Page 42 of Broken Halo

“I’m good.” He shifts and motions for me to enter the lion’s den. “Hold my calls, please.”

I take a big breath and make myself as tall as I possibly can in my four-inch wedges. He still towers over me as I stride past him, and I try to channel my inner Jensen Montgomery and act like I have my shit together so I don’t stab him with an elbow to the gut as I walk by. After the other day, I’m pretty sure it’s the only way I can withstand touching Trig Barrett without falling apart.

I park my ass in one of the deep leather chairs across from his desk and he follows, luckily for me, leaving his office door wide open. Witnesses—witnesses are always good. I have no clue what to expect from him and having someone sitting outside the door will keep me in check should he piss me off.

Trig takes his spot at his desk and I stare at him like a rare animal I never knew existed. I don’t know this Trig—this Easton Barrett—attorney-at-law and badass in a custom suit, not only in the courtroom, but also the boardroom since my sister is smart and wouldn’t have hired him otherwise. The man I fell in love with was dusty and covered in dirt from working my family’s ranch every day. But at night, when we’d meet, he was always in a clean T-shirt and jeans, his hair damp from a shower. His skin was fresh and smelled of soap—a hint of citrus and the woods in the early morning at sunrise.

I wonder if he still smells like that.

Dammit, I should’ve gotten a whiff as I walked by.

No. I don’t need to know how he smells now. Maybe he stinks. But Jen wouldn’t hire him if he stinks. Maybe he’s so into himself now he smells like the cologne counter at Nordstrom. I can’t smell him from here, so probably not. Or maybe he smells like his shiny, new Mercedes.

That’s it. He must reek of new-car smell, just like he looks. A shiny new version of the original that was far superior and the updates have only ruined what once was.

“Here’s your tea.”

I jerk as Jessica holds a steaming mug in front of me. “Thank you.”

“You can shut the door,” Trig commands.

No! I need the door open.

“And go ahead and take off early. I don’t have anything else the rest of the day and I can take care of any voicemails,” he adds.

Shit. The door closed and my only witness sent home early? What the fuck is he doing? I should’ve made our appointment at eight o’clock this morning. No way could he do without his admin for the whole day.

Good job, Ellie. One bad decision after another.

Instead of begging Jessica to stay like the desperate woman I am, I take a sip of my tea before setting it on a coaster as my only witness walks out of my life with no knowledge of the drama she’s leaving in her wake.

The moment the door clicks behind me, Trig leans back in his fancy chair and catches my eyes, holding me hostage. Damn him. He doesn’t even try to make me feel comfortable.

“Can we get on with it? I’m paying for a sitter and she’s been there most of the day. It’s Griffin’s first day back with her and I’d like to get home.”

He tips his head. “It’s better than paying my hourly fee.”

I lift my hand, motioning between the two of us. “You’re the one who insisted on this arrangement. I had an attorney and you kicked him out of my office.”

“You wouldn’t be paying for a sitter right now had you let me in last night.”

“About that,” I start, uncrossing my legs and crossing them the other way. His eyes drop to my body as I shift in my chair. I do my best to ignore it as I lay down the law. “No more surprise visits. From now on, we’ll meet here. No—better yet, we’ll meet in Jen’s office. With Jen. She can be our referee even though she pissed me off by telling you where I was last night. But I need to be able to be at work and at home without the feeling that you’re going to pop in at any moment. Okay?”

He narrows his eyes and his voice hits me, deep and gruff. “No.”

I feel my brows pinch and my voice rises. “No?”

“No,” he confirms, flipping open a file sitting front and center on his desk. I’m about to argue, but he changes the subject. “I have some questions about your marriage.”

“It was shit,” I bite and he presses his lips together but keeps flipping through what I assume is my file. It’s thicker than I imagined. “I need CPS and my ex-dead-in-laws—or whatever you want to call them—off my back. Why do you have questions about my marriage?”

He leans back in his chair and his thumb and index finger contemplates his chin. “Was it ever not shit?”

My heart palpitates and my palms heat. “Why does it matter?”

“I have to paint you a certain way in court and your dead husband’s parents are making serious allegations against you. I need to know everything I can.”

I look to my right at the credenza that’s filled with diplomas, awards, and what looks to be signed footballs and baseballs. There’s a framed Dodgers jersey on the wall hanging next to a Dallas Stars hockey stick. Beside that, there’s a picture of him and his mom—a snapshot taken at the beach. I realize I don’t really know him—the soul I planned to spend the rest of my life with, make a slew of babies with, and be ridiculously happy forever and ever with…

---