The Mistress of Trevelyan (46 page)
Read The Mistress of Trevelyan Online
Authors: Jennifer St Giles
Love had carried us all beyond the mists of midnight to the bright dawn of a new day.
Quick Reference to Jenni’s Books
The Mistress of Trevelyan
Trevelyan Series Book 1
In her search for the truth, Anne finds a
consuming passion in Benedict's arms,
but secrets from the past could destroy
them all unless she discovers the killer
hidden in the shadows
His Dark Desires
Treveylan Series Book 2
Sultry heat and sleepless nights bring
Juliet to Stephen's arms, but the betrayal
and murder lurking in her dark past will
kill those she loves unless she can stop
the madness.
Wild Irish
Weldon Brothers Book 1
Jesse is back for the woman he can't forget,
but this time he'll go down for murder one
unless he can stop the killer who framed
him years ago.
Smooth Irish
Weldon Brothers Book 2
Jackson wants no strings sex, but when
Nan brings this broken man to his knees,
he must choose to die alone or take a
second chance at life.
Coming this summer!
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Hard Irish by Jennifer Saints
Weldon Brothers Book 3
Hard hat in hand, Jared Weldon goes undercover
But the answers he finds at McKenna Construction
Leaves him drowning in passion
And hard up against a killer
More great Jennifer St. Giles Gothic Romance
Silken Shadows (Coming in July!)
Coming December 2012
For more details, go to
www.jennifersaints.com
Cocktail Cove
Southern Steam Series - Book 1
By Jennifer Saints
Chapter One
For her thirty-sixth birthday present, Nikita’s husband, Tom, came out of the closet swinging both ways on the sexual pendulum. That was three months ago, just after her nose had detected both a strange woman’s perfume and an unfamiliar men’s cologne clinging to his clothes.
Her nose never led her wrong and she’d nailed him for his perfidy right in the middle of their 400 square foot custom made his and hers. He confessed, dumped the blame at her feet, and took off as free as a bird. She had sat stunned.
Like most women clinging to the slippery side of their thirties, she’d been so busy dodging fat and wrinkle bullets that Tom’s betrayal smacked her right between the eyes.
She was still in therapy. She might be perfectly coifed and dressed to the nines in Versace on the outside. But inside, on this doomed day in May when azaleas, dogwoods, and cherry blossoms lost their bright blooms to Atlanta’s fickle weather, she floundered for a sweaty palmed grip on the conference table’s polished edge. The law firm of Cross, Gibbons, and Biddle was nothing but a glorified shark tank. Like most attorneys’ offices the illusion of comfort surrounded her, gleaming mahogany, plush carpeting, expensive art--all the little extras to put you at ease before feeding time.
Thankfully, Sandra Price, wore powerhouse red, and looked as calm as James Bond under fire because Tom’s smug you’re-about-to-be-chum smile had Nik clenching her teeth.
“There won’t be any papers signed today.” Tom’s attorney’s sharp teeth flashed making her feel like a surfer on Styrofoam watching Jaws attack.
Nik had never liked Bob Cross and now she knew why. He’d been best man at her wedding and he was as human as a Great White. Cross continued speaking, “My client is petitioning the court for a two week delay in finalizing the divorce settlement.”
“For what reason?” Sandra asked, laying her pen down with a snap. “Your client has delayed twice already.”
“My client has changed his mind concerning the dispersion of their assets.”
Blood drained with dizzying speed from Nik’s head. Tom, golden-boy extraordinaire, broadened his smile and Nik bit her lip. Somehow her therapist’s advice to forgive and forget wasn’t holding up against Tom’s tactics.
“Your client violated his marriage vows. He isn’t in a position to disagree.”
“My client was forced from his home to seek out comfort due to the emotional and physical alienation he experienced from his wife.”
“That’s a lie,” Nik said, half popping from her seat. How could Tom even begin to say something like that? If anything she’d been a golf widow. The man spent more time on the fairway than he spent in their bedroom and that included fore-play as well.
“Relax, let me handle this,” Sandra said under her breath, patting Nik’s arm. Nik sat and forced her mouth shut as twinges of hurt nipped at her. Tom’s smile grew.
When would she ever learn? She’d let the sharks see that she was bleeding.
“Your theatrics are tiring, Mr. Cross. We both know the truth and so will the court. What about the settlement does your client dispute?”
“He’ll be left with no viable residence. The house is being sold and your client is receiving the condominium. My client is asking the court for the deed to the lake house, since it has little emotional value to your client and has been a place of refuge for my client over the years of their unsatisfactory marriage.”
Icy shock slammed into Nik. She opened her mouth to say something, refute, deny, or scream, but could only choke on the emotion clogging her throat.
Sandra remained the epitome of cool disdain. “Impossible. My client purchased that property in conjunction with her brother prior to the marriage. Your client has no legitimate claim on her share of that asset.”
“We’ll let the court decide that. Now, in the matter of dissolving their investment properties, my client was the creative force behind these projects. Therefore a fifty-fifty split does not reflect his share of the work involved. My client has a multitude of witnesses and receipts to prove that your client has squandered money on an extravagant lifestyle…”
It was
her
money that had been the capital for those investments. And what right did he have to criticize how she lived? Nik couldn’t take anymore. She jumped up and rushed to the bathroom barely making it to the privacy of a stall.
Her heart raced at a dizzying speed, and she gasped for air, fighting off the anxiety that hit her like a truck. From the time she was little, with only boarding schools and a string of nannies as substitutes for jet-setting parents, Nik had always had a problem with anxiety. But instead of diminishing as she grew older, it had worsened during her five-year marriage and now skyrocketed with her divorce.
