Page 132 of Theirs to Corrupt

“Do we have attorney/client confidentiality?”

She nods. “Anything you say here?—”

“Won’t be immediately shared with Link?”

“Absolutely not. This is a private, privileged conversation.” She’s no nonsense, reassuring. “What is said between us remains between us for all time. Unless you waive your privilege.”

Exhaling, I loosen the grip on my purse.

“What can I do for you?”

Her kindness undoes me. Before I know it, I’m pouring out everything I’ve been holding back—my brother’s betrayal, running away from Chicago, Link and Pax’s intervention, the whirlwind wedding, the fact I have two husbands, and the text messages that shattered my fragile sense of security.

Celeste listens intently, her face a mask of professional concern.

“I’m tired of feeling like a pawn.”

She nods as if she understands completely, though there’s no way that’s true. “You didn’t know about the inheritance your brother mentioned?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t even know if it’s real.”

“Would you like me to find out?”

I appreciate that she hasn’t just decided to handle it without being asked.

“Yes. Please.”

She jots a note, her pen scratching against a yellow legal pad.

“And I have no idea how my brother got my phone number,” I add.

Celeste notes that as well. “And your marriage?” she prompts gently. “How do you feel about that?”

I close my eyes as memories of Las Vegas rush back. The honeymoon was amazing, and there were moments when I forgot about everything else. But reality was always there, lurking in the background.

And now, after everything I’ve learned…

When I don’t answer, she goes on. “Are you happy?”

“Happy?”My voice is sharp. And I shake my head. “I have no idea what that means.” I’ve been overwhelmed: mentally, physically, emotionally. Everything has happened so fast that I’ve barely had time to think.

“Was there a prenuptial agreement?” she asks.

Her question catches me off guard. “No,” I reply, shocked that Link never asked for one.

A small smile plays at the corners of Celeste’s mouth, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of the barracuda beneath her caring exterior.

“Which reminds me. I have a credit card, so I can pay your fee.”

Celeste waves a hand dismissively. “This is a complimentary meeting. We’ll go from there.”

“But—” I start to protest.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Merritt?—”

“Tessa, please,” I interject.

She nods. “Tessa. Your husband will pay any bill I have.”

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