Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
“Set one up. She needs a bit of coaching before we go to court this week.” I was so close to settling her divorce finally. I am going to make a killing off of her husband. So is she. Thanks to having me as her lawyer. I may think all women are blood suckers but I suppose I am too.
It takes a certain type of person to be a lawyer. I have no sympathy for men or women who set themselves up to be used. If you’re dumb enough to open yourself up to it, then you’re dumb enough to pay the price. I couldn’t care less which side hires me. Honestly, people should stop getting married. I don’t say that shit out loud because I’d be out of work in that case. Then what would I do with my free time?
“You know she’s itching to settle this case so she can have a go at you,” Hilton informs me. I already know that.
She’s been too handsy from the day I agreed to be her lawyer. I made sure to immediately set her straight, letting her know that she and I could never happen. Having a relationship with a client could get me disbarred. At least it could while I’m still actively her lawyer.
“I don’t care what Ms. York wants. She might be happy to agree to cutting out a few million in her settlement because she thinks it will get her on my dick faster, but I’m not.” It's not only about the money to me. I enjoy the win too. That’s what gets me off.
The only thing she’ll be getting from me when her divorce is final is an ironclad prenup to protect the money she sucked from her first husband. That way when she foolishly marries again, her next husband doesn't try and get his hands on it.
The Carver prenup has made a name for itself. The prenup I crafted three years ago is said to be the best ever made. One I’m guessing I’m not going to be able to get my own brother to sign. I have no doubt my brother is going to be walking down the aisle very soon.
It’s why I’ve made this trip out here: to talk some sense into him. He’s hosting one of his charity events. He’s always been a big supporter of children's hospitals. He can’t give me the slip at his own event. Plus I’ll get to meet this Willow woman for myself.
If I can’t get my brother to see reason, then I’ll go to plan B: I’ll buy the woman off. Every woman has their price.
Or so I thought…
2
Gabriella
Maya, my baby sister, blows on my cheek, helping the paint to dry. She wanted Camila and me to get matching face paintings on our cheeks. It’s always hard for me to tell her no. Who am I kidding? It’s hard to tell Camila no too.
I love getting to spend time with them when I can find it. Plus, it’s Maya’s birthday. She’s officially thirteen today. I can’t afford to get her much for the big day, but a free face painting I can do. We may not have a lot of money, but we have each other. That’s the most important thing.
I’m just happy I can spend some time with her today. With my work schedule, it can be rough to even get a few hours of free time. And when I do, I’m usually too exhausted to do much. It doesn't help that my little sisters are growing up so fast. Camila turned sixteen a month ago.
I consider myself lucky that they both still want to hang out with their big sister, who often fills in as their mom more than I should. I’m always looking out for them. I have been for as long as I can remember.
Mom and Dad were always working growing up. When you live and work on a farm, there is always something that needs to be done. I live and breathe work. Today is a rare treat, and I’m soaking up every second of it.
“Sucks they are going to wash off,” Maya says as she looks into the small mirror the artist handed her to see her face. We got three small hearts each with the letter of our first name in the center. Mine is purple, Camila’s yellow, and Maya’s pink. Each of our favorite colors.
“We should get them tattooed on,” Camila suggests. I turn to give her a look. “Not on our faces,” she quickly adds. I shake my head at her.
“Yes! Maybe here.” Maya points to her wrist.
“How about we talk about that when everyone is of age to get a tattoo?” I give the artist a tip. Everything at the fair is either free or is donated to charity.