Authors: Brenda Grate
Alan had slipped her Greek house into the divorce contract. He must have had his lawyer do it after she’d given her verbal agreement. He banked on her getting the final draft and not reading it since she’d already read the first copy. He knew her.
Emma had always done her best to avoid unpleasant things, so she would have probably done just that. She felt lightheaded at the thought of signing the house away. Alan would have crowed with victory.
She’d demanded the lawyer remove the house, saying she would never sign it if it were left in. Since he was Alan’s lawyer, he said he’d have to consult his client before doing something “so drastic.”
It was time to find her own lawyer. Emma had given up too soon after the first few refused to take her as a client once they’d learned who the opposing lawyer would be. Alan had picked the worst bulldog law firm in Toronto, knowing most lawyers hated going up against them.
No matter what, though, she knew she couldn’t fight on her own. She’d just have to find someone who would be willing to take them on and wasn’t afraid of a good fight.
Exhausted, Emma got into her car and glared up at the office of the third lawyer she’d visited that day. This one also wasn’t willing to represent her. He’d claimed his schedule was too full, but she knew the truth. He hadn’t said that until she’d told him who represented her ex-husband.
She started her car and then pulled a list from her bag on the seat beside her. At least she still had her BMW. It was in the divorce agreement, but she hadn’t signed it yet. And now that she knew what he was up to, she wasn’t going to sign anything until an impartial lawyer—
does such a thing even exist?
—scoured the documents.
There were two more lawyers listed, but Emma decided she wouldn’t even waste the gas or her time. She pulled out of the parking lot and drove aimlessly for a while.
What do I do now?
Emma wondered if she could bring a lawyer in from another city. But, surely that would cost more than she could afford.
A parking spot on the street appeared in front of her, and she pulled in without realizing where she was. She didn’t recognize this area of Toronto. She turned the car off and slumped over the wheel. Then she lifted her head an inch and banged it back down, again and again.
A giggle burbled up when she realized how utterly stupid she must look. She laughed out loud remembering a joke Brad used to tell.
“Why did the man keep banging his head against the wall?”
“Why?” Emma asked.
“Because it felt so good when he stopped.”
She missed the days when Brad ran around telling jokes and laughing like a loon at the punch line. Sometimes he didn’t even get that far and laughed so hard he could barely tell the joke.
Emma’s eyes welled up.
I miss my son.
Her next thought was,
I need a drink.
She felt a small pang of guilt. She wasn’t the kind of woman to drink in the middle of the day, and not even much at night either. But it was a particularly horrible day and she needed it. She saw a bar up the street. It didn’t look too seedy, so she decided to risk it. She could almost taste the mint and lime of her favorite drink.
She paused just inside the door to let her eyes adjust to the dim light. It was clean and somewhat trendy-looking, but not garish like some of the places that appealed to the large university crowd. There were only a couple of patrons; a man at a table in the back corner and an elderly man chatting with the bartender at the far end of the bar.
Emma made her way to the opposite side and slid onto a stool. She stuffed her bag between her legs and the underside of the counter. She felt foolish being in a bar in the afternoon, especially as the only woman in the place. The dim light soon calmed her nerves, and she smiled at the bartender as he approached.
“A mojito, please.”
He nodded and turned to make her drink. Emma was glad he didn’t seem the chatty sort. While she waited, she looked around and imagined it full of people. The color scheme was dark red and black. It seemed like it should be tacky, but everything blended well together. The seats looked comfortable, just like the stool she sat on. It had a back rest, so she was able to relax.
Just as Emma looked into the mirror behind the bar, the man sitting at the table looked up and they locked eyes. He lifted his drink in a salute and smiled the most beautiful smile Emma had ever seen. She looked down quickly, her face burning. The last thing she wanted was to be hit on. She’d drink her mojito and then get the hell out of there.
The bartender placed her drink in front of her, and she grabbed it as though it were a life raft. She mumbled a thank you and took her first sip. The bartender headed over to the man’s table.
