The clerk collected the documents and payment, made some copies, stapled the receipt to the papers and stamped the official copies. She handed the packet back to Calli and said, “Have a wonderful day.”
Calli tried to smile. She was doing a lot of trying today, but that’s about all she could muster.
Her lawyer shook her hand. “Congratulations, Miss Lindley.” With a quick hug, she left Calli standing alone in the courthouse hall in a lingering cloud of Fucking Fabulous. With her rates, of course, she could bathe in the wildly expensive perfume.
Looking down, the name on the papers certified Calli’s new—as well as her premarriage—identity: Callista Linnea Lindley. She inhaled, exhaled, then pulled out her phone, snapped a photo, and texted the image to the group chat.
After receiving a series of happy and celebration emojis, she flipped over to the app RydeShare and ordered a ride home. The app said five minutes and Wally would be there to pick her up at the front door in a black sedan. Walking toward the door, she chewed her lip and scrolled through her contacts. Selecting Mom from the list, she hesitatingly attached the photo of her name change and tapped the paper airplane. She waited for a reply, hoping her decision to change her last name back would gain her mother’s approval. No response came immediately, so she dropped the phone to her side and pushed through the door to catch her Ryde. The phone buzzed as the wind bit her cheeks and lifted her hair. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked.
Mom:I’m so very sorry, honey. This is such a sad day. I will pray for you.
That definitely didn’t warrant a reply, so she waved to Wally, her driver. He acknowledged her, and Calli slid into the backseat. After confirming her address, she dialed her sister.
“Hiya, Cal,” Cat answered. “Big day, huh?” The words were muffled, indicating she was eating something, but at the sound of her twin’s sympathetic voice, Calli relaxed into the backseat.
Watching the buildings pass outside, Calli said, “It’s done, Cat.”
“And . . . do you feel like a new woman?”
“It really just seems surreal.”
“Did you call Mom?”
“I couldn’t force myself to call. All I get from her is how much of a tragedy it is to have a divorced daughter.” She ran a hand through her hair, sweeping it out of her eyes.
Wally pulled onto the highway toward suburbia and her upper-middle-class neighborhood.
“Cal, she means well.”
“I know. I just hoped that changing my name back to the family name would go a little further than it did. She just told me she’d pray for me. I’m kinda dreading going home next time. I’m sure we’ll see her church friends, and they’ll give me such a sympathetic look. I just don’t know if I can handle that.”
“I’ll be there with you. If nothing else, we can get them to pray over Liam’s cast. I told you he broke his leg in soccer, right?”
Calli giggled. “Yeah, how’s your little man doing?” Her sister Cat did know just how to lighten the mood. Though they saw each other so rarely, they were always close at heart.
After a few minutes of catching up, Calli said, “Hey, sis. I’m almost home. Can we chat later?”
“Yeah, I’ll give you a call tomorrow. Take care of yourself, Cal!”
“Love you!”
“Me too. Kisses.”
Inside her bag, Calli traded her phone for keys just as Wally pulled into her drive. She thanked him, hopped out, and punched in the garage code. If she left now, she should be just in time to pick up her boys, Kent and Jackson, her only remaining joy resulting from the twenty-one years she’d given to Bennett.
Dom
Dominic Moretti wrapped a towel around his waist as he stepped from the shower. Workout complete, he ran through his day’s agenda. He had an appointment with Kyle at Moffitt & Hall down in Cloud 9 to discuss his latest restaurant investment. Afterward, he’d meet with his personal assistant to review his books, and then, for the evening, he’d transform into Nic Moore, restaurant manager, and his evening would be spent with the love of his life, his flagship restaurant, Moretti’s. Supervising the 1920s-style atmosphere was the proverbial cherry on top of his day.
He strolled casually to locker 719, opened the door and dressed, sliding into his Brioni slacks and blazer in preparation for the day of business. Grabbing the brush, he slicked back his hair while making sure the image in the mirror appeared perfectly professional.
Joe Cates, probably his only friend and also his lawyer, appeared at his side after his own shower and opened his locker. Dom had always been a natural introvert, and with his job at the restaurant and busy travel schedule, he had little time for friends. Joe, however, had gotten close over the course of countless business trips. The constant togetherness had given Dom adequate time to warm up, and he wouldn’t trade their friendship for the world.
“That was a kick-ass workout. You were a beast out there. I’ll be sore tomorrow,” Joe said.
Dom cocked a half smile and fastened his shirt and tie. “You’re behind. We’re going to be late for the call.
“What are you talking about? We have half an hour.”
Dom fastened his watch, catching a glimpse of the diamond-inlaid face just to be certain Joe wasn’t exaggerating. He wasn’t, but that was still cutting it too close for Dom’s taste. “Joe,” he said, “the call starts in thirty minutes. We have to get out of here, drive downtown, and get to the nineteenth floor within that time.”
Joe was a last-minute kind of guy; just in time, he liked to remind Dom. In fact, if he could predict—
“We’ll be just in time,” said Joe, hurrying to gather his business clothes.
Yep, there it was, Joe’s mantra. The man had always been there for Dom, so there was no arguing his loyalty. Dom gave his friend an accusatory look.
Joe held up his hands. “All right. All right! I’m moving.” He threw on his clothes, making quick work of belt and buttons. “Let’s go, I’ll finish up in the car.”
“You know, for a lawyer, you really could stand to sharpen up.” Dom hesitated, then with a look at his pants, added, “Your attire, that is,” giving the respect due to Joe’s talent with contract negotiations.
Joe looked down. “They’re not that bad. Plus, they’re wrinkle-free, so they’ll straighten out as I wear them.”
Passing the trainer’s desk, Dom raised his chin to the young brunette manning the computer. He considered giving her his card, thinking she’d probably make for a fun roll in the sack. That was about the only kind of relationship he had time for, but then he reconsidered: the young ones always got attached. He ran a hand through his hair and took the stairs, as usual two at a time. Stairs were designed for short people, and he didn’t fit that bill.
Outside, Dom popped the trunk as they approached his car. Both men slung in their gym bags, then he slid into the leather driver’s seat of his M3, and kicking down the clutch, he pressed start and slid the stick into reverse. With a full-on grin, he revved the engine just a bit before backing out and punching the gas.
“This is one beautiful machine,” Joe said as he finished buttoning up his shirt. Then he hauled out a stack of documents and rustled through the papers. “The owner’s name is Jean Claude, and it’s valued at just under a mil.”