Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“I have a meeting with a client soon, sooo . . .”
A smile rolls into place. “My dad is in town, and he wants us to join him for dinner tomorrow night.”
“What’s the catch?”
My desk phone rings. “Yes, Ashleigh?”
“Your next appointment is here,” my assistant says.
“I’ll be right there.” I hang up and stand, reaching for my jacket hooked on the wall. I mentally calculate how long this meeting will run and how soon I can get to Tealey’s for answers. “I need to go.”
Marlow takes her bag and slips it to the crook of her elbow as she walks toward the door. “So that’s a yes?”
“Sure. Fine.” Just fucking go.
“Thank you, Rad. I can always count on you.” She taps her Rolex before opening the door. “I have to run. My personal shopper is waiting. I’m already fifteen minutes late, so I’ll text you the details. Ciao, darling.”
Like a hurricane, she whips in here, destroys any plans I might have had, and races back out. I should protest, rushing to firmer ground to stand on, but she’s gone, leaving me just enough time to check my schedule. As if I didn’t have enough Marchés for the day . . . Speak of the devil.
I walk out, and Ashleigh flanks my side, handing me a file. She gives me the rundown at the pace of our fast walk. “Robert Marché. Movie producer with credits for three of the biggest films in the past five years. Net worth $350 million. Homes in Sun Valley, Los Angeles, Cabo San Lucas. A condo in Miami, and apartments in Manhattan and Paris. One daughter. Grown. Twen—”
“Twenty-eight,” I fill in, “Robert Marché is Marlow’s father.”
With wide eyes, she asks, “Marlow, who just left Marlow?”
“The very one.”
“Oh. Wow. Does she know he’s getting a divorce?”
“After the conversation we just had, I’m thinking she doesn’t.”
Gripping a small laptop to her chest, she takes a deep breath just as we round the corner. “This should be interesting.”
Maybe that’s why he invited all of us to dinner tomorrow. He’s going to tell her but wants her surrounded by her friends for support. That makes sense. And more so, maybe being surrounded by friends will remind Tealey this is where she belongs. We’re basically a dysfunctional family, but we’re family. “My thoughts exactly.” I stop abruptly and lower my voice. “She can’t find out from us. If she comes by for any reason, make sure we keep this under wraps.”
“Yes, sir.”
I’ve told her a million times, but I tell her again, “It makes me feel like my dad when you call me sir.”
Ashleigh laughs but quickly quietens as a few eyes rise above the edges of the cubicles. “Unless the senior partners are around. It’s just a hard habit to break. Anyway, I’m hoping you’ll take me with you to the top when you make partner, and that means calling you sir, sir.”
“You’re my secret weapon. I’m not going anywhere without you.” I push through the conference room door. “Mr. Marché, it’s been too long.”
Bob is a big man. From his shoulders to his hands, he loves to intimidate others with his large build. “Rad, you’re always welcome to get some sunshine in California.” Patting my arm, he almost knocks me to the side with his hearty hits, but I stand my ground because he’s never intimidated me. “Palm trees. Beautiful women. Blue skies and the ocean. You need to come out for a visit.”
“I do. But you’re here now. Marlow mentioned you were visiting, but I assumed for pleasure.” He’s gone completely gray since I last saw him with white taking over the hair around his ears. Too tan to be a New Yorker, he fits right in with the Hollywood elite.
I refer to my right-hand woman. “This is Ashleigh Walters, my assistant.”
“Hello,” he says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Glancing at me, he lifts a brow. “I was hoping to speak to you alone.”
Ashleigh doesn’t need to be asked to leave but waits for me to confirm before exiting. I nod. “It’s fine.”
“I’ll be at my desk if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” When the door closes, and we sit, I look across the table at him. “It’s always good to see you, but I’ll admit this comes as a surprise. Usually, when someone sits across from me during business hours on a Tuesday, it’s to discuss divorce proceedings.”
“Yes,” he replies, his chunky fingers drumming the glass-top table. “I want to part ways with my current wife.” Of course you fucking do.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“We both know it’s coming and long overdue.” With a clip to his tone, he picks the lint off his sweater.
“So, you’re here for legal advisement?”
“I want you as my lawyer.”
“You have a team of attorneys for every aspect of your life.” His last divorce attorney is probably still on retainer. “Do you mind if I ask why you want to work with me?”