The tartness of the lime and the tang of mint gave Emma a feeling of being on a beach in the sun. Somehow this drink had the power to sweep her away from her mundane life and awoke her mind to all the possibilities life hung in front of her, just out of reach of her grasping fingers.
Why didn’t I take the chance to go to Rome with Connie when she asked me? I should have waited to have the children. I should have lived first.
Emma pushed the guilty feelings back. She loved her children, but they were grown.
There’s a hell of a lot of life left to be lived
.
The bartender came back.
“That man would like to pay for your drink,” he said in a voice that betrayed a lifetime of smoking.
Emma looked into the mirror to see the man smiling at her again. It stirred her insides. He lifted his drink again and she frowned. She couldn’t see his age or much about him from the distance, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t interested.
She shook her head at the mirror and said, “No thank you,” to the bartender and went back to her drink.
Dismissed, he moved away and began wiping the bar.
Emma turned as the stool beside her slid out. The man at the table had hooked his foot around the leg of the stool, his drink in one hand, and a briefcase in the other.
As he sat, he said, “Mind if I join you?”
“Yes,” Emma snapped and turned back to her drink. She struggled against guilt again, but refused to feel bad. She wasn’t feeling particularly friendly toward the entire male gender at the moment, especially as most of the lawyers she’d spoken to today were male.
“Please, go away.”
Without another word, he left and went back to his table. Emma sighed with relief, surprised he’d given up so quickly. Emma sipped the last of her drink and just as she set it down, the bartender put another beside it. She hadn’t even noticed him making it.
“No, thank you,” she said feeling like a robot repeating herself over and over.
“There’s no point,” he said. “It’s made now, you might as well enjoy it.”
“But I didn’t ask for it.”
He shrugged as if to say,
So, what? I didn’t ask for half of the things I’ve gotten either
.
Emma huffed out a breath and gave in. She took her first sip and accidentally looked in the mirror. The man grinned at her and again lifted his drink. Emma glared and looked away.
He was persistent, she’d give him that.
She looked back in the mirror. She felt like she had driven by an accident scene and couldn’t stop looking no matter how gruesome it was. He grinned wide and Emma smiled back before she could stop herself. He had an infectious smile. She thanked him for the drink with a little lift of her glass, then looked away. It wouldn’t do to give him too much encouragement.
Seconds later, the stool slid out again, and before she could stop him, he sat beside her.
“You’re welcome,” he said with another cheeky grin.
He looked older than she’d thought he might be. Probably around her age.
“It wasn’t an invite,” she said. “Just a thank you.”
“Looked like an invite to me. Thanks, I needed a little cheering up.”
Emma’s hand squeezed tighter around her glass at the reminder of her day. “Couldn’t have been worse than mine.”
“Really?” he lifted his eyebrows. “I doubt it.”
“I don’t care to compare days with you,” Emma said, irritated again.
“Had a bad one, did you?”
When Emma didn’t respond other than to give him another irritated look, he grinned.
“I’m a good listener.”
She didn’t know if it was the mojito, which seemed stronger than the first one, or that she had gotten tired of fighting alone, but she opened up. Emma figured since she’d never see him again, maybe it would be good to unburden herself to a stranger. Connie had to be getting tired of being the only one who listened to her complaints.
Emma told him about the demise of her marriage, the fact that he was now with a young pregnant replacement, and how he had tried to steal her inheritance. The man listened impassively other than a grunt once in a while as he sipped his beer, until she got to the girlfriend part.
“Bastard,” he mumbled.
To Emma’s ears, it didn’t have the normal passion usually associated with the word. It almost had a cynical, amused ring to it. She looked at the stranger with raised brows, letting him know she was aware of the undercurrent.
“Sorry,” he said. “I guess I’ve heard so many of these stories, it doesn’t have the same impact it used to. But, I understand that it’s much more personal for you. Please, carry on.”
