Beach Season by Lisa Jackson Read Free Book Online Page B

red dress with a plunging neckline and a silky, animal-print scarf. In the legal community, she is a legend. Cherie held up her fingers, one inch apart. “His spear isn’t big. He’d only be able to slay a dinosaur this big.”
    I did not miss the hidden reference, and neither did Grayson, who protested by saying, “Hey! Keep it civilized.”
    “A teeny, tiny dinosaur. A weak dinosaur. A floppy dinosaur. A dinosaur who has to fake how big he is, because he is so small ...”
    “We get it, Cherie,” Grayson’s attorney, Walid, said. Walid had the same slicked-back hair as Grayson. He is five foot, four inches tall. Cherie and I always wear our heels when we meet with him. Walid and Grayson had been friends for years. I thought he was my friend, too. That was incorrect. “Knock it off.”
    “I was explaining to your client, the teeny dinosaur, how things are.” Cherie leaned her elbows on the table. “Grayson, June wants out. She will never want back in. I have handled divorcing couples for many years and trust me when I tell you that she is not changing her mind. This is a fair deal we’ve offered. Sign it.”
    “No,” Grayson bit out. “June, we can talk this out. I’m still waiting for you to sit down and listen to me. You refuse to do it. You’ve been rash and emotional. You took a vow, in sickness and in health, good times and bad, blah, blah. So, we had a few bad days, now you walk out? You were tired from work, overwhelmed, it was too much for you, and you take it out on us.”
    I actually laughed. It was ludicrous. He was ludicrous. He didn’t even surprise me anymore with his ludicrousness. “I’m done arguing, Grayson. Sign the papers.”
    “I hardly recognize you anymore,” he said.
    “I hardly recognize who I used to be.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “It means that woman is gone. She landed somewhere off Neptune. We sell the house, we each take half. We each put half of the money down, so that’s fair. I left you half our savings and half of what was in the checking account. You got your Porsche, I got my Porsche.”
    “Which you sold.”
    “Yes, gladly.” I bought an old and grumbly truck with a lot of personality and a deep growl. I had needed the proceeds from the Porsche to start my business.
    “Grayson, El Monster,” Cherie delights in calling him and Walid “the Monsters,” “you are ticking me off. All chat, no action. All style, no substance. All slick, no brain. All schmooze, no thinking person in there. Let’s wrap this up or I’ll have to get nasty.”
    “Hey, Cherie,” Walid said. “No threatening.”
    “I’m not threatening him, El Monster, I’m telling him. This is a simple divorce. The simplest one ever. Sign the papers.”
    “We need to talk about the paper signing,” Walid said. He wriggled in his seat, shot Grayson a glance, and Grayson wriggled, too. Two wrigglers. “We think the house should go to Grayson.”
    “What?” I semishrieked. Not that I was surprised. They are ruthless and sneaky.
    “No way,” Cherie said. “Fifty-fifty. On what insane grounds would you think we would give you the house?”
    “Because of June’s business.”
    That sentence, that one sentence, and Grayson leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled together as if he was smart and savvy, smirking, had my blood flowing, the ole MacKenzie temper flaring. “What about my business?”
    “You have a business that you started when you were married to my client,” Walid said, his dark eyes condescending.
    “I started sewing clothes, at night, and if I had time, on the weekends, because I was stressed-out,” I protested. “I wore the clothes.”
    “It was a business,” Walid said, tapping his pen. “You sold clothes. You designed dresses, wedding dresses, other clothes. You started the business while married, which makes your business, June’s Lace and Flounces, I believe it is,” he fiddled with the paperwork to give me the impression that my company’s