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I chuckle.
She scrolls the screen, an evil grin stretching her lips.
“Oh, look, the press is still persecuting Hillary. Poor her.” She infuses the statement with enough sarcasm to choke a whale.
“She wanted the spotlight? She fucking got the spotlight,” I chime in.
“I don’t know who’s been advising her, but she should’ve focused her energy on suing them rather than suing me.”
“I’m not sure what she spiked her Kool-Aid with when she thought she had a leg to stand on,” I say.
If I wasn’t living in LA and working in the entertainment industry, I’d be tempted to say Hillary Twatt’s lawsuit was the most frivolous in history. After Jules was served, she texted the three of us, desperate for backup. Collin couldn’t get out of a prior engagement, but Shane and I debarked at her office like soldiers ready to declare war. We hired the best lawyers money can buy. Once we had the peace of mind Hillary was delusional, we ignored her distracting antics and kept focusing on our goals. The money hungry bitch wouldn’t have it. She huffed and puffed and threatened to blow the house in. When that didn’t work, she turned to the media as a last-ditch resort. The interview that aired yesterday on CNN was an aberration. I can’t believe the network thought her flimsy lawsuit was newsworthy. It had more holes than a cheese grater. It just goes to show what a good publicist can do. Collin suggested Jules retaliates with an interview on Wire News Network’s Enews, aka WNN’s entertainment program, but our legal team refused to give any substance to that deranged woman’s accusations.
“I’m so happy it never slipped from my lips that I had found solid business partners,” Jules says.
“I told you. One word, and you would’ve never been able to get rid of her. She’s a bloodsucking leech. Plain and simple.”
The bitch was suing Fit Thonix for five million dollars, claiming Jules conned her into selling her shares of a very profitable business by lying about the potential. It’s such bullshit, it’s laughable. The woman is such an idiot, she forgot about how well she harassed Jules. The trail of text messages and countless voicemails are proof she was never coerced to relinquish her shares. The judge didn’t waste any time throwing her case out of court.
“You’re still suing her, right?” I ask.
“I intend on giving that bitch a little of her own medicine. I’m suing her for defamation.” My girl made the decision last night, but I’m glad she’s standing firm.
“Even if you don’t get a dime out of it since she’s penniless now that her boyfriend stole the profits from the sale of the house, watching her sweat will be reward enough.”
“Damn right,” Jules agrees. “On the flipside, her little one-woman show was a coup.” Jules is being facetious. “I always knew she was a fraud.”
Hillary’s fifteen minutes of fame is paying dividends. She was intent on playing the victim at all cost, she forgot she has a shady past. She’s been dodging her creditors and people she owes money to for years, moving around to keep a low profile. Now they know exactly where to find her.
“I always had my suspicions about the duke, but I didn’t expect him to be a fraud as well,” Jules says.
I cock an eyebrow. “Birds of a feather…”
“They deserve each other,” she nods in agreement.
Duke Florian skipped town when the media scrutiny became too much. He crossed the border and scampered off to his hometown. Here’s the kicker, Duke Florian Thauvin de la Poutaille isn’t a duke after all. His real name is Jersey Trudeau, and he was born in Chicoutimi, Quebec. Not France. Surprise, surprise, he doesn’t have any ties to the future king of France because there is no fucking future king of France. Hillary should’ve been smart enough to do a Google search. The con artist is forty-one. Since he was never able to cut it in Hollywood, he’s been using his acting skills to prey on widows seeking the company of a handsome man. Hillary fell for it. It’s been a very lucrative career for Jersey. Case in point, his relationship with Hillary wasn’t about her sparkling personality or kind heart. To avoid waving a red flag by depositing a huge amount of money in her account, Hillary used one of Jersey’s offshore accounts. I don’t have to tell you how that story ends.
“Just like we deserve each other,” I piggyback on her statement.
Jules gets up from where she’s sitting, circles the table and comes to sit on my lap.
“I love hearing you say that,” she murmurs low, grabbing the front of my t-shirt and bunching it in her hand. She clasps her free hand behind my head, forcing my lips to hers.
Her grumbling stomach interrupts our heated kiss.
“Oh, shit. Talk about bad timing,” she complains before biting her lower lip.
I chuckle.
“Why don’t I feed you before you pass out on me?” I say, standing up with her in my arms.
“I’ll come and help,” she offers.
“Nah. I’m okay,” I drop her to her feet. “You stay out here and soak in the sun. While you were sleeping, I ran to the bakery and practically raided the place. I did the same to the little shop that sells quiches.”
Her laughter follows me as I stalk towards the kitchen.
It only takes a few trips back and forth before I have a scrumptious feast laid out on the table. There’s a reason I woke up so early.
