Harry stopped at a conference room and held open the door for her to walk in first.
Vivien glanced at the empty table inside and frowned. “Where’s Rex?”
“Why don’t we go in and have a seat.”
Vivien hated the placating tone of his voice. He was one head pat away from calling her a little lady. She bit her tongue and kept from responding. The jackass couldn’t help himself any more than he could end his addiction to huffing spray tanner.
Vivien brushed past him and stood by the walnut conference table. Folders with her name on them had been laid out. A tiny thread of annoyance and dread filled her to see them. “What is this about? Where is Rex? I’m here as a courtesy because he kept leaving me messages begging me to come. I don’t appreciate being made to wait for a half hour.”
“Please have a seat.” Harry gestured to a chair.
Vivien arched a brow and stared at him for a few seconds before placing her purse on the conference table and finally taking a seat. He sat opposite her and slid the folders in front of him. Placing his hand on the stack, he said, “Thank you for coming in, Vivien. We appreciate you making this easier for us.”
We? Us? Unless this man had an imaginary friend, they were the only two in the room.
“Why are we here?” Vivien asked, leaning onto her arms as she met his gaze. The hard wood was chilled from being under the air conditioning vent.
“It has been seven years since your divorce with my client,” Harry said, his tone changing to a more formal cadence.
“I’m aware. I was there.”
“You were only married seven years,” Harry continued.
“Also aware, also there,” Vivien said, her annoyance growing. She had better things to do than have this not-so-lovely stroll down memory lane.
“It is our feeling that Rex has been more than generous in regard to alimony payments. In most cases, alimony for marriages that last under ten years are for only half of the time married, so three and a half years in your case.” Rex opened the top file and ran his finger down the page as if to confirm what he wished to discuss. Vivien knew the act was all for show. Harry knew what he wanted to say.
“Your point?” she asked.
“Would you agree it’s been more than fair?” Harry prompted.
Rex used to try to manipulate her like that. He’d ask a series of questions to get her to say yes to things so psychologically she’d be primed to say yes to the thing he really wanted.
“Why am I here?” Vivien leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest.
Rex looked at his page. “You receive thirty-five percent of his income. I would say that has been more than generous.”
“Is he looking for a thank you card?” Vivien quipped. She had no clue what this ambush meeting was about, but she could psychically pick up Harry’s lunch order. Why was her gift so useless right now? Regardless, it had quickly become apparent that Rex wasn’t going to grow a pair and face her. “Rex offered the thirty-five percent.”
“In North Carolina, it’s unusual for a—”
“Harry, I’m going to stop you right there. My lawyer told me that in this state and under my particular circumstances I could have easily pushed for forty percent, so one could argue that I was very generous. Now, either you get to the point, or I’m leaving. You’re acting like Rex needs a liver transplant.” Vivien felt the man’s mounting frustration, even though he schooled his expression.
Rex had never believed her when she said she had psychic abilities. In fact, the term he used was nutjob. Vivien didn’t need her ex-husband to believe her. She knew she was clairsentient. When she was with someone, she could pick up on what they were feeling. She also happened to be claircognizant and often knew things without knowing how she knew them.
Like now.
“It’s not a liver transplant, is it? He’s in line for a promotion.” Vivien gave a small laugh, secretly grateful that her gift had finally given her something useful. “Are you making him a full partner?”
“Let’s stay on topic, please. We’re going to petition the court to end alimony payments. We feel—”
“We? Don’t you mean Rex feels?” Vivien inserted.
“We feel that fourteen years of compensation for a seven-year marriage is excessive.” Harry tapped his pointer finger on his stack of files.
“Fourteen? Did you seriously just imply that I was compensated during my marriage, as well as after?” Vivien shook her head. She kept her tone light, mostly to annoy him, as she added, “That’s insulting not only to me but to every married and formerly married woman in the world, and it cheapens wives to no more than prostitutes. Do you think wives are prostitutes, Harry?”
“I misspoke. Of course, I meant seven.” Harry was unable to hide his frustrated reaction to that comment. Some things she didn’t need to be psychic to see. “This is a courtesy meeting to give you the chance to sign away further payments without having to go to court.”
Wow. This guy had a giant set of balls. He talked like he was doing her a favor.
“You have had ample time to find meaningful employment,” he continued, “and a new residence if the mortgage payments continue to be a financial burden.”
That was something her lawyer had asserted in the divorce proceedings—financial burden.
These people acted like all the things she’d done to help Rex’s career were nothing. It wasn’t just decorating his house, hosting parties, and being his plus one at endless dinners. She’d drafted half his legal arguments, including the one that set him on the partner track.
Vivien pulled her purse from the table onto her lap. She dug for her phone and clutched it in her hand. “Well, since it has been seven long years like you so eagerly keep pointing out today, let me remind you why Rex offered me alimony in the first place.” She glanced down at her phone and tapped the screen to bring up a passworded folder. She clicked on the first picture and held it up so he could see. “I’m no attorney, but I believe the term my lawyer used when he saw these was marital misconduct.”
Harry glanced at the picture and his eyes widened.
