Page 38 of Dirty Groom (Slayers Hockey 7)

There are light walls with a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking a snow-covered hill behind the building. At one end of the room, her desk, cabinets, and bookshelves are a dark chocolate finish with cream accents, clean lines, and stack upon stack of files, classic toys, and presentation materials atop them, and at the other, a couch and two chairs to match surround a low table with a small bonsai tree in the center.

It’s a little cluttered but no grunt’s office. This is the workspace of a hard-working woman poised to one day take over. Or at least that had been the plan before her ex turned her life upside down and she decided she’d rather move across the country than work with him.

Damn.

She closes the door behind us and walks over to where I lean against the window. We’re alone, and for a beat, I get the sense I’m not the only one resisting the urge to reach out and catch her hand so her fingers tangle with mine and I can feel that low hum over my skin in all the places we touch.

But in the end, I manage to keep my hands to myself.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” She takes a sip and moans a little, going back for another.

“It’s not a big deal. Checked in with the lawyers, and they’ve started with the paperwork.”

She raises a brow, waiting for me to add something like a critical need for more documentation, a signature, at the least. But standing across from her, my own coffee warm in my hand… I got nothing.

That was it.

I bring the coffee to my mouth, take a swallow. Watch her other brow rise to meet the first, pulling the corners of her lips along.

“Ahh.”

“Yep.” And suddenly I don’t care about looking like a tool or unnecessary visits. Because that smile is as much of a win as the game from last night.

And she doesn’t seem to mind, either. In fact, if anything, it seems like she may have swayed just that much closer. “Well, thank you. For letting me know.” She takes another sip and peers up at me through the fringe of her lashes in a way that’s downright flirty. “I wouldn’t have trusted the lawyers to pass on that kind of information.”

A laugh huffs out of me, and I look away, shaking my head. But then it hits me. There’s a kernel of truth there.

The lawyers could handle it.

Only, those fuckers are ruthless, and while I trust them with all other aspects of my life and career, I don’t trust them with her.

And hell, a part of me keeps thinking about that stricken look in her eyes when I told her I thought we should get a divorce. Like I was taking something from her when all I wanted was to give her something back.

She’s not fighting me on this, but a divorce wasn’t what she wanted. Even if it should have been. So yeah, maybe I want to make sure she’s okay as we move through the steps.

“Glad we’re on the same page. But actually, there’s something else we should probably talk about sooner rather than later.”

“What, suing me for alimony?” she teases, and I pull at my collar.

“Close, but not exactly.”

I tell her what I’m thinking, noting her easy posture go stiff, her arms cross, and the only sway I’ve got by the end is her body leaned away from mine.

“No.”

“It’s barely fair.” She could ask for a hell of a lot more.

“Fair? You mean because of all the time, love, and energy I put intosupportingyou and your career, because of theinvestmentI made in our marriage?”

I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be easy.

“How about because of the way I locked you down for the last year.”

We’re back to the single brow-lift accompanied by some toe-tapping, that has me working double-time not to get distracted by her legs.

“So maybe I should pay you, then. Because I’m pretty sure the whole wedding thing was my idea.”

“You were trashed. And I mean both emotionally and in terms of what a breathalyzer would have shown.”

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