Page 41 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

Can all of those things be simultaneously true? And if they are, where do I go from here?

I find myself asking the same question Jeanine had posed in our brief conversation over chips and salsa: is there really any justice in this?

I take a steadying breath.

“Ms. Russo, I understand that you want out of this relationship as quickly and cleanly as possible,” I say. “We’ve made an offer to settle this out of court. We did this in the spirit of preventing any further emotional or financial stress for the both of you. As you mentioned earlier, you don’t feel that everyone is entitled to the details of your personal life, and reaching a settlement before going to trial would certainly limit your exposure. This could all be behind you. Have you given this offer consideration?”

I’m not sure what kind of pout this is. Predatory, perhaps. Like a jaguar licking its paws, satisfied with its catch, and yet unhurried as it plays with its food.

“Yes,” she says. “I considered it.”

She knows I want more than this. I let the silence stretch between us for almost a full minute, but she doesn’t attempt to fill it. This is a standoff I will inevitably lose.

“And?” I finally prompt.

“And as much as it pains me to put my personal life out there, and to be persecuted in the court of public opinion, it would pain me more to know that the world gets to go on believing that Teddy Glass is a good person. And as much as you claim your offer is in my best interest, I know that you’re only proposing it because it’s in the best interest of him. So yes, I have considered your offer. But no, I will not accept it.”

Now, she gives me a full smile, then looks to Mike for approval. He gives it to her in the form of twinkly-eyed nod. He’s already gathering up his leather bound notebooks and sliding his fancy pens into the pocket of his pressed shirt.

“Heidi. Quentin. We’ll be in touch?”

***

Quentin follows me into my office, closing the door behind us.

“What the hell was that?” he questions.

“A taste of what we’ll see in court,” I reply, settling into my desk chair.

“Did you know about this?”

“About what?”

He levels his stare at me, annoyed. “She alluded to some pretty serious abuse, Heidi. And you’re acting like we just spent the past half hour talking about who gets the chaise longue.”

“God I wish,” I say. “That’d be so much easier. I can’t imagine Teddy putting up much of a fight over a chaise longue.”

“This isn’t a joke,” he says. “Do you know how this looks?”

I sober. This is a different Quentin than the one I’m used to. He’s traded the charming smile for a hard set jaw. His gaze is hyper-focused. His energy, reckless. I have to reign this in.

“It was certainly more detailed than the information we’ve gotten up to this point,” I offer, “but yes, I knew there were claims of abuse.”

I see the muscles in Quentin’s jaw flex again before he drags a hand along his face. He seems to be warring with what to do or say next. And he’s pacing, like a lion in a cage.

“Do you… want off the case?” I ask.

The frustrated crease between his brows deepens. “What? No. Why would you say that?”

“You look like you’re ready to punch something,” I tell him. “And if you can’t keep your cool, I need to know now. It’s only going to get worse from here.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with how these things go.”

“Ah. Right. I guess you would be.”

His irritation shifts to suspicion, as if attempting to decipher what exactly I mean by this. My eyebrows draw together. I can feel one quirking higher than the other in exasperation.

“Domestic violence,” I say. When he blinks at me, I add, “Your work at the non-profit. C’mon, it’s all public record. Don’t act like you haven’t Googled me.”

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