Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“I think I’m going to go for Wednesday, you in?” he asks me about the beer league we joined. It’s a bunch of people from our firms who play.
I take another sip of coffee. “I have to check my caseload this week, but I think I can manage it.”
“Good. Last week, we had an old guy on the team,” he says, groaning.
“Your idea of an old guy is someone who is forty,” I say.
“He was actually forty-three,” he says matter-of-factly. “Dude, I thought he was having a heart attack on the bench.” He laughs now. “We had side bets going.” The phone muffles, and then he comes back. “Okay, I have to go. Mona is calling me.”
“Maybe she caught your history on Pornhub,” I say, laughing.
“Please,” he pffts. “You think I’m an amateur? I delete the history right after.” He laughs.
“Did you delete it from your hard drive?” I ask him.
“Gotta go,” he says, disconnecting, and I laugh.
I finish my coffee outside, the sound of hammers becoming louder and louder. I walk up the steps to go back inside, the cold air hitting me right away as I walk up the stairs to my bedroom. Grabbing my laptop, I decide to work for a bit before I have to stop to get dressed and head out to this barbecue.
The invitation said barbecue chic, and I’m not going to lie—I had to google. Which, by the way, shows you a man in a suit with flip-flops. That will never happen, so I’m going casual without a tie.
I grab my blue dress pants and my white long-sleeve button-up shirt. Leaving the first three buttons open, I roll up my sleeves, then put on my silver Rolex, a signing bonus from Leonard Coco himself. I take out my brown belt and my brown shoes because no flip-flops for this guy. I run my hands through my black hair when I stand in front of the mirror in my walk-in closet, taking in how I look. I grab my beige linen dress jacket and slide it on. “This looks like what barbecue chic is.”
I grab my wallet and slip it in the inside pocket of my jacket. Putting on my gold Ray-Bans, I take the keys, and I walk out to my white BMW SUV. Starting the car, I enter the address in the GPS and slowly make my way there. The invitation said twelve thirty, and it’s now one forty. My goal is to make an entrance and get out.
I’ll be seen by some key players, schmooze a bit, eat a bit, and then bounce. I have court this week; family law is no joke. Thankfully, my parents are still married to this day—going on thirty-five years in two months—rare but it happens. Nowadays, it’s just so easy to say I’m out. No one puts the time and energy into marriages anymore. They all want to be done with it. I think my quickest divorce was ten hours before they realized it wasn’t going to work. The wedding cake wasn’t even cut.
The cases I hate the most are when kids are involved. People stoop to fucking low levels to keep from paying child support. Like the bottom of the barrel under all the grime and slime. I shake my head as I turn into the tree-lined driveway. When the house finally comes into view, it’s fucking massive. “Fuck,” I say, taking in the two-story brick house. It almost looks like a palace. I’m expecting to see flags raised and everything.
The driveway goes in a circle, and the valet is there waiting for me. I pull up, and he opens my door. “Welcome,” he says, handing me a ticket. Fucking valet. I look around and see everything from Bentleys to a Lamborghini lined up. I shake my head, following the path to the party. There are actual signs and arrows, and it’s almost like I’m at Ikea. Laughing to myself, I walk around the house and then stop dead in my tracks. “What in the fuck?”
It looks like I just walked into a carnival. My eyes fly around the huge backyard to take it all in. I shake my head when I see kids running everywhere. A lady, wearing a white button-down and red vest with a white hat sits behind a booth that says TICKETS, smiles at me. “Good afternoon. Welcome to the carnival.”
I smile at her and continue looking around as I walk a little bit farther into the yard. Round blue tables with white linen chairs fill the space. On the right side is a train, a fucking train, going around in a circle on its tracks. Kids sit two by two in the four train cars, and some are holding balloons while others wave their hands in the air.
Behind that is a fenced area with a green dragon mini roller coaster. Up and down it goes while the kids yell and laugh, and other kids line up at the fence waiting for their turn.