“Deal,” she says, sipping her wine. “I mean—I wouldn’t want to piss off my truffle-butter dealer.” She takes another bite.
It’s very gratifying to cook for Charli. She looks super happy right now.
“It still blows my mind a little,” she says. “Cornelius Drake III can cook. You even made eggplant taste good.”
I put down my fork. “Charli, if you want me to stop making dirty jokes, you have to stop serving them up to me like that.”
She laughs and covers her mouth. “Ten bucks says you bought the eggplant just to make that joke.”
“No, ma’am. Eggplant is super healthy. You should have more of it in your diet.” I give her a sleazy wink.
She rolls her eyes and goes back to her meal. “So, what’s our plan? Is the lawyer calling at a set time?”
“He’s sending over some papers, and we’re supposed to call him after we receive them.”
“Even if business hours are over? It’s eight o’clock.”
“Yeah. I guess his clients get into trouble at all hours of the day. He’s used to it.”
“And I’ll bet he charges accordingly.”
I smile at her over my dinner plate. “Trust me, he does. But don’t worry about that, Charli. You promised you’d let me handle this.”
“Because I have no choice.” She takes a tiny bite of steak, like maybe she’s trying to make it last longer. “But my experience with men who say, ‘Trust me, Charli,’ has not been great.”
“I’m here to break your streak,” I insist. “I’m going to make this right.”
“Okay,” she says warily.
It’s time to bring out the big guns. “There’s chocolate cheesecake for dessert.”
She puts her chin in her hand and lifts those green eyes to mine. “Thank you for dinner, Neil.”
“You’re welcome, doll.” I give her a wink.
“Still can’t call me that,” she grumbles.
“Not even while we’re married?”
She scrapes the last of the cheesy cauliflower off her plate and eats it. “Not even then.”
But she’s smiling when she says it.
SEVEN
SKITTISH KITTEN
Charli
After dinner, I insist on tidying up Neil’s kitchen.
I cannot believe he cooked that lovely meal for me. Of all the bonkers things that have gone down in the last twenty-four hours, a steak dinner shouldn’t shock me the most. And yet it does.
When his white casserole dish is clean again, I dry it with a crisp dish towel and put it away in a pristine cabinet. The tiles glisten under warm lighting, and Neil has some music playing on an invisible stereo system.
This place is like a foreign country, where every drawer is tidy and even the bottle of dish soap is pretty. My belly is full of exquisite food, and I feel… almost optimistic.
Which is just crazy. Today was a disaster by any measure. Maybe I’m not as sharp as I thought, though, because a nice meal, a glass of wine, and a pretty kitchen have smoothed all my rough edges.
Apparently, my inner skittish kitten is easily bought off with treats.
Just as I’m closing the dishwasher door, a phone affixed to the wall chimes. Neil answers it, and the concierge tells him that the lawyer’s documents are on the way upstairs.
“Thank you,” he says as I streak past him to reach the foyer. I open the door for a sweaty messenger in a bicycle helmet who’s trotting down the hallway.
He passes me his phone and asks me to sign. I scribble my initials and greedily accept the envelope he’s brought us.
“Hey, I’ll take that,” Neil says from right behind me.
“Why? Are you going to mansplain the documents to me?”
“No, but—” He tries to take the envelope from me, but I duck under his arm and edge away.
That puts Neil in a pickle. The messenger is gazing hopefully at him. Neil lets me go and reaches for his wallet to tip the guy.
I’m not afraid to play dirty, so I slip farther way, heading into Neil’s generous living room.
“Hand it over,” he says, joining me a moment later. “I’d like to read it first. My name is on the envelope, isn’t it?”
“So? This mess belongs to both of us equally.” I’m eager for a solution, so I rip open the envelope and skim the cover letter. Dear Cornelius, enclosed please find a summary of divorce procedure, and… “Whoa!” I cry. “Your family wants us to sign a post-nuptial agreement? Is that like a prenup for people who were too stupid to sign it before they got hitched?”
“Basically,” he says with a sigh. “Charli, let me read it first.”
“Hell, no,” I say. “We’ll read together. The first page is an introduction to New York divorce law…” I skim the letter. There are several paths to divorce in New York, including a no-fault option. Depending on the path, a divorce could be accomplished in as few as twelve weeks, or it could take nine months. After you agree to the post-nuptial agreement, we will discuss your options…
“Twelve weeks,” I breathe. “Ouch.”
“That’s not that long,” Neil says from over my shoulder.
I’m still skimming. “It also says that the divorce will be on the public record.”
“So will the marriage,” Neil points out. “We know this already.”
This is upsetting, though, and I feel the urge to remind him again that we should have stayed in Vegas to try for an annulment. We might have been able to take care of this faster and more privately.
On the other hand, this whole mess would have been avoided if I weren’t a weak and stupid person. So I keep my silence and turn the page, where it says POST-NUPTIAL AGREEMENT in big letters.
That’s when Neil makes a sneak attack, reaching for the papers. I handily leap aside, just out of his reach. “If you want to take something from a professional athlete, you got to try a little harder than that.”
“Charli,” he says cautiously. “The appearance of that post-nup means my uncle is involved now. He probably put some ridiculous shit in there. I’d like to read it first.”
“Neil, I said I’d let you handle the divorce, but I didn’t say you could keep me out of the loop.”
He sighs.
“Besides, I already know what it’s going to say. When I divorce you, I don’t get a penny. That’s exactly as it should be.” I skim the first page, but the text is dense, and there’s a lot of legalese. I navigate over to the world’s least comfortable sofa and sit down to read.
WHEREAS Cornelius Harmon Drake III is legally wedded to Charlotte Fern Higgins. This document sets forth the terms of their divorce. Upon divorce, the settlement of their affairs will proceed as follows. Charlotte Fern Higgins will receive a cash payment of $250,000…
I let out a choked-off shriek. “What the actual fuck! You never told me your family was stupid. Don’t they know I’m divorcing your ass for free?”
“Charli, they don’t know that. I’m warning you that document is going to be a tough read. And whatever they’re offering you—it won’t be worth it.”