from an advertising perspective. However, it’s not just the sign spinner that he’s added to his move.
A standing chalkboard sign is stationed right at the opening of the courtyard that separates our offices, and the message on the board has me biting my tongue in an instant.
“20% off lawyers’ fees if Dr. St. Clair didn’t help you. Come in and ask us how we can help you move on with your life.”
A giant, double-sided green arrow points toward his office and mine, and by this point, all I can see is red, and I’m not even color-blind.
It’s one thing to innocently leave business cards or fib a small white lie about handing out brochures to clients. But this? This is borderline slander. He could ruin my reputation if people start giving up on therapy before they actually make their breakthroughs or if people assume I don’t know what I’m doing because he’s insinuating that I can’t help them.
I drop my bags off in my office and march across to his, ready for a fight. My palms are sweaty, my pulse is racing, and my feet are pounding the pavement beneath them.
But then I stop before I ever open the door.
This is what he wants. He wants this reaction from me. He wants to see me pissed and angry, fueling the fire and war between us.
And even though I want to tell him what I think and how his little move makes me feel, I also know that sometimes you have to be the bigger person and say nothing at all. But that doesn’t mean I can’t fight back. He’ll just have to get the message through my actions and not my words.
I take a deep breath, plaster a fake smile on my lips, and retreat to my office to retaliate in private instead, knowing there’s only one person who can help me put an end to this.
I hit Penelope’s name and wait for her to answer.
“Hello, my friend. How can I help you this morning?”
“Do it.”
She pauses. “Are you asking me to do what I think you are?”
“Yes.” I nod, even though she can’t see me. “It’s time to drop the atomic bomb.”
An evil laugh fills the line. “How atomic do you want me to be?”
“Money is no object. Hit him hard, Pen. I want this man to wish he’d never messed with me.”
I hear her click a few buttons and then declare, “It’s done. I already had the order in my cart, ready to go. I knew this call was coming.”
“How many did you order?”
Her evil laugh rings out again. “Don’t worry. Let it be a surprise.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And you can thank me again once you two screw. This is the most dire game of foreplay I’ve ever been a part of, and I’m not even the one in the running for an orgasm.”
* * *
Thursday starts off the same as Wednesday, the chalkboard sign and sign spinner taunting me as I make my way to my office. But I’m not going to let Ethan and his shenanigans get me down today. Brayden called me last night, and we finalized plans for our date on Friday evening.
I’m not going to lie—between work and ruminating on how to make Ethan’s life a living hell within legal means—this week made me forget about our date. But after talking to him briefly, I remembered how excited I was when he asked me out. The thought of dating again after a long time is scary, but I also know that it’s necessary. And besides, it has to be a hell of a lot healthier than wanting to hate fuck the divorce attorney across the courtyard.
My first two sessions of the day are couples, one of which is John and Melissa. It’s been a little over a week since I saw them last, and I know he’s since been to the men’s clinic that Brayden owns.
“Well, John. How did the appointment at the men’s clinic go?” I ask as I settle into my seat and look across at the two of them sitting on the couch. Daylight fills the room, the bright hue almost like a ray of hope.
“Um, it was eye-opening,” he replies, throwing his body back into the couch.
“How so?”
“He learned he has the testosterone level of a fifty-five-year-old man!” Melissa exclaims with a smile on her face.
“Jesus, honey. You don’t have to shout it for the entire neighborhood to hear.”
She turns to her husband and places her hand on his knee. “I’m not. I’m just excited.”
“Why on earth are you excited?” John asks his wife incredulously.
“Because this provides us with a very logical explanation for your lack of a sex drive, John,” I answer for Melissa as she nods in agreement. “This means we have something to consider when it comes to helping you and Melissa move forward.”
John sighs. “Yeah, I guess.”
Melissa turns to her husband. “They can help us, John. The shots they told you about at the clinic can get your levels back up, and Amelia can help us with what we need to do in the bedroom.” She turns to me. “When can we start?”
I smile, loving her excitement. The woman clearly wants to get laid, and soon.
Yeah, I feel you on that one, sister.
“You can start tonight, Melissa.”
“Okay. How?”
“I want you to talk about having sex with each other but not actually complete the physical act,” I answer blatantly. John and Melissa just stare at me. “Look, the reason you’re here is because sex is what you both feel is missing, so you need to start by talking about it. Tell each other what you want to do to one another. Remind each other about the things that you do that you both enjoy, or recall a memory of a particularly hot time that you never forget. You can compare it to phone sex if you want. Lie on your sides, face one another, and voice all of your ideas and thoughts out loud while staring into each other’s eyes.”
“But don’t touch each other?” Melissa clarifies.
“No, unless you both decide to go there.”
“How is that supposed to help?” John challenges me.
