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๐๐๐๐๐ง ๐๐๐จ๐๐ง๐ ๐๐จ ๐ง๐๐๐ก, ๐๐ช๐ฉ ๐๐ฉ'๐จ ๐๐ค๐๐ฃ๐ ๐ค๐ฃ ๐ฉ๐ง๐๐๐ก…
๐๐ง๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐จ๐ฆ๐ต๐ต๐ข๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ฅ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฎ๐ด, ๐๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ๐ฅ๐บ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ด ๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ฏ๐ต๐ด ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ. ๐๐ข๐ฎ๐ช๐ญ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ช๐ด ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ข๐ถ๐ต๐ช๐ง๐ถ๐ญ, ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฅ, ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ณ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต ๐ข๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ต ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐ด๐ด๐บ. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ญ๐ด๐ฐ ๐ธ๐ข๐ฏ๐ต๐ด ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฎ ๐๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ๐ฅ๐บ, ๐ต๐ฐ๐ฐ. ๐๐ถ๐ต ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฑ๐ข๐ช๐ณ ๐ค๐ข๐ฏ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ค๐ต ๐ข๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ญ๐ถ๐ฃ, ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ ๐ง๐ช๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฆ๐ข๐ค๐ฉ ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ญ๐ข๐ด๐ต ๐ฑ๐ญ๐ข๐ค๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฆ๐น๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ค๐ต: ๐ข๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐จ๐ฐ๐ต๐ช๐ข๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ต๐ข๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ข ๐ฏ๐ข๐ด๐ต๐บ ๐ฅ๐ช๐ท๐ฐ๐ณ๐ค๐ฆ ๐ค๐ข๐ด๐ฆ, ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ด๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ค๐ญ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ด.
๐๐ฆ๐จ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ๐บ ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฑ๐ถ๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ช๐ณ ๐ค๐ญ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ด' ๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด๐ต๐ด ๐ง๐ช๐ณ๐ด๐ต, ๐๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ๐ฅ๐บ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐๐ข๐ฎ๐ช๐ญ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ถ๐ด๐ต ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด๐ช๐ด๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ต๐ข๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ช๐ณ ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ช๐ข๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ช๐ด๐ต๐ณ๐บ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ช๐ต ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ข๐ช๐ญ๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ช๐ณ ๐ค๐ข๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด. ๐๐ช๐ต๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ข๐จ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ๐ด๐ต ๐ฆ๐ข๐ค๐ฉ ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฃ๐บ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ช๐ณ ๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐บ ๐ฅ๐ช๐ง๐ง๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต ๐ค๐ญ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ด, ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฆ ๐ต๐ธ๐ฐ ๐ฉ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ-๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ข๐ต๐ต๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐บ๐ด ๐ธ๐ช๐ญ๐ญ ๐ด๐ต๐ณ๐ถ๐จ๐จ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ช๐ต ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐ช๐ท๐ฐ๐ณ๐ค๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ช๐ณ ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ด๐ช๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฉ๐ข๐ณ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฅ. ๐๐ข๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ ๐ฏ๐ข๐ท๐ช๐จ๐ข๐ต๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ'๐ท๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐ฅ๐ฆ, ๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ธ๐ช๐ญ๐ญ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ข๐ด๐ฆ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ช๐จ๐ฉ๐ต๐ด ๐ข๐ต ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ญ๐ถ๐ฃ ๐จ๐ฆ๐ต ๐ฅ๐ช๐ด๐ฎ๐ช๐ด๐ด๐ฆ๐ฅ?
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Camille
Today was going to be terrible.
Her year had ended pretty well, and if she counted those early hours of the morning with Freddy, then it had started out pretty great, but everything had been pretty much downhill from there.
Yesterday’s visit with her mom had been fine too, actually. It was work that had frustrated her. Going through the Alexander’s prenup with a fine-tooth comb had given her a headache. Whoever had given the Alexanders the advice to sign it had been a total hack. More than one section was unclear.
