Page 3 of Painting Together a Family
“Mr. Marx, you can’t?—”
Devlin turned on the lawyer, fury flooding him. “Excuse me? As much as we pay you? You make it happen.”
He’d been taken down to nothing, and he’d built himself back up. He was not going to let that smarmy con man get out of this life with a single penny to his name, and if Valerie Watson couldn’t get it done for him, he’d find another lawyer who could.
He hadn’t been able to create properly since he’d been taken for everything he had, the anger always right there beneath the surface, just waiting to come out, and he needed to put an end to it, to find some closure, which meant Grant needed his fucking comeuppance.
“We need more victims coming out. It will help our case,” she insisted.
“He’s had two more husbands that are both poor as church mice now!”
“Yes, that’s what the private detective has informed us of, but we need them to come forward and testify. The case just isn’t strong enough on its own.”
“Oh, for fuc—” He growled and stormed out of her office. He had to pick up Marly from dance class and Juniper from Judo, and this meeting was clearly not productive.
“Mr. Marx!” Valerie Watson called after him before he got to the main door.
Stopping, he turned back and glared. “What?”
“My assistant just gave me a telephone message. One of the other ex-husbands has called in regards to your case.”
“Oh? Which one? Two, or three?” Not that he really cared; what mattered was that one of them had come forward.
“Bryan St-Vincent. So, number two. He was married not that long after you.” She sighed. “He’s spending less and less time between fleecing one husband and finding the next. I am behind you that we need to get this guy, but there’s no use going after him if we don’t have enough ammunition and all of our ducks in a row. He can afford the most expensive lawyers.”
“Yeah, with my money. Worse, with my kids’ money!” He was going to lose his fucking shit.
She put a hand on his arm. “I know. And I know this is frustrating. Would you like me to arrange a meeting with Mr. St-Vincent for later today? Maybe we can all have a coffee together and see if he can help the case. How does that sound?”
“Uh—” He checked his schedule. He could afford a nanny, drivers, all sorts, but that wasn’t his style. He wanted to be a part of his girls’ lives, and at fourteen and ten, they needed a father who was present. “Can we meet at Violet Java?”
The coffee shop was at the base of his apartment building, and Marly and Juniper would be fine upstairs, or they could do their homework at a table next to them.
“Does 4:30 work?” she asked. When he nodded, she typed into her phone. Then she nodded. “4:30 at Violet Java it is. I’ll see you there.”
“I’m going to get my girls.” He didn’t slam the door on his way out, though it was a close thing. Taking a few breaths, he focused on where he was going. It was an easy walk—one door down for dance, one block over for Judo, then home. One of the best parts of living near downtown was that he was close to everything from grocery shopping to lawyers and from the art supply store to the dance studio.
He grabbed Marly first, her long red hair trapped in a heavy bun. Looking at her was like looking at his baby sister—she was a Marx to the bone. “How was ballet?”
“It was hard today. Madame says I need to practice more. She says I need to do it every day.” She handed him her backpack and put on her sweater before taking the bag back and swinging it over her shoulder.
“Well, you keep your grades up, and we’ll discuss it. Fair?” He didn’t have a problem with it, but he knew she wasn’t going to give up her piano lessons and he didn’t believe in filling every single second of his girls’ lives with activities. They needed time to just be kids too.
“I don’t know if I want to keep doing it. I don’t think I’m ever going to be good enough,” she admitted as they made their way down the street to pick up Juniper.
“Good enough for what? You’re fourteen. Does it make you happy? Dancing, I mean?”
“Yeah, but Madame says I’m never going to be a prima ballerina and I’m never going to get any of the main parts in the shows Madame puts on.” She shrugged, and he thought the move was designed to look more casual than she felt. “Madame doesn’t think I have the drive.”
“Screw her. Do you want to dance? You can try another teacher? You can try another style? You can do anything you want.” He wasn’t letting some hoity-toity ballet teacher giveMarly a complex or make her think she was less than. If she wanted to keep dancing, there were options and lots of them.
She looked up at him, her shoulders straightening a little. “Yeah? I… can I think about it?”
“Of course. You can think for as long as you need to.” He winked at her, bumped shoulders.
She grinned up at him, the happiness making it up to her eyes now. “Thanks, Da.”
They got to the dojo, Juniper already waiting for them in the front desk area, looking smart and tough in her gi.
