Paper-Thin Walls

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  After showering and dressing, I had a bite to eat at the hotel breakfast bar. Deciding not to extend my stay, I packed my belongings and tossed them into the cargo area.

  Today was Ryan’s big interview day. I hoped our marriage problems didn’t affect his chances for a promotion. If he could advance to a managerial position, it would be a considerable raise, not to mention less traveling time. Whether or not I stayed married to Ryan, I wanted him to get the advancement. Upon thoughtful consideration, I opted to take the high road, pushed my angry feelings aside and headed for the downtown area, thinking I’d run by his office and give him some words of encouragement.

  Ryan officed in the Engineering Building on the 25th floor. After parking and taking the skybridge over the street below, I worked my way over to the main elevators. Riding the lift and stepping off into a wide, plush-carpeted hallway, I peered through the front doors, all glass from top to bottom.

  A gasp immediately jumped from the back of my throat at the sight of Ryan’s tall, fit physique leaning over Shannon’s desk. The two of them were enthralled in a deep conversation. My legs gave out from under me, causing me to falter against the wall.

  “No,” I choked out under my breath. Following my first instinct – which was to kill my husband – I stormed up to the door and flung it open with a blast of force. My theatrics were somewhat diminished when the pneumatic closer failed to allow for any slamming when the door softly closed behind me. But it didn’t stop the tornadic rage twisting inside me as I thundered inside and stomped over to Shannon’s desk, planting myself a few feet away from Ryan.

  Hate-filled words wanted to fly from my mouth and bring the roof down. With great effort, I refrained from screaming obscenities and held my hands to my side to keep them from flying in every direction. Several deep breaths were taken in an all-out effort to get myself under control.

  Then I froze, thinking this might be one of those situations where they admitted being lovers and I looked like a fool.

  When Ryan caught my approach, he reared back, as if a rush of guilt had flooded his veins. Tension gripped his face and his lips compressed together. When Shannon eyeballed my devastated expression, her face quickly spread into a taunting smirk. Ryan was caught. Shannon was gloating. Their body language spoke volumes.

  In that one tiny moment, I realized there was more than Ryan admitted. His begging me to stay amounted to nothing more than a lie. Instantly, my expression turned from disbelief to realization. It felt as if my heart had been ripped out and stomped on.

  “Hailey, what are you doing here?” Ryan asked, his face turning pale.

  “I … I came by to wish you good luck on your interview,” I stammered.

  “Well thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.”

  From behind Ryan, Shannon looked at me with a dry smile and said, “What a coincidence, I was just wishing Ryan good luck on his interview, too. By the way, sorry to have kept your hubby out the other night. I think we both ended up feeling a bit tipsy.”

  She wasn’t even looking at me, which only served to fuel my anger. She smiled at Ryan, then eventually flicked her gaze to me.

  “You know,” she said, “it took a lot of convincing on my part to persuade Ryan into growing his facial hair, but he finally gave in. Don’t you agree he’s better looking with it?”

  I wanted to pummel her, tear her from limb to limb. But one thing stopped me. Ryan had always been clean-shaven … until right about the time Shannon Lowry came to work here. Shannon was a relatively new hire, having only come onboard three, maybe four months ago. Considering the timeframe, he most likely had grown his precisely kept beard and neatly trimmed mustache for her. The impact of her words sent a knife straight through my heart.

  With sheer determination, I straightened my spine and responded. “Yes, I think it’s extremely attractive. Well, good luck today, Ryan. I’ll leave you two to it.” Turning on my heel, I shot my husband a look of fury, leaving him speechless. Maintaining my poise, I forced myself to stroll casually back to the door and out to the elevator while my innards were doing nothing but betraying me.

  “Hailey,” Ryan called out, rushing after me and following me out into the hallway. “I was only trying to find out what happened last Friday night. Nothing is going on here. I swear.”

  “You looked pretty cozy to me,” I growled, turning my back to him and repeatedly smashing my finger at the CALL button, hoping the car arrived instantly.

