Page 7 of The Wrong Guy

Chrissy eats a tiny forkful of rice, considering what Mom said. I open my mouth to add my two cents, especially given I’m a lawyer, and Mom kicks me under the table. “Ow!” I hiss. But instead of apologizing, she gives me that Mom glare that says, You need to shut up right now or you’ll feel my wrath.

So I do what any smart person does. I shut the hell up.

“You’re right,” Chrissy admits. “I met with a lawyer on Saturday, and things are already in motion. Actually—”

When Chrissy pins me with a shrewd gaze, I freeze in confusion. I typically think of Chrissy as a bit of an airhead, trophy wife, without a brain of her own in her head. What I see lurking in her blue eyes now is ... intelligence, anger, and a desire to hit Jed where it’ll hurt the most.

I’m impressed.

“Since you’re here, I guess I can fill you in, Wren ... my lawyer is going to contact you. It seems that dividing assets when you’re personally and corporately embedded with the city on properties, contracts, and such is not as easy as splitting everything right down the middle. Especially when there’s a baby to consider. Brookstone is huge, but it’s done, so it shouldn’t be a problem to divide proceeds. But the smaller Township build is the real issue.” Chrissy sounds annoyed at the speed bump in her drag strip race to divorce.

Township is a much smaller development that Jed’s company is building on the outskirts of Cold Springs. It’s nothing like the one he tried to rush through before. No huge influx of newcomers to destroy the town, no need for rezoning or ramrodding existing owners off their property. Township is actually a nice little pocket of semiattached townhomes that’ll provide affordable housing for people who already live in Cold Springs. I kind of think it’s Jed’s way of apologizing to the town he grew up in ... in a way that’s still financially beneficial for him. Which is, of course, key for my uncle.

“Wait, did you say a baby?” Mom questions sharply.

Chrissy clenches her teeth and inhales loudly through her nose. “Yes. Jed’s hussy is very ... very ... pregnant. I want this done so I never have to sit in a courtroom with Jed, his new woman, and their child.”

I don’t know if Chrissy ever wanted children. Never thought about it, I guess. But whether she did or didn’t, maintaining civility in that situation would be hard for anyone, so I understand her rush.

“Oliver will be handling the divorce,” Chrissy says to me, “but he’ll have to work with you and Norton to get everything sorted for Township so that it’s split properly.”

She’s back to all business, and judging by the way she’s talking, she’s definitely more than a single meeting with a lawyer into this. Unless this Oliver guy is a shark in the deep, emotional, dangerous waters of divorce when there’s wealth involved, this isn’t going to be easy at all. What Chrissy’s suggesting is complex and multifaceted.

“Sure, give him my number. I can meet with him anytime this week,” I tell Chrissy, well aware that my schedule isn’t that full with Ben still trying to do everything he can.

She nods politely, and I can tell that she’s already done that. “And just so we’re clear, I know the relationship between you and Jed might be seen as problematic, being as you’re both Fords. I trust that you can stay professional, and separate family from law.”

I narrow my eyes, peering at my aunt carefully. She knows I have no warm fuzzies for my uncle, but I also don’t have any for her. “My oath is to the law itself. My job is to represent Cold Springs. Frankly, your divorce isn’t my business. Though I’m sorry.” Polite, civil, to the point.

“Good. And, Pamela, I’m sorry, but this is definitely going to involve you and Bill. I can’t help it. That’s actually what I came to talk about tonight. Oliver will likely want to meet with you too.”

Mom raises one perfectly arched and penciled-in brow. “Thank you for the heads-up. Bill and I will tell the truth, whatever’s asked of us. Of that, you can be sure.”

“I appreciate that,” Chrissy says, seemingly oblivious that what Mom and Dad have to say might not paint either Jed or Chrissy in the best light. There’s a long moment of awkward silence where I think Mom is supposed to invite Chrissy to lunch or schedule that Pilates class together, but Mom stays quiet long enough that Chrissy gives up. “Well, I’d better let you get back to your dinner. I hear you’re doing quite well at city hall, Wren. Hope this doesn’t toss too big of a wrench in that.”

My focus whiplashes around, trying to figure out Mom and Chrissy’s relationship—of which I thought was mainly civil distance—and then centering back on the familiar topic of work. “Thanks. Ben’s taught me so much. Hopefully, I can fill his big shoes when he leaves.”

I’ll bitch about Ben to Mom because she knows I’m venting and truly respect him, but I would never say a rude word about him, or anyone else for that matter, to Aunt Chrissy. She’s of the “if you don’t have anything nice to say, come sit by me” gossip mentality, and I don’t have the time, patience, or manners to put up with that. Especially in a town the size of Cold Springs.

“You just do your best.” The motto is less encouragement and more condescension, but I force myself to flash a polite, politician’s-family smile.

Mom walks Chrissy back to the door, and though I shovel in a few bites of shrimp and rice while she’s gone, I’m mostly thinking about what Chrissy said.

“Holy wowww,” Mom drawls out as she sits back down. “That was unexpected.”

“Unexpected? The look on your face told me you expected it!”

Mom shakes her head. “Just rumblings at tennis over the weekend.”

“Rumblings? Mom, that was some crazy bullshit!” I explode. “Divorce, baby, property division? I mean, when did our family turn into a soap opera? What’s Jed thinking?”

Mom chuckles at my outburst. “I don’t know what Jed’s up to. Don’t really give two shits, if I’m honest.” I whistle at Mom’s uncommon use of a curse word, and she grins behind a hand. “He almost ran Bill into the ground. Did cut several years off his life, far as I’m concerned, and I wouldn’t piddle on him if he was on fire.” That’s a top-tier insult from Mom. Actually, come to think of it ... I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say anything that violent. About anyone. “But if he’s up to no good again, especially in the way Chrissy says, she deserves at least half for helping him become the success he is.” Mom shakes her head sadly. “She’s been wearing rose-colored glasses where that man’s concerned for entirely too long. It’s about time she sees the truth. I hope she makes him pay for every asshole-ish thing he’s done.”

“Dayum, go, Mom,” I deadpan. “Right for the jugular without a single remorseless cell in your body.”

“Wren!” Mom scolds. “You’re awful.”

But I grin. “It was a compliment.”

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