Page 159 of Lovers' Dance: Vol. 2

“We’ll see,” I murmured distractedly as I went over the monthly expenses and tallied my business’ balance sheet.

Gloria lingered, sneaking concerned looks in my direction. I futilely tried to arrange my face into a mask of serenity.

“Are you ok, chuck?” she asked, absent-mindedly drumming her manicured nails over the edge of my desk.

“Mhmm,” I took the time to flash her a reassuring smile. Couldn’t let my troops know I was secretly falling apart on the inside. A quick peek at my watch confirmed it was well past lunch. “Have you taken your lunch hour yet, Gloria?”

“I’m about to head out,” she said. “Want me to pick up some sandwiches for you and the guys?”

I reached into my desk and pulled out some cash before handing it over to the best receptionist/part-time ballet instructor ever. “Thanks. Can you get me that Greek salad? The one with the-”

“Olives and sundried tomatoes,” she finished for me.

“You’re a star,” I called to her back as she exited the office and left me to my boring spreadsheets. Not being a numbers nerd, the monotonous ledger checks were strangely calming to me today. Perhaps because it all made logical sense. My life at the moment was illogical, a mess, completely fucked. Two days of constant texting, emails, and calls, had garnered no response from Matt. Turning up at our home on three separate occasions had been useless. On each occasion George had stated Matt wasn’t in, and George’s frigid attitude had broken my nerve of waiting around for Matt’s return.

Acting like a Bradley hadn’t worked for me. Then this morning I had gottenthe call. Not from my uncharacteristically stupid husband, but his solicitor. A call notifying me that any further communications were to be made via legal channels. A call notifying me that in line with UK laws only after a year of marriage could a divorce be sought, but Matt wanted me to be made aware that divorce proceedings would commence as soon as the required time was up and there was no possible option of reconciliation. His solicitor also advised I should seek my own counsel.

Yes. My idiotic, blind, fool of a husband had unleashed his solicitors on me. He was willing to destroy our marriage, all over something that wasn’t true. And I didn’t care what he said, or who had authenticated them; those photos were faked. A part of me had even begun to suspect Dante may have been right. What if Matt had grown tired of our marriage? We had gotten hitched pretty fast. What if he realized I wasn’t the woman he truly wanted to be with? I had never signed the post-nuptial agreement Portia had demanded of me. Fabricating evidence of infidelity would work in his favour. What if he simply wanted to get rid of me without having to pay a large settlement? In that scenario I could totally understand Dante’s point of view.

I had been right about him from the get-go. Matthew Bradley was a crazy gazillionaire.

“Stupid, stupid,stupidman.” I grumbled out loud.

Considering where things stood, my behaviour was remarkably calm. There was no personality changing depression, no more tears, just a deep burning anger at Matt’s unbelievable decision. Even if this alleged infidelity was true, which it most certainly was not…didn’t our marriage warrant a second chance in his eyes? Was our love not worth fighting for?

“Dumb ass.” My fingers scrolled over the mouse pad as I copied and pasted. It was obvious ‘denial’ was the word for today. Never had I imagined after a mere six and a bit months of marriage I would be facing a possible divorce. Only celebrities did stuff like that! And I still couldn’t comprehend his unwavering belief those photos were real. It seemed I had fallen afoul of technology goblins and karma had decided to take a dump on me. Many a public career had been ruined by similar things. Sex tapes, embarrassing statements recorded, ill-thought out posts on social media forums, hacked e-mail accounts, and third party exposés. There were countless ways a person’s life could be ruined by technology. But I was innocent of any wrongdoing and Matt, stupid Matt, was too mired in his jealous hurt to see clearly. What made it worse was his complete unwillingness to speak to me, to listen. It was as if he’d constructed an impenetrable wall between us, guarded by George and his secretary, and that bloody answer machine of his. He had simply cut me out of his life as if I was nothing more than an after-thought. I was his frigging wife! How could he do this? The utter lack of respect heshowed had woken my anger. I would be damned if I begged anymore. Aunt Cleo had been right all along. He had thrown me away, just like that.

“Asswipe.” I grumbled, then picked up my cell. Fuck it. He couldn’t treat me like this. Selecting the number from my contacts I prepared to face guard-dog number 2, the ever-professional Rachel.

“Bradley Industries. How may I help you?”

“Hi, Rachel,” I spoke calmly. “How are you?”

“Mrs Bradley,” Her tone immediately became softer. “Mr Bradley is not in at the moment.”

My sigh was loud and frustrated. “I know he’s in today. He has an important meeting with some investors. Please put the call through.”

There was a pregnant pause on her end, then, “I’m not supposed to, Mrs Bradley.”

“I know,” I agreed bitterly. “But put me through anyway.”

“I can lose my job if I do that, Mrs Bradley.” she hedged, playing on my pity.

“Never,” I scoffed lightly, trying to play on our camaraderie. “Matt knows you’re the best. He’ll never sack you.” Hey, flattery goes a long way.

She muttered something too low for me to hear then said, “If I lose my job-”

“You won’t,” I promised.

Another inaudible grumble from her before, “He’s in a foul mood. I’ve never seen him like this, Mrs Bradley. Maybe you should call back another time.”

“Put the call through, Rachel.” I said firmly.

“I’ll transfer the call through from my personal line. Don’t get me fired.” she murmured then put the call through.

I took a deep breath as I waited for Matt to pick up.

“What is it, Rachel? I’m busy.” Matt’s deep voice was a jolt to my senses. God. I missed his voice.

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