  “No, baby. Please don’t leave. Please, let’s talk this out,” Ryan pleaded with a tortured expression on his face. “I’ll shave it off,” he stupidly added.

  “So, you did grow your facial hair for her.” Anger raged inside my gut. I wanted to slap his face off, hair and all. Ryan now sported a well-groomed, short-stubble beard and mustache. It was one of those sexy-as-hell looks that gave the impression he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, when in truth he spent a great deal of time getting it to look just so-so. The thought he’d spent his grooming time for that tramp was more than I could handle.

  “Baby please, don’t let this cost us our marriage.” His expression grew solemn, and his breath was ragged.

  The elevator arrived and the doors parted. “I’m leaving,” I snarled low under my breath.

  “Baby don’t run away. Running never solved anything. Please don’t go. We need to talk this out.”

  I stepped onto the elevator, and he pushed in behind me, sticking his arm in the door to keep it from closing. “Get off, Ryan,” I roared.

  “No, come back to my office and we’ll talk,” he pleaded.

  “No. Get off. I mean it! I’m too angry to talk right now anyway.”

  His eyes blinked rapidly. “Fine, I’ll step off. But only so you can cool off. Promise me we’ll talk about this later.”

  My throat made an impatient sound. I’d had it with his dishonesty. Why was I even considering saving my marriage? In fact, now I hoped he got that promotion just so I’d be awarded a larger amount of child support. Clearly there was more to their relationship than met the eye. The picture of them having sex headed to the forefront of my thoughts. Impossible to dislodge it, the dreaded reality hit me in the face. Divorce was where we were headed. Instantly, the fire inside burned out, leaving me stricken with overwhelming hurt and disappointment. Swallowing back a sob, I stared into nothingness, knowing my life was about to be turned on its end.

  Stepping in closer and narrowing my gaze, I glared at him. “Yeah, we’ll talk later,” I grumbled hatefully, letting him know this was far from over. In fact, it had only just begun.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hailey

  Riding the elevator to the lobby, I headed straight for the building’s directory, searching for the nearest family law attorney. My eyes landed on Carlson & Carlson, located on the 34th floor. I’d heard of this firm. They were one of the more prestigious legal firms in town. While I wanted good representation, they were probably far outside my pocketbook. I continued to scrutinize the other possibilities, hoping to spot a firm that represented the more moderate household.

  “Are you looking for anyone in particular?” an attractive, brown-haired man asked, noting I had been scanning the roster of tenants for an extended length of time.

  Thinking I was in my own little world, he startled me to the point I jumped. “Uh, no, I was looking for a divorce attorney.”

  He continued his approach, carrying with him a prepackaged sandwich from a nearby deli. “Hi, I’m Paul Williams. I’m an attorney with Carlson & Carlson. I generally do criminal representation. But one of my colleagues, Brenna Howard, is proficient in family matters.”

  “Okay. I’ll give her a call. Do you have her number?”

  “Here, let me give you one of my cards. It has the main number on it. Just give the receptionist a call. She’ll connect you to Brenna’s secretary and she can book an appointment for you.”

  “Thank you.” I watched him pat the pockets of his jacket and then rifle though his w
allet three times.

  “Shucks, I seem to be out of business cards.” He frowned, brushing a hand through his dark brown hair. “You know what, just follow me upstairs and I’ll have Linda set you an appointment, or at least I’ll get you one of Brenna’s business cards.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, thinking I could call and ask about the hourly rates. If they were too steep, I simply wouldn’t book an appointment.

  We boarded the elevator and took what seemed like a long ride to the 34th floor. “What brings you downtown?” Mr. Williams asked after an awkward silence sucked the air from the tiny room.

  “My husband … he works on the 25th floor at Premier Designs.”

  “Your husband,” he picked up on. “Are you personally seeking a divorce attorney, or is this for a friend?”

  “Me,” I choked out, unable to add anything else to the conversation.