Emma had finished. She felt like a deflated balloon, limp and empty. It had probably been a good idea to get things out, but now she felt like all her substance had leaked and now she was empty.
“That’s all,” she said. “Yes, he’s a bastard, but as you’ve said, you’ve heard this before. What do you do?” Emma’s swiveled in her chair and looked him over, her gaze narrowing on his suit, briefcase and charming smile. “Wait, you’re a lawyer, aren’t you?”
Before he could respond, Emma yanked open her purse and pulled out her wallet. She slapped a ten on the bar and got to her feet. She glared at him, then turned on her heel and walked out. He hadn’t said a word the whole time, just watched her with a slight smirk.
Emma stood outside the bar fighting the urge to head back inside and slap the smirk off his face. He didn’t purposely try to hide his profession. In fact, he’d all but shouted it with his appearance, but Emma had been too miserable to notice anything but her drink and his pushiness.
Of course, that should have been my first clue.
The door opened behind her as she stepped toward her car, but she refused to turn around. All she wanted was to get home and slip into a hot bath. She felt chilled to the bone despite the warm spring temperatures.
“Wait,” he shouted behind her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. Although I am not sure what I did exactly.”
Emma turned. He was taller than she’d expected. He had a runner’s build, long and lanky and well filled out in the shoulders. He obviously worked out. In the bright sunlight, she could see the lines around his eyes and the silver threading through his dark brown hair. The lines and grey only added to his rugged good looks. His suit fit well, but didn’t look overly expensive. He looked like someone comfortable in his own skin. Emma pushed away the attraction. The last thing she needed was to feel desire for a lawyer of all things.
She softened as she looked at him, despite the anger rising against his kind. “I spent the last several hours trying to find a lawyer to fight my ex but none are willing to go up against his firm. It’s not your fault, but I’m pretty tired of the whole profession right now.”
“Then you need someone to represent you.” He grinned and Emma grinned back before she could stop. “You need someone to help you so isn’t it lucky that I bought you that drink?”
“You didn’t buy me a drink,” Emma snapped. “I paid for it and I’ll pay you to represent me if you think you can protect my house.” She was done with people giving her lines and not delivering on promises.
“I will get you your divorce and protect your inheritance …” he paused and looked at her expectantly.
Emma stared at him for a second, then said, “My name is Emma. Emma Jenkins.”
He took her hand in a firm but gentle grip. “I’m Crispin, Emma. It’s nice to meet you.”
Emma bit back a smile, but was obviously not successful in hiding it from him.
“What?” he asked.
Emma pursed her lips and shook her head.
“My name, right?” He sighed as though he’d gone through the same scenario a hundred times.
“Your name is really Crispin?” Emma giggled and then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbled behind her hand.
“Yes, it’s really Crispin, although most people call me Cris.”
“Well, I like it. It sounds like a name from a bodice ripper.” She grinned at him.
“A what?”
“You know, those romance novels where the hero rips off the heroine’s dress before he
devours
her.”
He tried to look fierce, but he cracked a tiny smile. “I could go with that,” he said while he made an obvious display of looking her up and down.
Emma backed away, hands raised. “Oh, no you don’t, it wasn’t an invitation.” She leaned up against her car. “Can you actually help me?”
Crispin straightened his tie and picked up his briefcase. “Yes.”
“And you don’t even care to know who my ex-husband’s lawyers are?” Emma hadn’t missed that he didn’t even ask.
He opened the case and took out a business card. “Come see me tomorrow at nine and we’ll discuss it. Bring everything you have, especially the division of assets agreement you mentioned. I will get you your divorce and a good settlement, and all I expect in payment is an invite to that little house in Greece. I could use a vacation.”
He waved and left.
Emma watched him walk away while she tried to slow her pulse. She didn’t understand how he could have gotten under her skin the way he had. He seemed a bit too shallow for her to be interested, but maybe that’s what she needed. Someone with a lot less intensity than Alan. Someone who could give her a good time and walk away with a smile. It bore thinking about.