“You didn’t see these during negotiations, did you?” Vivien leaned forward and angled her phone so they could both watch what she was doing. “Here’s Rex with three prostitutes. Though, between us, I think they’re all faking those expressions.” She slid to the next shot. “And Rex trying on that woman’s clothes and makeup. Fishnets are not an easy look to pull off.” She scrolled to the next one. Vertical blinds blurred part of the picture, but there was enough of the seedy motel room visible to show a camcorder pointed at the bed. “Here’s Rex recording himself. You’d think a lawyer would know better.”
“I don’t see what—”
“Oh, wait, I have the actual video.” Vivien moved to the next file. “After the private detective I hired showed me the photos he took, I recognized what looked like our personal camcorder in some of them. It didn’t take long to find the rest of the evidence I needed. But here, watch for yourself. As my lawyer liked to tell me, solid proof plays out so much better in court than hearsay, and people just love watching videos. It’s like reality television.”
She pushed play. The sounds that came from her phone belonged in a porno. Then again, that was exactly what the video was—amateur porn. Vivien was no prude, but she had never let Rex record them in bed.
“Hold on, let me fast forward to my favorite part.” Vivien ran her finger over the screen until she found what she wanted. She zoomed in and held the phone close to his face. “I believe that’s cocaine Rex is snorting off that young lady’s very trim backside.” She moved the screen view. “And that’s a coffee mug with the law firm logo.” She moved it again to show the full shot. “The private detective told me that one of these girls was only twenty. So I’m guessing when he pours them shots later and serves her liquor, that’s a bad thing.”
Either Harry had thought she’d lost the evidence, or he had not realized how bad it made Rex lo
ok. “You can’t prove when that was taken.”
“I suppose the time stamp on the camcorder could have been faked, but at about twenty minutes in you can hear the newscaster talk about a book launch party for a local author, which proves when it was taken.” She held her phone in front of her and hovered her finger. “Do you want me to find it for you?”
Harry refused her offer with a firm shake of his head. “No. I don’t need to see more.”
“Drugs, alcohol, prostitutes, adultery.” Vivien turned off the video, unable to continue listening to the sex noises. “It doesn’t look very good for your new partner, Harry. But you do what you have to do. We can go to court, show the judge, and let him decide what I deserve for putting my career on hold to help Rex with his, for being faithful, and throwing parties to entertain law firm clients. I might just ask for forty percent this time instead of thirty-five. There is a lot of pain and suffering in this video that I will have to live through. Not to mention my humiliation when this goes public.”
“Well, like you said, you’d be humiliated.” Harry clung to the only threat he had.
Vivien nodded. “You’re right. Maybe I should ask for fifty percent.”
Harry stared at her phone like he contemplated grabbing it and smashing it.
“Don’t worry,” Vivien said. “I have backup copies. If Rex wants to stroll down memory lane, I’ll be happy to email him the file.”
Harry shut the top folder and slid it aside. “I don’t see any need for dramatics.” He opened the next one. “We were worried you might not see things our way, so we drafted a settlement of a one-time payment that is more than generous. Rex just wants to get on with his life. I’m sure you do too.”
Harry turned the folder and slid it toward her. Vivien leaned forward to read, “One hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
Vivien laughed. “Why would I do that? Our divorce states that I am to be paid thirty-five percent of Rex’s salary.”
“Yes, thirty-five of his salary at the time of the divorce,” Harry answered.
“That might have been what Rex wanted, but that’s not what was written down. You might have to fire an intern because what we signed and filed said I get thirty-five percent, period. So unless that third file on the table is telling me what kind of a raise we’re getting with his new promotion, I think I’m done with this conversation.” Vivien stood. “Tell your client that the next time he wants me to meet with his lawyer, be upfront about it, and call my attorney first.”
“Do you really need all that money?” Harry insisted. “Can’t you be reasonable about this, Viv?”
“Call me Mrs. Stone,” she corrected. They weren’t friends. “Now, if you would excuse me, I am taking care of an injured friend and I need to get home.”
Vivien strode to the door and opened it.
Before she left, she glanced back. “Exactly how big is this raise?”
Harry didn’t meet her eyes.
“That’s all right. I’ll just look at the statements that come with the next payment notice. I’m thinking it might be time to have my attorney do an audit of the funds I’m receiving, just to make sure there are no clerical errors. Consider this a courtesy notice to get your paperwork in order. It worries me that you thought it was thirty-five percent of his salary from seven years ago. If there have been any raises, I hope you weren’t sending the wrong amount all these years.” Vivien kept her head high as she strode away from the conference room.
Rex could kiss her ass. Except for the first couple of years when she’d invested the alimony payments into property and franchises, almost all of what he gave her went to charities each month, and several of them had come to depend on the donations. It was Vivien’s way of keeping karma balanced for all the bad shit Rex put out into the world.
She walked by Mrs. Cameron at the reception desk, moving past the woman to go down the hall toward the last place she knew Rex to have an office.
“Wait, you can’t go back there,” Mrs. Cameron called after her.
