Or at least easier?
I walked into the conference room and closed my eyes against the sweet coolness that hit my face. This room was super cooled and even though the November chill had turned biting and ice-filled, I had been overly warm since I walked in this building.
Seriously, I was bordering on pit stains here. All this nervous energy gave me hot flashes straight from hell.
Nick’s lawyer was young and attractive. He exuded an energy that made me feel like chum in shark infested waters-meaning, I could tell he was good at his job before he ever opened his mouth.
The conference room matched him. A huge, gleaming table sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by tall, comfortable leather chairs. Floor to ceiling windows took up one entire wall, boasting a beautiful view of the city and the busy traffic down below.
I glanced back at dear, old Mr. Cavanaugh and realized he hadn’t given me his first name. I knew it from when I looked it up, but he’d asked me to specifically call him Mr. Cavanaugh.
Nick was without a doubt on a first name basis with his lawyer. They probably went golfing on Saturdays because that was the kind of client services this kid provided. Then Nick would get a bill in the mail for six thousand dollars and an invitation to do it all over again.
I hated the guy before he ever jutted out his hand and introduced himself as Ryan Templeton.
“Kate Carter,” I said in return and gracefully extracted my hand.
“Normally I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, Kate, but…”
“It’s not,” I finished for him.
His smile told me he was used to this response. He waved at a chair for me to take and I did so I wouldn’t have to small talk with him anymore.
“I’m just going to grab Marty and tell him we’re ready.”
Marty Furbish was the man we’d hired to mediate. He came highly recommended from Mr. Cavanaugh and apparently Nick’s camp agreed. I hoped he was as nice as his name made him sound. I had a feeling I would need all the help I could get today.
Mr. Cavanaugh sat down next to me and opened his briefcase on the table to pull out the documents we would need. He handed me a legal pad and a pen and told me I could take my own notes if I wished.
I thought that was thoughtful of him. I immediately doodled my name and today’s date in the right-hand corner. Teacherly habit.
Nick took the seat directly across from me and I breathed a little easier with the heavy, wide table between us. Ryan ushered Marty Furbish into the room, showed him to his seat at the head of the table, then took his seat next to Nick.
We were officially ready to begin.
The beginning of the proceedings was beyond tedious. There was a lot of legalese spoken and a long retelling of everything I already knew. I was the plaintiff, filing for divorce, or dissolution of marriage. Nick had decided to be a jackass and make every single thing as difficult as he could so forth and so on.
Ryan slid me an itemized list of all of the material possessions Nick considered his. “Among the items we have listed here, which my client claims are his,” I began to peruse them slowly, ticking off everything with begrudging approval, “my client would also like full ownership of the house. Ms. Carter may willingly give up her portion or sell fifty percent of the appraised-”
“What?” My murderous glare found Nick’s and if looks could kill, I wouldn’t need to file for divorce, I’d be able to collect his life insurance.
Neither his stare nor his voice wavered. “I want the house, Katie.”
“But you can’t afford the house!”
“I can.”
“You can’t.”
“I can.”
“You forget that I know what you make, Nick. You can’t afford it! Besides, you already agreed to give it to me!”
Mr. Cavanaugh tried to settle me down. “Ms. Carter, if you would-”