The Divorce Club (23 page)

Did he just say 'compensation'? I gawk at
him. This is even more ridiculous than sending the lawyer after me.
"You want to pay me? For what?"

"For your inconvenience, of course. The only
thing we ask for is your discretion in keeping the matter
quiet."

"You mean sweep it under the rug?" I ask.

He nods as he stares at me meaningfully. In
that moment, it dawns on me. Instead of calling, Jamie sent his
lawyer to silence me because he doesn't want his missus to find out
about France. Whatever's going on in his marriage, he probably
hasn't told me half of it. I'm not a rebound relationship like Mel
suggested. To him, I'm either just a way to get back at Chloe, or
some wicked tactic to regain his masculinity and prove to the world
he's still attractive in spite of a failed marriage.

Hot and cold shivers run down my spine as I
sit in my bed, propped up on my deflated pillow. "How much?"

He flicks through his papers, but it's quite
obvious from the way his eyes fail to move that it's just for show.
Eventually, he settles on a sheet and drums his fingers on the
table. "We were thinking along the line of two thousand."

I snort. That's all his marriage is worth to
him? Keith must interpret it as a sign of disapproval because he's
quick to come up with a second offer. "How does three sound to you?
I personally think that's rather generous."

"Listen." My gaze feels alight with fury as I
glare at him. "I'm not interested in his money. If he wants me to
keep quiet, so be it. My lips are sealed. No one will ever hear a
word from me. I'll even sign the papers for you as long as he
promises not to set foot in my club ever again."

Keith stares at me, speechless for a second,
and then clears his throat. "I must admit I didn't anticipate this
outcome. I'll have to call in and discuss this option with my
client. If you'll excuse me for a moment." In other words, he
expected me to turn into a gold-digger the moment I found out his
client
is a stuck-up snob with no regards for other people's
feelings but plenty of cash at the bank. I wish Mel were here
instead of me. She sure would've taken him to the cleaners.

"Why don't you give me the phone and I'll
tell him myself?" I ask, sweetly.

"I'm sorry, this is something I need to
discuss with Mister Bowers privately. I'll be right back."

"You might want to tell your client he has
either ice running through his veins or he sucks at covering up his
infidelities. It must be nice to put two people in the hospital and
walk away, then offer them money and not even care enough to come
visit."

"He has an important business meeting in
London," Keith says.

"Of course." I snort and mutter under my
breath, "Probably with his other advisor on how to get rid of
Chloe."

"I'll be right back." Keith retrieves his
phone from his pocket and walks out. I'm fuming inside because I
was so stupid to think Jamie might be different. He's a man; I
should've expected a stunt like this.

By the time Keith returns a few minutes
later, I've already calmed down a little. I peer at him
expectantly, waiting to be given a pen and paper on the spot.

"My client won't agree to your proposition
because he needs the club's services." He emphasizes the word
'club' as though it's the kind of establishment men frequent to get
a lap dance. If Jamie's trying to keep France a secret, then I
don't expect him to have told his lawyer what my club's all about.
My temper flares again.

"I'm not a brothel-keeper. My club doesn't
offer any kind of porn, dancing or otherwise, so stop giving me
that look. Tell him I have the right to annul his membership."

"He warned me you'd say that. Since he paid
this month's fee he won't accept being kicked out. It wouldn't be
good for your reputation," Keith says.

What's with this man and his tendency to
blackmail me? "Fine, whatever. I still don't want a nickel. If he
doesn't accept a refund that's fine, but the club's closed until
further notice because, as you can see, I'm in a hospital."

Nodding, Keith starts shoving his papers
inside his briefcase and snaps it shut as he speaks without looking
at me, "You know what? I have a feeling this business between Jamie
and you is rather personal and wish I hadn't come. Why don't you
two just get together and discuss the issue because it doesn’t seem
as though you need a lawyer. It was lovely meeting you, Sarah. If
you ever need legal advice—" he pushes his card into my hand and I
take it out of politeness "—give my office a call. We're experts in
dealing with all court matters and more. Good day to you."

