She was all I could think of. I didn’t call her my girlfriend or significant other or any of that shit, but in my heart that was what she was. We didn’t need to have a talk about whether we were seeing other people, because the force that pulled us together left no room for doubt.
Cori had grabbed my cock and propositioned me. It was something I should tell Viv. But if I did, she wouldn’t want me coming over to see Brooklyn anymore. I couldn’t stomach the thought of my daughter thinking I didn’t want to see her. Not ever again.
I’d never cheat on Viv. Wouldn’t even consider it. She was mine, which meant I was hers. Being true to her was all that really mattered. I didn’t want to tell her something that would only upset her.
Viv
It was six-thirty-two PM when Henley finally texted me back. I picked up the phone from the bed, where I was watching a movie, and glared at the screen.
Henley: Have dinner with me?
Me: As long as I can bring a pen and you’ll sign the papers.
Henley: As you wish. I’ll send a car to pick u up.
I didn’t change out of my jeans and t-shirt. Instead I slipped into my shoes, grabbed my bag which had the papers in it and went downstairs to wait for my ride.
A driver in a black SUV picked me up and drove me to an upscale restaurant. I was led to an outer courtyard decorated with fountains and potted plants, where Henley waited alone at a table. Secluded by walls made of climbing greenery, the location was private and quiet. Perfect for signing divorce papers.
“Mr. Cartwright,” I said crisply.
“Miss Marceau.” His cocky grin matched my expectations of him. He was attractive in a pretty way: smooth and polished with a lean, muscled frame and a headful of light brown hair with a lock falling across his forehead.
“We’ll start with some wine,” Henley said to our server. “Merlot.”
“No,” I cut in. “We’ll start with your signature. I already missed my flight home and my whole weekend was shot by coming out here for this nonsense.”
He cocked a brow at me, looking amused. “Bill me accordingly, Miss Marceau.”
“Don’t worry, I will.”
He reached for the papers in my hand and the pen I offered.
“Let’s have that wine now,” he said to the server. “To celebrate.”
“Very good, sir.” The server nodded and left.
“So.” Henley looked up from the page he was signing and studied me. “What excitement am I keeping you from this weekend?”
“At the moment, dinner with my boyfriend.”
His grin was cocky. “Ah. I can see it now. Vivian and her corporate lawyer boyfriend discussing case law over a vegan meal, followed by a documentary and twenty minutes of missionary sex.”
“Not exactly.” I checked the page he’d just signed. “Initial on that line with the giant yellow arrow sticker.”
“No?” He gave me a questioning glance. “Enlighten me, then.”
I sighed heavily. “Mr. Cartwright, I rarely speak out of turn with my clients, but I have to say I’m a bit pleased for your soon to be ex-wife’s good fortune.”
“She’s making out quite well, isn’t she? I should’ve hired a better lawyer.”
The guy dripped with arrogance. I ignored his comment and also the glass of wine the server poured for me.
“Surely you aren’t suggesting I’m anything but God’s gift to the fairer sex,” Henley said lightly.
“I’m pretty sure God wouldn’t gift us with someone so arrogant, inconsiderate and immature.”
He laughed. “Ah, Vivian. I like you.”
“I can’t say the feeling is mutual.”
“So this boyfriend of yours . . . I’ve got him pegged all wrong, then? I picture you with a fairly spineless man who lets you call the shots.”
“Picture whatever you’d like.”
His gaze took on a new intensity. “You should give a man with some balls a shot. Find out how good it can feel to be submissive.”
“My boyfriend would kick your ass if he knew you’d even looked at me, let alone made a comment like that.”
“Oh, yeah?”