Granted, things could go either way, but she wasn’t sure it would go Mrs. Alexander’s way, even though she was likely the more deserving party.
You’re not supposed to be thinking that way. Mr. Alexander is your client, not her. You’re supposed to be saving him as much money as possible… so that he can pay it all to Donaldson and some of it will come to you.
Right.
Sometimes, she felt like this job was sucking the soul right out of her body.
At least she had something to look forward to for the end of the day. Her reward to herself for getting through this afternoon was calling Freddy. During her lunch hour, she’d also sent in the application for membership to Stronghold and Marquis. In some small way, she was claiming some of herself back.
“Ugh, this is going to be such a waste of time.” Nicholas Alexander III, all six feet of him, was slouched in one of the conference room chairs. At first glance, he was handsome enough. In his late forties, he still kept himself in shape. He had dark brown eyes and matching dark brown hair sprinkled with just a touch of salt. At second glance, it was impossible to miss the petulant set of his mouth and the arrogant unhappiness emanating from him like a bad smell.
Well, it was impossible for her to miss. She knew Rachel, the receptionist who had escorted him into the conference room, hadn’t noticed his flaws. She had been all smiles and giggles as Mr. Alexander smirked and flirted with her.
Thankfully, he didn’t try that with Camille.
“Do you want me to call the meeting off?” she asked. Mrs. Alexander was due any minute, along with her counsel from Addison, O’Shane, and Smith, and Alfred Johan. AOS, as they were known, had a reputation for representing women like Mrs. Alexander, who had ended up married to rich assholes who didn’t want to pay their alimony.
They made a lot of money making those rich assholes pay out the ass.
Personally, Camille would like to see nothing more. Professionally, it was her job to thwart their intentions. According to him, she was supposed to keep him from having to pay anything at all, which was why they were going to court.
She was pretty sure he’d hoped Mrs. Alexander wouldn’t be able to find representation or that she’d decide it wasn’t worth going to court and would just quietly go on her way. Camille had tried to explain to him that wasn’t going to happen as soon as she knew who Mrs. Alexander’s representation was, but Mr. Alexander had dug in his heels, and now here they were.
Which meant trying her best, knowing if she succeeded, she was going to screw some poor woman out of money she was rightfully owed, or her own client, and therefore, her firm, were going to be unhappy with her. This morning, she’d figured out the reason the partners had passed Mr. Alexander off to her. They knew the chances of winning were fifty-fifty, and they didn’t want him unhappy with any of them.
Worried it would ruin their golf game or something.
“No,” Mr. Alexander said after a long minute, straightening in his seat and tugging his suit jacket down so he didn’t look so rumpled. “No, I’m not going to let that bitch get her hands on any of my money. Not when she’s trying to fucking leave me.”
Camille really hoped Mrs. Alexander actually was a bitch. Then she wouldn’t feel so bad about having to represent this asshole. She didn’t bother to point out the reason his wife would get his money was because of the prenup he’d signed.
There was a knock on the door before she could respond. It opened and Rachel smiled as she walked in. The knock had just been to give them a quick heads up that the other side had arrived.
“Right this way. Ms. Sinclair and Mr. Alexander are waiting for you.”
To Rachel’s credit, she didn’t give Mr. Alexander one of her simpering smiles. She just stepped out of the way to let the people behind her walk in.
Halfway to getting to her feet, while Mr. Alexander rudely remained seated beside her, Camille froze when she saw who was walking through the door.
Freddy.
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Read the FIRST CHAPTER today!
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Golden Angel is a USA Today best-selling author and self-described bibliophile with a "kinky" bent who loves to write stories for the characters in her head. If she didn't get them out, she's pretty sure she'd go just a little crazy.
She is happily married, old enough to know better but still too young to care, and a big fan of happily-ever-afters, strong heroes and heroines, and sizzling chemistry.
When she's not writing, she can often be found on the couch reading, in front of her sewing machine making a new cosplay, hanging out with her friends, or wandering the Maryland Renaissance Fair.
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