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Scared. She doesn’t have to say it. “It’s gonna be fine.”
I kiss her again and leave.
After I’ve been home and gone for a quick run, I shower and head to work. All is good with Sarah, I think. It’s new, she’s a little unsure and I guess I don’t blame her after her thinking I tipped her, after me not putting it all together.
But she can’t deny the intense pull between us. Just like I can’t. And taking things slow is something I can do.
My mind goes back to how I said we weren’t done. We aren’t, but that one thought . . . the one about when that would be, if ever, haunts.
By the time I’m at the office I’ve filed that thought away, and Melissa hands me a stack of messages.
One is from William King’s lawyer. I call the woman and I’m loftily informed that he won’t be pressing charges, to which I ask, “For defending my client and his wife from assault?”
That shuts her up.
When I get off that call, I go over the divorce papers I’ve already sent in to the court, and I’ve sent William—I’m not calling a grown man Billy—his copy and a handwritten note.
I’ve informed him if he doesn’t sign Sarah will be taking him to court, requesting half his assets and the video footage of the girls he and his friends share and get their kink on with, will be shared. I also let him know that one of the girl’s wasn’t quite sixteen.
This is a lie, but there have been so many that he won’t check. He wouldn’t dare risk his dirty laundry flying high in public.
Just like he won’t risk his money, or jail time.
There’s one girl who was sixteen, but I think that was in a state where it was legal. Still, it’s never looked upon kindly with such an age difference.
Sarah will get that closure. Even if I have to take him to court and beat him senseless there. Using the law and not my fists.
There’s one last thing I add. Sarah was sixteen, not seventeen. He moved in a little before her birthday, and she’ll testify.
I’d never in a million years do that to her, but it’s the icing on the cake for him. She was seventeen, I’m sure of it. Sarah would have told me. But I’m betting that’s going to make him whip out his Mont Blanc fast.
He sends me a text—one word.
Signed.
My computer pings, and I open up the email. It’s a copy of the papers.
I text Sarah to come by for lunch as I have news.
After I get to work, I’m deep in it when there’s a knock at my door.
“Come in sweet thing.”
“Leland, I did come on official business, but . . .”
My stomach contracts as the woman in the too-tight, too-short skirt sashays up and climbs on me before I can do a thing.
Willa.
I grab her hips, lifting her off me when my door slams.
I’m pretty sure I know who did that.
Shoving Willa off me, I grab her arm and drag her to the door. “If you have legal needs, make an appointment, and come in decently dressed. Now, I have something to do.”
“But . . . but . . . I want you. And we’d be so good together.”
Willa winds her arms around me. I snatch them away and give her a shove so she’s not touching me. “Don’t you think if I wanted you, I’d have been with you?”