Vivien walked faster. She stopped by the door that read, “Rex Hewitt,” in bold letters and looked through the blinds at the desk inside the office. Aside from the shift his hair had undergone from black to gray, he looked the same. She always found it to be a shame that a person’s face didn’t always match their insides. Rex had the kind of silver fox features that only looked better with age.
Vivien rapped on the window with her knuckle. The ring on her forefinger struck the glass.
His hands were wrapped around a giant sandwich, and he was mouth deep in a bite when his brown eyes met hers. He visibly stiffened.
Vivien arched a brow and flipped him off, mouthing, “Coward.”
“You can’t be—” Mrs. Cameron rushed toward her.
“Take it easy, Gal Friday,” Vivien quipped, cutting off the woman’s words. “I was just leaving.”
Vivien heard the ding of an elevator and hurried to catch it before it closed. The less time she spent on this floor, the better. When Rex had called, begging her to come by and talk, she hadn’t thought he’d meant to drag her into a legal mess. She should have realized it, but she hadn’t. Her psychic gift didn’t work over the telephone.
She didn’t look to see if the elevator was going up or down. All she saw was the doors closing, and she rushed forward to slip her hand into the opening to trip the sensors.
The doors opened. A man in a business suit looked annoyed by the delay. His hair had enough gel in it that the lines from his comb were still noticeable.
The woman next to Mr. Hair Gel gave her a faint smile. She leaned against the handrail with her arms crossed over her chest.
Vivien hesitated. A small shiver worked over her as she met the woman’s green eyes, and she felt a little sick to her stomach.
“Well?” the man asked.
Vivien stepped forward slowly, a little lightheaded. For such a small space, there was a lot of psychic energy floating around the elevator.
“Vivien?” She had not seen the third passenger on the elevator right away.
“Oh, hey,” she answered. Her new neighbor, Troy Radford, was a professor on sabbatical to write a book on an anthropological study of modern beach culture and its impact on the environment… or something academically worthwhile like that. Every time he tried to talk to her, she’d found an excuse to leave the area.
It wasn’t that the guy creeped her out. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Troy had an approachable smile with traces of laugh lines that proved he used it often. His shorter dark hair had hints of steely gray, and his dark eyes would be easy to get lost in.
In her mind, male college professors always wore slacks and sweater vests. She had no clue why, but it was the image she associated with them—admittedly unfairly. Troy did not fit that mold. His lightweight linen shirts were button-down, but not sharply pressed. More often than not, he was in cargo pants or jeans with sneakers.
“How’ve you been?” she asked Troy, not looking at him.
Vivien glanced at the woman’s reflection in the metal elevator door. She didn’t like the vibe she picked up. It wasn’t the woman, per se, but something that floated around her.
“Good, thanks,” Troy answered. “I finally got most of my boxes unpacked. You know what they say. If they’re not unpacked after a month, you probably don’t need it.”
“Is that what they say?” Vivien didn’t pay attention to the conversation. Troy was a nice enough man, but the second he’d introduced himself, she knew that he wanted to ask her out on a date. She found it best to avoid him.
Having psychic tendencies could be fun, but for the most part it was a great survival tool. Troy was the type to want a relationship, something deep and meaningful. He was the kind to have an eye on marriage. Vivien had been there, done that two times. She wasn’t interested in going for round three. That was why she preferred dating the younger men who came to Freewild Cove on vacation. They came pre-installed with commitment phobias and a timetable.
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Plus, some of them, for the briefest of flashes, reminded her of Sam. She lived for those fleeting moments. She would give anything to see Sam again, hold him, hear him, kiss him. Time had faded some of the details, but that feeling of acceptance and all-consuming love lingered. The ache was deep and had been with her so long that she wasn’t sure what life would be like without it.
The elevator dinged, and the woman and Mr. Hair Gel made a move to exit at the same time. Vivien grabbed the woman by her upper arm to stop her. At the contact, the woman looked more surprised than concerned.
“That man is going to try to share a cab with you. Say no. Trust me. You’re not safe with him.” Vivien released the woman’s arm and couldn’t blame her when she rushed away from the crazy lady telling her what to do.
“Do you know that guy?” Troy asked.
Vivien shook her head in denial. “No. Never seen him before.”
“Then…?” Troy watched as the woman left the building. Mr. Hair Gel had stopped a cab and stood with the door open. He gestured toward the lady as if offering to share a ride. His wide smile made Vivien press her lips together as she watched with bated breath.
The woman glanced back toward the building, appearing worried. She slowly shook her head and headed off in the opposite direction on foot.
Vivien released her breath and whispered to herself, “Good girl.”
“Wait, how did you…?” Troy moved to hold open the front door for her. “Why didn’t you want her to share a cab with that man?”
“I don’t know. Just a feeling.” Vivien didn’t want to get into details about what it meant to be claircognizant. She’d tried to tell people she was psychic in the past, especially when she was younger, and people had one of two reactions. Rarely, they believed her and then wanted her to predict stuff for them. Or, usually, they didn’t believe her and they treated her like a kooky freak. Since some of her ancestors used to work as tarot card readers on the carnival circuit in the late 1800s and early 1900s, the word freak had been a family curse word on par with dropping an f-bomb.
Third Time's a Charm Page 2