He's gone before I can even open my mouth,
but I don't have time to consider his abrupt exit. The door opens
again and Greg comes in. My breath catches in my throat as hundreds
of thoughts race through my mind at once. It's only been three
months, yet I feel as though he's coming back home after years.
Unfortunately, it's not a pleasant reunion.

Greg seems touched as he hovers in the
doorway, one hand gripping the handle. A smile spreads across his
lips; the dark skin under his hazel eyes creases into thin lines.
His shirt is disheveled as though no one bothered to iron it after
the wash. The once meticulously styled hair needs a good wash and
cut.

"Come in." I point at the table and chair,
but he sits on the bed next to my feet.

"I wasn't sure whether you'd see me," Greg
says.

I laugh at his word choice. "You didn't
exactly announce your presence and give me a choice to run for the
hills, but it's okay. Given Sam's our daughter, I'll just let it
pass this time."

"Well, I'm happy to see you too." He leans
back, crossed.

"What did you expect? Chocolate and
air-kisses? You didn't bring any of those either."

"I considered the air-kissing thing, but I
thought you might slap me." Grinning, he reaches inside his pocket
and pulls out a tiny box of
Tesco's Value
pralines, then
pushes it toward me. "I know you like them."

My blood is boiling. If there's any gesture
that could sum up our marriage, this is it. "I liked them because
we couldn't afford anything better since I was working hard to
cover the bills while you were busy shacking up in expensive hotels
with your mistress."

"Here you are in the hospital, all black and
blue, and yet, you still have energy to play 'The Blame Game',"
Greg says.

I'm so angry I toss the praline box across
the room, watching it smack against the door and landing on the
floor with a thud. "Trust me, I stopped blaming you a long time
ago. I'm just talking facts here."

"Maybe you should start seeing my point. I
also—"

"No." I shake my head because if I let him
continue one word will lead to another and then we both will end up
in need of mental help. "Seeing Sam's fine with me, but why are you
here? There's nothing we could possibly want to talk about unless
you mean to catch up on your child support payments, of which I
haven't seen a single check by the way."

Greg sighs. "The blame game again. If you
weren't such a nag I would never have started an affair."

I smile coldly, gazing at the man I wasted
thirteen years of my life on. His words hit me hard when they
shouldn't. I guess he left a rift in my heart that will always be
sore, ready to rip into shreds if I let it happen. Luckily, I've
found ways to deal with it. He'll never get close enough again.
"Why are you here?" I ask coldly.

A hint of surprise crosses his features. He
didn't expect me to ignore him, and neither did I, but I'm tired of
his mind games.

"Isn't it obvious? I wanted to see you," Greg
says.

Pretending he cares won't take him far when
he hasn't even asked how I am. I shake my head. "You have an
ulterior motive. Let's not waste my time. I'm tired and need my
rest."

He squirms, gaze glued to the white linen
covering my legs. It makes me feel awkward, exposed to a
stranger.

"Jenny and I are over."

"What?" I'm not sure I heard right, so I lean
forward.

"Come on. Making me repeat it is just mean.
You know this is uncomfortable."

I snort, but not with glee. Hearing his
romance didn't last doesn't come as a surprise. I just never
figured he'd actually tell me about it. "And I need to know, why?"
My voice is dripping with sarcasm.

He takes a deep breath. "Because I know you
don't want to see me starving and dirty, warming my hands over a
barrel with crackling fire and sleeping on the street covered in
newspaper like some bum."

I nod. "Wow. Dreams do come true."

"Sarah, you couldn't possible mean it." He
looks so calculating, I can't believe I ever fell for this in the
past. "I left her for you."

"You mean she kicked you out?" I ask, amused.
"And here I thought she was just another pretty face."

"No. I left." The way his eyes scan the
sheets for a second tells me he's lying. So she ended things and
threw him out, and now he thinks if he tells me he left her I'll
jump at the opportunity of getting him back.

I roll my eyes. "What a tragedy! Too bad
Shakespeare isn't here to write it."

He blinks and grabs my hand, his thumb
stroking my palm. "I need your help, Sarah. Please, for the sake of
all the happy years we shared."

