Page 13 of Grand Escape

When Cal moved to New York, we decided to open Stern & Stern, co-repping clients in New York with Cal signing off as the lawyer in charge. The added bonus was with New York offices listed on our masthead, we pulled in all the big clients in Detroit, especially Grosse Pointe. Then Cal ended up representing one of the Housewives (yes, those housewives), and luckily for him, I’d actually passed the bar in New York, so I could help.

After that, it was pretty much open season for us. Everyone wanted a Stern handling their divorce. It wasn’t something I bragged about, but it paid the bills and then some.

“I’ll call her,” I told Cal. “She’ll sign today, and we can put this one to bed. It’s been a long road.”

Cal chuckled. “And a well-billed one at that, which is why she needs to sign. Any more hours on this and there’ll be nothing left for her. Just kidding, but their bill is getting astronomical.”

This made me laugh.

Mr. Brody owned a lingerie chain out of Ohio. He’d met Mrs. Brody when she was a model in one of his shows. A few kids later, and Mr. Brody decided it was time to trade the old Mrs. Brody in for a newer, younger model.

“She’s the one who signed that prenup that took divorce costs out of her settlement. Not the smartest cookie.”

“Hey, she did that without any representation,” I said, defending my client.

“Did you sleep with her?”

“Cal. Seriously, no. Don’t go there. I didn’t and never wanted to.” I had no idea why I bothered to explain myself to him. My brother always did and said what he wanted anyway.

After spending the last ten minutes pacing in front of the patio door, thinking I should I hit the pool, I sat down on the chair.

Cal’s voice sobered. “After Becca, you’ve been weird. You know this. I’m not saying what happened with her wasn’t awful. You know damn well none of us will ever forget it or not believe we didn’t fail her, but still—”

“I don’t sleep with clients, and you’re interrupting my vacation,” I said sharply. Throwing my head back, I blew out a breath.

“I’ll bet you’re sitting in your room waiting for room service.”

“I am not,” I muttered, lying again. “I’m waiting to call Mrs. Brody and then go to the pool.”

“So, call her. Tell her to sign and make a life for herself and stop wasting money. Her kids will be taken care of, and she needs to move on.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will. Anything else?”

“Try to have fun. You’re sucking the life out of everyone around you. It’s time to move on.”

Muttering, “Asshole,” I ended the call.

I hated to admit it, but Cal was right. It was time I got back to living, but not with the already involved bartender. Even if she was a smoke show and a live wire all wrapped up in one.

After a FaceTime session with Sasha Brody, during which I insisted she agree to the terms of her divorce while also maintaining my professional distance, I ate my egg white and spinach omelet and then went down to the pool.

I wasn’t sure what I would do there. I didn’t have a book or one of those electronic readers. I had my phone and SPF 30, and a sixth sense for sexy young women with sassy attitudes.

Walking around the pool area, I spotted a number of couples mooning over each other, and several large groups of women, presumably bachelorette parties or wealthy spring breakers. I couldn’t help glancing toward the pool bar where I’d sat the first night, and noted Rylan wasn’t there.

With nothing for me at the pool, I decided to hit the beach, and headed for the white sand and glittering water. I grabbed an empty chair and plopped down, taking in the smattering of royal blue and white striped umbrellas littering the sandy area, blue water ahead, as clear as crystal. Jet Skis whirred off in the distance, sounding a lot like those white-noise sound machines they advertised on infomercials.

This was literally a dream vacation spot, a fantasy for most. The price was steep, but that wasn’t what bothered me. My problem was that I was here all by myself, lonely and sad. I needed to get a life.

Rather than do something about that, I closed my eyes and relaxed into the chair. I must have fallen asleep, proving my point. They needed to bottle the air around here.

“All that vodka probably didn’t help you this morning either.”

The voice penetrated my bliss. I wondered what kind of dream I was having, where it smelled and sounded divine.

“Hopefully, you didn’t have some more already. Teddi has a heavy hand. We’re working on her not serving up so much of the booze at once. It’s not good for profit margins, but if she hooked you up, you’re flying high,” the voice of my current dreams said.

Slowly, I awoke and opened one eye. Sure enough, sprawled out on the chair next to me was Rylan.

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