Page 80 of Bonus Daddy
“We did it.” I leaped at him, catching him, and myself,off guard.
He hugged me quickly, then set me on my feet and ensured I was steady before releasing me completely.
“Er. Sorry.” Ducking, I smoothed my skirt.
“I liked it,” he replied, immediately loosening his tie. “And congrats. You are a free woman.”
A thrill shot through me. “Because of you,” I breathed, beaming at him. “Thank you.”
“It’s my job.” He nodded toward the exit, then skirted around me.
I shuffled to keep up, annoyed with his humble routine. He’d answered all those complex questions with confidence and ease. Had prepared things the judge didn’t even know he wanted.
Sloane was right. He was the best.
Yet this victory felt hollow at best.
“How did you do it?” I asked as we headed toward his car. “Get Kenneth to withdraw his opposition?”
“I had his number. The guy is a coward and a shithead. That made it easy,” Brian replied, not really answering my question, as he tossed his briefcase, jacket, and tie into the back seat. Straightening, he methodically rolled up one sleeve, then the other.
I couldn’t help but gawk, drinking in every tiny movement. God, it was sexy, the way he was removing his legal armor. As I watched, the traitorous slut that was my brain came up with all kinds of fun ways to celebrate this court victory.
When he caught me looking, I averted my gaze, my face flaming.
“I think it’s because you took away his toys,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t call me out. “His baseball tickets and that charity thing.”
“Oh, I took away all his charity things,” Brian said cryptically as he slipped into the driver’s seat.
As he cranked the AC, I buckled my seat belt. “What do you mean?”
“After my call to Dylan about the charity event the night of Kit’s performance, she talked to her mother-in-law. Evelyn Miller doesn’t fuck around. She put the word out, and now Kenneth can’t get an invite to save his life. Every socialite in New York knows he’s adeadbeat. They don’t want his money. He couldn’t get invited to the opening of an Olive Garden in Times Square now.”
When he looked at me, his grin was pure sex.
I resisted the urge to fan myself. Barely. I never could have guessed that messing with my ex-husband would be such an aphrodisiac.
As we drove through the city, I found myself looking out the window and daydreaming. But not about Vermont. Though the move should have been paramount in my mind, I couldn’t stop thinking about Brian.
I should have been going through my mental checklists, preparing for the next phase of my life, yet all I wanted to do was ask him to be my boyfriend. Which was the most ridiculous, juvenile thing ever.
He was a rich, hot lawyer in his early forties. Men like that didn’t have girlfriends. They took lovers, sophisticated European women who collected fine art.
Not hot-mess single moms like me. Yes, we’d had fun together in Boston. A lot of sexy, orgasmic fun. But that was done and over with.
My phone vibrated in my purse, forcing me to rein in my runaway thoughts. I breathed a sigh of relief, though it was quickly followed by a bolt of panic. Worrying that it was summer camp calling about an emergency, I dug it out quickly.
When the name of Kit’s piano teacher appeared, I slumped back in my seat and slid my thumb over the screen to accept the call.
“Hello, Jessica,” Jenine said. “Is this a good time?”
“Yes.” I inhaled deeply and let the breath out through my nose, trying to compose myself.
Brian probably thought I was a complete train wreck.
I cleared my throat and forced a professional tone. “How can I help you?”
Jenine rarely called. She mostly sent long emails filled with details about Kit’s performance and practice work that I could barely understand.