Manipulation, mind games—he's always been
good at them, but not this time. Regarding him, I shake my head.
"You're not moving back in. Not even for an hour."

Smiling, he nods. "You're still hurt. I can
understand your pain. My world would've been shaken too if you did
this to me."

"The only thing that's going to be shaking is
your head when I shake some sense into it."

He reaches for my hand. "Or
our
bed
when you come to your wits and see that you and Sam need me."

"Sleep with you?" I laugh. "Keep dreaming.
That will never happen. I'd rather poke my eyes with needles."

"Ouch." He sighs. "Look, I'm really sorry for
what happened."

Another bluff. He's not sorry, never will be,
and he wouldn't be here if his girlfriend didn't kick him out. "I'm
not hurting any more. I like my life the way it is. There's no more
room for you in it."

He shrugs. "I'm not asking if I can jump into
your bed—just the sofa."

I can't believe he's even considering that
option. "That's how it starts. You sneak in through a crack like a
cockroach, and I'll never be able to get rid of you again."

"You can think what you want, but Sam's happy
to have me back. She says she's not too old to have me tuck her in
at night. She's agreed to cook me breakfast every morning and make
homemade orange juice as long as I stay. You wouldn't believe her
face when I told her how good I was at math. I even put a math
problem next to my name when I signed her cast. Sam wants me in her
life, whether you like it or not."

"What?" Bile rises in my throat. "Don't you
dare!"

He shrugs. "She so looks forward to spending
more time with her dad, but I can tell her you'd rather see me
sleeping on the street or on a park bench than on the sofa."

"You bastard!" I lean forward and push his
hand away. Exercising violence to bring my point across has never
been part of my personality, yet, I feel a strong urge to punch and
kick some sense into him right now. I won't stoop so low and decide
to use words instead. "You're a despicable excuse of a man,
thinking you can come back and take your old place like it's there
for you to take. I honestly hate you from the bottom of my
heart."

From the smug grin on his face I can tell if
the words even registered with him, he doesn't take them seriously.
"I'll go unpack and take a shower. If you need anything give me a
call. You know our number. See you tomorrow then."

I stare at him, dumbfounded, as he prepares
to leave, that unnerving smile still playing on his lips. "Wait! If
you even think about entering my house, I'll report you for
breaking and entering
.
"

"Go ahead. I dare you. At least I'll have
three hot meals and a cot." He dangles Sam's keys in my face.
"Besides, it's not trespassing if our daughter gave me the keys.
The police wouldn't arrest me for that."

I snort. "You can't be serious, Greg. Forget
living on the streets! You need a straitjacket and lots of meds.
Give me those keys back," I shout. "You have no right to set foot
in my house."

"Our cat lady neighbor might think
differently. You know how she hates divorce." He pushes out his
chin, eyes glinting. "She'll be thrilled to hear I'm moving back
in, especially after having one of your dates scare her half to
death."

"What?"

He bobs his head up and down as he starts
shouting. "Oh, yeah, Cat Lady told me how some guy stayed the
night. Did he sleep in our bed? How is that good for Sam, Sarah?
What kind of example are you setting for our daughter?"

I know this is getting ugly, but I can't help
myself. Greg always managed to bring out the worst in me. "Example?
Like you have any room to talk. Why don't you just shack up with
Fluffy and Cat Lady? Beats sleeping in London's night buses because
that's where you'll be staying."

"You know I'm allergic to cats," Greg
says.

"What do I care? Yank out the carpet, buy
some HEPA air filters, wash your hands, don't rub your eyes, and
vacuum every day. You'll be just fine."

"I'm picking you up tomorrow." He heads for
the door.

"Give me those keys back," I shout. "I'll
make flyers saying 'Lost Dog' with your picture on them. Last seen
humping his secretary and answers to Greg. I'll pass them out to
everybody on our street."

Greg shakes his head, grinning. "Hell hath no
fury like a woman scorned."

"I'm not scorned, you idiot. I'm trying to
keep you out. You have no right to set foot in my house."