  “Well, Brenna will get you fixed up,” he said after another long period of silence presented itself.

  Finally, an automated voice announced our floor and the doors slid open. After a short walk down a marbled hallway, he opened the right side to a set of double glass doors, allowing for my entrance. Together we approached a reception desk. “I’m looking for one of Brenna’s cards,” he told the receptionist as he hovered over an array of business card holders trying to spot the right one.

  “Why are you looking for my card?” a voice asked from off to the far right.

  “Oh, hey Brenna. I have a potential client for you.” He gestured in my direction. “This is Brenna Howard. Brenna this is … sorry, what was your name?”

  “Hailey Sinclair,” I responded, shaking Brenna’s outstretched hand. At five-two, I had to gaze up at her tall frame to meet her giant brown eyes. She was a thin brunette with an hourglass figure, an oval-shaped face, and a big friendly smile.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hailey. What can I do for you?”

  “I need a divorce attorney,” I barely managed getting out of my mouth without choking. “I … I was going to call for an appointment.” I quickly added, knowing it was unprofessional to simply show up at an attorney’s office without scheduling a consultation, especially in my casual attire of jeans and a simple T-shirt.

  “Well, I’m between clients right now. Why don’t you come on back to my office?”

  Before having time to consider her offer, she was ushering me away from the front desk and down a side hallway.

  “Thank you, Mr. Williams,” I called out, looking over my shoulder at him as we walked away.

  “Anytime,” he responded.

  Entering a small office with large clocks mounted on two separate walls, along with three others positioned across her desk, she directed me to a floral-patterned, upholstered guest chair and pulled a legal pad from the top drawer of her highly polished desk. After taking a seat, I noticed the credenza behind her had an additional clock, front and center.

  “Do you collect clocks?” I asked, noting another three on a nearby bookshelf.

  “No, I don’t. But I’m an extremely punctual person and I like to keep track of time.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said, thinking if I hired her, I’d better not show up late for any appointments, then thinking it was probably to help keep track on billing her clients. I made a mental note of the time to later inspect my bill, if indeed I did hire her.

  After giving her a few identifying bits of information, I grew increasingly nervous about what kind of financial obligation I was getting myself into. “Ms. Howard, before I waste much of your time, I need to know your hourly rate.” I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Ryan and I weren’t poor, but we weren’t made of money, either. And from the prestigious furnishings in her office, I was more than likely in over my head. “I … I’m currently unemployed,” I informed her, making myself feel even less worthy of a highfalutin legal firm, not to mention I hadn’t called for a proper appointment and was underdressed, especially in comparison to her smart-looking, gray business suit with a cream-colored silk blouse. She presented herself as the ever-proficient business attorney she was, while I looked the part of a frumpy housewife and mother of a young child.

  After talking for a while about the fees, surprisingly, she was willing to work out a payment plan. In the end, I accepted her services and gave her a check for a retainer fee, enough to get the ball rolling. On my way out, she stopped me. “Hang on a second. Let me ask Paul something.” She made a quick call over the office phone system and arranged for him to meet us back in the lobby.

  Once we convened back in the lobby, she directed her attention to Mr. Williams. “Paul, didn’t you mention something about Paige interviewing for new hires?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact she is,” he responded. He turned his gaze to me. “Paige is my fiancé. She was recently appointed as the Chief Financial Officer for Harrington Oil & Gas. There was a disruption within the company and she’s currently holding interviews for the available positions.” He paused. “Are you looking for a job?”

  “Yes, I am,” I acknowledged, feeling like I was already indebted to my attorney and needed to start earning some money.

  “Let me take you down,” he offered, and after bidding a goodbye to Ms. Howard, he led me back to the elevator, pressing the 15th floor button.

  “Thank you, Mr. Williams. I appreciate your assistance.”

  He smiled, showing a row of straight white teeth. “You’re welcome. And please, call me Paul.”

  I nodded agreeingly. “Call me Hailey,” I said, reciprocating our informality.

