Page 53 of Finding Our Reality

“What for? TV stuff?”

“No, this is consultant work for an upcoming trial. Medical malpractice.”

He cracks open another beer. “What are you doing for it?”

“Well, they hired me a while back to do in-depth research to find two medical professionals who would be the best fit for our case. I needed one expert in a particular surgery technique and one expert for a particular piece of equipment. We had web meetings with both of them to discuss and prepare. One of them is from Indiana and the other is from California. They also hired me to do a timeline of the three victims’ medical histories. The doctor visits, medical histories, and medication logs aren’t linear, they’re concurrent. So, we need a breakdown to make it easier for a jury to understand. I’ll have some visual aids done up for that so we can submit them as evidence.”

“You do that too?”

“Not me personally; you know I can only draw buildings. I have an amazing graphic designer I outsource that stuff to. She works with one of the cable networks.”

“I still can’t believe you turned that morbid obsession of watching true crime documentaries into a successful career.” He takes a drink and I watch the muscles in his throat work. “When will the trial be?”

“Most likely in the summer.” I toss the bag of gummy worms to the middle of the table. “I’m stuffed. Donotlet me eat anything else.”

He cocks his head to the side, studying me. “That’s a tall order. Have I ever been able to control you?”

I bite my lip, thinking about the past. “I guess it depended on the order, didn’t it?”

He hasn’t shaved in a few days and his fingers scratch against the scruff lining the square set of his jaw. “What did you mean when you said you don’t ever celebrate your birthday? Didn’t Hudson take you out, make the day special?”

“Of course not. The only thing Hudson celebrated was a legal win.” I can’t help but mock, “Whenever his dumbass got lucky enough to win, that is.”

“Lulu, that’s terrible.”

“Oh, they only let him be first chair on a few cases. They kept him mostly as second chair—and even that is a very liberal title for him. The wins for the firm still stacked up; it just wasn’t because of Hudson. He didn’t care, though, as long as he got his big paychecks.”

“I’m not talking about his law career. Fuck that. I’m talking about his lack of making sure his wife had a proper birthday.”

I hate to hear Ry call me Hudson’s wife. “It’s no big deal.”

His eyes narrow in irritation. “It’s a huge deal. I mean, seriously, your birthday’s on Valentine’s Day. There’s no excuse for it. Call a restaurant and make a reservation. It’s not hard.”

“Oh, he made Valentine’s Day reservations, alright. They just weren’t for me.”

Ry takes a deep breath. “What are you saying?”

Holy hell. I didn’t mean to blurt that out. Didn’t mean to air my dirty laundry like it’s washing day. Now, I’m trapped. No way to back track, no way to escape.

Ry leans back in his chair, studying me with a lethal look on his face. “You plan on telling me what you mean by that comment?”

“No.”

“Well, I suggest you quickly modify your plans, then.”

I pretend to busy myself wiping imaginary crumbs from the table. Then I remember who I am, straighten my back, and stare straight into his eyes. “I just meant that he spent days like Valentine’s Day with whichever poor, unlucky girl happened to be his mistress at the time.”

“That asshole cheated on you?”

“Ry, it’s fine.”

He slams his chair back from the table and stands up. “On what planet is that fine, Lulu?”

I shrug. “Our relationship wasn’t like that.”

He cocks his hands on his hips. “Relationship? I’m not talking about your dry cleaner, Lulu. I’m talking about your husband. It was a marriage. It was sacred.”

His possessiveness stirs unwanted lust in my body, and I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of desire. “Nothing about that situation was sacred.”

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