AllFreeNovel
Share Us
No way could she still be mad at him. She’d had a hugely successful career not to mention other relationships. She’d even had another child. So the only motivation for the silent treatment now, that he could see, was stubborn pride and a desire to see him suffer.
Well, sod that, he’d suffered enough.
Halle had limited his access to his child to six weeks a year right up until she’d turned sixteen. And that lack of quality time was still screwing up his relationship with Lizzie now.
Once upon a time it had been a nice little ego boost to have Lizzie dub him
Super Dad, because he was the one she did all the fun stuff with. But ever since Lizzie had hit her teens, he’d begun to realise Super Dad was really just a euphemism for Superficial Dad. Then his daughter had let slip she’d been in therapy a year ago—and scared the shit out of him.
Emerging from the underground chaos of concrete and commuters at Châtelet–Les Halles, he crossed through the park situated above the huge interchange towards Rue Ram-buteau. Resentment simmered in his gut as he considered all the times he’d got his solicitor to contact Halle’s solicitor to set up a meeting with her to talk about their daughter. And all the times he’d been refused, or stonewalled, or rebuffed, or simply ignored.
The mild miasma of sewage, traffic fumes and rotting vegetables from the nearby market blended with tree sap and brick dust from the gravel that surrounded the trees in lieu of grass. Like most Parisian parks, the one at Châtelet was utilitarian, functional and elegant in an entirely prosaic way.
He took a deep breath of the comfortingly familiar scent.
This city had saved him when he’d been stranded here sixteen years ago, broken and bleeding from wounds he’d thought would never heal. The hectic pace of life, the brusqueness and pragmatism of its inhabitants and, best of all, the anonymity had given him space and time to put the shattered pieces back together. He’d built a life here, and a career that, while not as phenomenally successful as Halle’s, had given him everything he needed.
Or almost everything.
He touched his thumb to the bruise on his brow, the nagging headache starting to fade. Confrontations were not part of his DNA, he had never been a fan of unnecessary drama—occasional battery by Asterix ashtrays notwithstanding—but he was stronger, wiser and a lot more sorted than he’d been at twenty-one. He had a career he enjoyed, and he had worked hard to be a good dad, but he wanted to be a better one. A more involved one. And he wasn’t going to let Halle stand in the way of that any longer.
So he was getting off her naughty step, once and for all.
And the book deal was just his opening salvo.
He was through being treated as if his place in Lizzie’s life was as important as a cat flap in an elephant house. Which meant forcing Halle to talk to him about his daughter, at length and at his convenience, where there was no chance of any five-hundred-pound-an-hour dickwads running interference.
‘What do you mean he’s refusing to respond through his solicitor? How can he do that?’ The knot under Halle’s breastbone cinched tighter as she gaped at Jamie Harding, top City solicitor and the head of her legal team. ‘Surely if we threaten a court order to stop publication of his book, he has to respond?’
Jamie propped his forearms on his cherrywood desk, brushing the smooth wave of chestnut-brown hair back when it flopped over his brow. ‘I didn’t say he hasn’t responded. I said he’s refusing to respond through his solicitor.’
‘What’s the difference?’
Jamie let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘Look, Halle, I know you’ve always preferred to communicate with Best through us. And that makes sense when it’s a legal matter to do with Lizzie’s custody. But she’s been of age now for two years, and I’m not even sure this book’s been written yet. Or if he’s actually signed a contract. So if we start throwing our legal weight around, it could be counterproductive.’
‘How could it be counterproductive? I want this thing stopped. As quickly and cleanly as possible, before anyone finds out about it.’ The hideous thought that people would be able to read about her starry-eyed teenage self, that needy vulnerable girl who’d fallen for Luke Best’s dubious charms, made her feel nauseous. She hadn’t been able to think about anything else ever since Lizzie had broken the news about Luke’s book deal yesterday evening. She’d spent a long night going over all the things Luke could reveal in his memoirs that would humiliate her beyond bearing, and, worse, allow the tabloid press to feast on all the stupid mistakes she’d made where that man was concerned.
The Domestic Diva wasn’t just a bakery brand, it was a statement of purpose, a symbol of empowerment, that said to women everywhere, you can come from nothing and still make something of yourself. She didn’t want people to know that her whole empire had been built on the pain, the loss, of being ceremonially dumped by an arsehole like Luke Best.
Wasn’t it bad enough that the man had screwed her over once, without him wanting to do it again?
‘Halle, you need to think with your head here, not your heart,’ Jamie said in that patronising tone that reminded her once again why she should never have slept with the guy.
It had been only one night, six years ago, after a party to celebrate her first book deal, and Jamie hadn’t even been her solicitor at the time. She’d been horny and tipsy, Jamie had lingered to help clear up, or so he’d said, and they’d ended up in a lip lock over a dishwasher full of dirty champagne flutes.
The sex had been hot—because Jamie had surprising physical stamina for a desk jockey and was as goal-orientated in the bedroom as he later proved to be in the courtroom. But not hot enough to atone for the cripplingly awkward moment the morning after, when a four-year-old Aldo had run into the room to wake her up and accidentally bounced on Jamie’s balls. Or all the times since she’d hired Jamie to head her legal team—on the understanding that they would never mention their former indiscretion—when Halle had detected that trace of condescension in Jamie’s tone.
Note to self: If you screw a man who later becomes your solicitor, expect him to assume he’s your moral and emotional superior.
‘I am thinking with my head, Jamie,’ Halle replied with exactly the same level of condescension. ‘Believe me, my heart hasn’t been anywhere near Luke Best for a number of years.’ Sixteen to be precise.
‘OK, well, let me spell it out, then,’ Jamie said sharply, obviously miffed that he couldn’t out-patronise her. ‘We haven’t got grounds for an injunction until the book’s actually under contract. All that flexing our legal muscles now would achieve—apart from costing you five hundred pounds an hour for my services—is to alert the press to the impending deal and make the advance publishers are willing to offer Best go through the roof. That’s what I meant by counterproductive.’
‘Ah, I see.’
Bugger, maybe he does have one small, infinitesimal point.
‘So what’s your advice, then? There must be something I can do?’ The knot tangled with the pitch and roll of raw panic. After a sleepless night debating all her options—including sneaking over to Paris and garrotting Luke in his sleep—Halle had convinced herself that Jamie would provide an answer to her predicament this morning. Something quick and relatively painless and fiendishly clever that wouldn’t involve the first-degree murder of her child’s father.