  After passing by a receptionist, we continued until we arrived at the Accounting Department. Passing by two men, he ushered me into a large corner office, separated from the employees by a wall of glass.

  Next, he introduced me to an attractive, blonde-haired woman who had the prettiest blue eyes. “Paige Davis,” she said, welcoming me into her office after she had a small chat outside my earshot with Paul.

  “Hailey Sinclair,” I responded, noting floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides provided an amazing vista of the northerly downtown buildings, as well as a westerly view of the Trinity River. “Sorry, I had no idea I’d be going on a job interview today,” I apologized, gazing down at my well-worn jeans, white T-shirt and dingy-white tennis shoes. She was professionally dressed in a dark blue jacket and matching skirt with a turquoise-colored silk blouse. Around her neck hung a thin silver chain with a turquoise pendant and on her left ring finger she was sporting a huge diamond engagement ring.

  “Think nothing of it. Paul told me he ran into you in the lobby while you were looking for an attorney to set up an appointment.” She rolled past my attire and began asking questions about myself.

  “I haven’t worked since giving birth to Adam,” I explained as I gave her my work history. “He’s four now. So, it’s been quite a while.”

  “Prior to your son’s birth, you mentioned working in collections for a bank. Correct?” she asked.

  “Yes, in collections and foreclosures,” I confirmed. “For about three years.”

  “Great, it sounds like you have a general background knowledge in accounting. We have several positions open right now. I’d like to start you with David Ross’s old job in reimbursements. It’s a great introductory position into the company. And with your financial background, you’ll pick it up in no time.”

  We discussed the salary, the hours, work attire, and a few other company policies. All sounded reasonable.

  “I’d certainly appreciate the opportunity,” I said with enthusiastic eyes.

  “Of course, I’ll have to run everything by Walter Harrington, the owner of the company. But I don’t foresee any problem whatsoever,” she surmised.

  I nodded, getting my hopes up. Then she went into the most unbelievable story about the previous CFO being killed in a stairwell. The whole time my eyes grew wider and wider.

  “Then another employee was poisoned to death after eating my chicken salad sandwich,” she prattled on. �
��I was accused of both murders,” she summed up after a while. When I thought she was finished, she surprised me with an even more outlandish tale about another employee she did kill. “But it was in self-defense,” she ended with.

  I tried hard to keep my mouth from gaping open, but it was a real chore. And frankly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be her employee. Not after everything she had just disclosed.

  “So, would you like the job?” she asked.

  “I’d love it,” I answered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hailey

  Though I wasn’t dressed professionally and didn’t know a single thing about Harrington Oil & Gas, somehow, after meeting with Walter Harrington, the owner of the company, I was officially hired. It boiled down to the fact that Ms. Davis was desperate to hire someone, and I was desperate for a job. So, there you go.

  Stopping by the deli in the lobby, I grabbed a sandwich and a bottle of water and took it with me. While walking back to my car, I touched base with my mom.

  “I got a job,” I led with.

  “A job!” my mother yelped in a shocked voice. “Why on earth did you think you needed a job?”

  “I’m filing for a divorce.” A lump jumped into my throat and tears pricked my eyes. “Ryan’s lying. I caught him at Shannon’s desk. She gloated that he grew his beard for her.” The shortened story came out garbled and ended with a sharp intake of air. “We’re not going to make it,” I concluded.

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” she said in her most motherly voice.

  “I need to go look for a place to move to. Can you keep Adam for a while longer?”

  “Yes, I’ll be glad to. Just do whatever you need to do.”

  After a short chat with Adam, I ended the call. Seated back in my car, I began googling nearby apartments while simultaneously nibbling at my lunch. I needed to find an affordable place to reside because my introductory payrate – and with no child support in place – I wouldn’t be able to manage the mortgage on our home, especially considering I’d have to put Adam in daycare. He was currently enrolled in Kids Ahead, an advanced teaching preschool that helped children learn reading, writing and math skills. He only went two days a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The rest of the time I would need childcare.