Knees weak, she sat on the commode lid, staring at her favorite, custom designed shoes that matched the swirling black and gold pattern of her suit. How her life had ended up in the toilet?
Who was she? What was she? At what point did everything lose its meaning?
Had it ever had any meaning?
She’d gone through the motions expected of her. Climbed academia’s ladders. Used her degree in modern art to open a successful gallery in a historic mansion in Atlanta. She’d led Atlanta’s cream of the crop society in fashion and charity.
And she’d met Tom. He’d been part of the party crowd, having clubbed his way into her social circles by being a golf-pro who dabbled in real estate and harbored dreams of being a fairway designing genius. Somewhere along the way, when all the others in the group started getting married to each other, she and Tom had paired off and married. Now she wasn’t even sure why they had.
All the good things she’d thought she’d seen in Tom, patience and the ability to give something a hundred percent of his attention—something her parents had been incapable of—applied mainly to his professional life. Once their courtship and the honeymoon were over, his focus went back to his first love—Golf—and their alienation grew worse the more successful his real estate ventures became.
In hindsight, she’d compounded the mistake of her marrying by selling her art gallery when the social demands of schmoozing Tom’s investors conflicted with her business. She’d also thought that in helping him out, they’d regain the closeness she’d once felt between them. Now that she’d taken a step back, she could see that for several years she had been busy doing nothing but jumping to Tom’s agenda.
Had their relationship all been a figment of her imagination? Had he only used her for her money and once he didn’t need that anymore…God in heaven. Was she that stupid?
No, but you could have been so desperate for love that you believed anything.
With the distant ringing of a cell phone, she had an epiphany. The toilet she sat on had more purpose in life than she did.
A voice from above spoke. No, it wasn’t God. It was Tom.
He answered his cell phone with a nauseatingly familiar, “Baskil here.” Nik peeked from the stall and found she was alone in the bathroom, but Tom’s voice was broadcasting its way to her. It had to be coming from the air vent above the toilet.
“Nikita is toast, Lyssa,” he said. “My lawyer’s going to eat her alive.”
Spurred by
that
statement, Nik climbed onto the toilet, planting both her heels on the lid, and stuck her ear closer to the grate. She didn’t register the cracking sound she heard until the lid spit in half and her foot plunged into the toilet bowl. She saved herself from falling by grabbing the tops of the stall’s walls, where she wobbled until she managed to climb onto the back of the toilet. Too far to back down now, she wrenched her way closer, and planted her ear against the grate.
“No, Taylor Developments doesn’t have to worry about a thing.”
There was a long pause.
“Listen, now that that old geezer Harding is dead, his widow will roll our way shortly. I have an appointment with her in two days. The lake property is in the bag. And get this. I’m getting twenty adjoining acres in the divorce settlement. The Golden Club will be up and swinging before long. Tell Tony not to worry about the money. I’ve got it-”
Tom’s voice faded. Nik went up on her tiptoes, hoping to hear more as she pushed closer to the grate. Suddenly the grate popped from its frame in a shower of dust, conked her on the head and knocked her chignon askew. Could the day get any worse?
The bathroom door opened. Cool, calm, Sandra Price walked in and her jaw dropped. Nik, holding the grate, blew dust from her lips, and stuffed a strand of hair back into her unraveling chic. “Would you believe I’m contemplating ending it all by taking a high dive into the commode?”
Sandra’s lips twitched. “Once you become a lawyer, you’ll pretty much believe everything and believe
in
nothing. Why are we whispering?”
Nik nodded at the grate. “I just heard Tom on his cell phone via the air duct. You won’t believe what he said.”
“Why don’t you come down from your suicidal perch and tell me about it?”
“Gladly.” Nik climbed off the toilet and squished out of the stall. Tom was partly right. Her favorite shoes were toast. If Sandra noticed the trailing puddle of water or the damage Nik had wreaked to the toilet, she didn’t comment. Nik set the grate on the vanity and washed her hands. “That air vent must be a direct line to the men’s room. I heard Tom on his cell. He’s completely confident he’s getting everything he’s asking for in the divorce settlement. And the reason he wants the lake house is because it adjoins acreage that he’s trying to make a deal to develop. I heard him on the phone with Taylor Developments telling them divorce settlement was in the bag. There’s no way that can happen, can it?”
“If the judge we were facing was anybody but Kruger, I’d say their chances were zilch. But Kruger is an avid golf fan and Tom’s golf resort developments are well known.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Don’t waste the energy. We’ve got a war to wage. We just have to figure out where Tom’s most vulnerable spot is and capitalize on it.”
Nik straightened her shoulders, searching for gumption. “Right. We’ll look for the jugular.” She slumped. “No good. He doesn’t have blood in his veins.”
Sandra laughed. “Maybe not. But there’s a weakness somewhere and we’ll find it. We’ve got a week.” She glanced at her watch. “Unfortunately, my next appointment is in twenty minutes. Are you okay?”
Nik smiled and did what she always did when someone asked. She lied. “Yeah. Rock bottom feels pretty solid even if it’s full of jagged edges, grates, and toilet water.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” Sandra left. Nik took one look in the mirror and couldn’t get out of the law office fast enough. A minute longer and she would have had to call 911, either for herself or for Tom after she got done with him.
Odd looks followed her across the lobby and the parking lot, but she kept her gaze firmly straight ahead and her head high. It wasn’t until she ducked into her car that she saw the toilet paper flapping from her left heel. It trailed three feet out the door.
