Page 7 of The Divorce

“Remember, I don't want a divorce. Do whatever you can to stall the proceedings,” I reminded him for the umpteenth time.

“Damn, Saul was right. You are wound a tad tight. We met up for squash a couple of days ago at the club,” he said before he handed me a cotton handkerchief. “Don't let the enemy see you sweat.”

“She isn’t my enemy. She is my wife,” I hissed at him but dabbed my forehead with the material. Also, damn Saul and his big mouth.

“We are at her lawyer's office. This isn’t a friendly visit,” he said, glancing around the room. “They are making us sit and wait.”

“I don’t give a fuck. I want my wife back at any cost,” I said, remembering her dance with the man at the club.

His hands were on her waist, but they had begun to travel to my wife’s breasts when I stepped in and ‘accidentally’ pushed him to the ground. It was just as well that I was following Katya. I may have gone a little overboard when I took her into the apartment, but I had no regrets. Hopefully, she was too drunk to remember.

When the door opened, Katya walked in, and I stood up to greet her. Her solicitor followed behind her, but my eyes drank Katya in. She wore tight black jeans, a bright red top, a short black fitted blazer, and little flat pumps. Her natural light-coloured hair was pinned up on top of her head. She looked stunning.

“You look beautiful, baby,” I whispered and watched her cheeks flush with colour.

She quickly looked away, and her lawyer cleared her throat. Although she was blond, her hair was a shade darker than Katya’s and a few years older.

“About time,” Warner muttered, and the solicitor’s eyes snapped towards Warner, who sat at the table with a shark-like smile.

“Oh, sorry to have inconvenienced you, Your Majesty, but the world doesn’t revolve around Warner Reid, contrary to your beliefs,” she said with sarcasm dripping from her voice.

“I must revolve around your head if you know my name,” he said, goading her while Katya’s jaw dropped.

The solicitor slammed her black leather organiser on the table.

“When you have years of unscrupulous behaviour under your belt, you bet that I know who I’m going to sit across from,” she said as she yanked the chair out.

She was petite and looked quite severe in her black skirt suit, with her hair pulled back into a long ponytail. When I returned my attention to my wife, I rushed around and held Katya's seat. It was painful to see her bare finger. I refused to take my wedding ring off.

“Interesting. Have you been stalking me, Ms Maguire?” Warner drawled. “Here, I thought your only job was to screw men out of money as a divorce attorney.”

Katya gasped, and I wanted to punch Warner in the face.

“So, what can we help you with?” I said, quickly trying to break up the weird tension between our lawyers.

“It’s better than screwing thousands of people from their livelihoods and pensions. I heard that your nickname is the vulture, picking away at the carcasses of companies while whoring yourself out to the highest corporate bidders,” she said with a tight smile.

Katya nudged her lawyer as Warner sat up in his chair. She made a direct hit. I cursed myself for not hiring her first.

“But we aren’t here to discuss your lowlife character,” she said as she flipped her leather organiser open.

“Are we here to discuss how you couldn’t get a job anywhere, so Daddy had to hire you?” Warner said, but his cheeks were flushed.

I had never seen him lose his temper in all the years I'd known him. The man was always as cool as a cucumber. He was more like Saul. I was the worrier.

“Doyou, of all people, want to discuss Daddy issues?” she retaliated.

What the fuck was this all about?

Katya looked just as puzzled as she looked between the two.

“You just fucked with the wrong person, Elizabeth Maguire,” Warner snarled as he stood up.

“Let’s go, Seth. We don’t need to be here. We have an airtight prenuptial agreement,” he said while I stared at Katya.

“Wrong again. One, my client doesn’t want anything from Winthorpe Industries, and two, she wanted this meeting to discuss an amicable separation. Amicable means—”

“I know what it means, and we aren't going to fall for your tricks, Ms. Maguire,” he said, nodding toward Katya and beginning to walk toward the door.

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