Page 37 of Love Her

It was clear she was already distracted, working on getting into Zane’s phone on her end—he’d tucked the vape pen into its same pocket.

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask your new girlfriend, Gemini, that?” she asked.

“That sounds like a stripper name. Is she hot?” I teased.

“You cad!” Sable laughed—and then hung up.

20

LIA

There was a text from Rhaim waiting for me on the burner phone when I got up.

When you get out of your meeting, and it’s safe, call me.

And that was good. Something to look forward to, after…whatever this was.

What did one wear to a pre-nup signing? I knew I had several little black dresses, but did I own a black veil?

And honestly, I didn’t care what Marcus thought of me—he, at least, had known what he was getting into.

So I went back to my ‘art school clothing’ as Rhaim called it, a baggy sweater and jeans and low heeled boots, suitable for kicking someone’s ass if it came to that.

I might’ve felt like I was in a horror movie, but there was no reason I needed to dress like I was in one.

And I got a text on my normal phone at eleven.

Here. Ready?

from Trevia.

I didn’t even know her last name—I just knew she was like some sort of genie my father summoned periodically to get me and friends of his out of trouble.

I didn’t respond, I just took the elevator down.

There wasa black Escalade waiting for me outside, and the driver hopped out to open my door the second he spotted me.

“Don’t you think this is a bit much?” I asked her the second I got inside.

Trevia was almost my father’s age, but you wouldn’t know it from her hair, which was blonde and coiffed perfectly around her head as though it were a helmet.

“We’re not taking an Uber to an official business meeting,” she said primly, then gave me a hint of a smile. “Besides, I wouldn’t know how to write one off.”

I crossed my arms. “Somehow I doubt that,” I said, as she began to fish inside the leather folio case beside her. “Am I allowed to ask what I sold for?”

“Seventy-two camels and a penthouse with a view of the park,” she answered, before handing a sheaf of papers with little pastel tags poking out like a porcupine’s quills. “Teasing about the camels. Not about the penthouse. But you’re going to want to go through everything I flagged there, and quickly.”

“Why?” I asked, as the same time I reached the first one. “A morality clause?”

Trevia held her hands up. “They aren’t unusual in high profile marriages, especially when one party has a reputation to protect.”

My eyebrows crawled up my forehead. “His, or mine? And is he signing one?”

“Please,” Trevia tsked. “He’s a man. Though…” she began, and started scribbling down some notes, as I ran a thumb over the rest of the tabs.

“How much of this is bullshit?”

“Enough of it that I told our driver to take an extra loop around the block,” she said, jerking her chin back at the papers while she quickly wrote. I frowned, and opened it to the next tab. I skimmed it, and found out that I had to clear anything I said online with Marcus’s designated media consultant no less than 48 hours before posting.

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