Page 64 of I'm Not Yours
I actually laughed. It was ludicrous. He was ludicrous. He didn’t even surprise me anymore with his ludicrousness. “I’m done arguing, Grayson. Sign the papers.”
“I hardly recognize you anymore,” he said.
“I hardly recognize who I used to be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that woman is gone. She landed somewhere off Neptune. We sell the house, we each take half. We each put half of the money down, so that’s fair. I left you half our savings and half of what was in the checking account. You got your Porsche, I got my Porsche.”
“Which you sold.”
“Yes, gladly.” I bought an old and grumbly truck with a lot of personality and a deep growl. I had needed the proceeds from the Porsche to start my business.
“Grayson, El Monster,” Cherie delights in calling him and Walid “the Monsters,” “you are ticking me off. All chat, no action. All style, no substance. All slick, no brain. All schmooze,no thinking person in there. Let’s wrap this up or I’ll have to get nasty.”
“Hey, Cherie,” Walid said. “No threatening.”
“I’m not threatening him, El Monster, I’m telling him. This is a simple divorce. The simplest one ever. Sign the papers.”
“We need to talk about the paper signing,” Walid said. He wriggled in his seat, shot Grayson a glance, and Grayson wriggled, too. Two wrigglers. “We think the house should go to Grayson.”
“What?” I semi shrieked. Not that I was surprised. They are ruthless and sneaky.
“No way,” Cherie said. “Fifty-fifty. On what insane grounds would you think we would give you the house?”
“Because of June’s business.”
That sentence, thatonesentence, and Grayson leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled together as if he was smart and savvy, smirking, had my blood flowing, the ole MacKenzie temper flaring. “What about my business?”
“You have a business that you started when you were married to my client,” Walid said, his dark eyes condescending.
“I started sewing clothes, at night, and if I had time, on the weekends, because I was stressed-out,” I protested. “I wore the clothes.”
“It was a business,” Walid said, tapping his pen. “You sold clothes. You designed dresses, wedding dresses, other clothes. You started the business while married, which makes your business, June’s Lace and Flounces, I believe it is,” he fiddled with the paperwork to give me the impression that my company’s name was of zero consequence to him, “communal property.”
“Ha! Incorrect, El Monsters!” Cherie said. “June was sewing dresses for herself to wear, purses for her to carry her things, her guns and knives and a book on how to take revenge on smallhusbands.” She seared my ex with a meaningful, mad gaze. “It wasn’t a business.”
“I disagree,” Walid said.
“So do I,” Grayson said. “You get your business, I get the house. You started the business in my home.We aren’t divorced. We’re still married. You developed this business during our marriage. I was supportive of you and encouraging. I helped with the design, the inspiration, the early development of your company. Without me, you would not have launched it to the point you’re at now.”
I actually saw red, I was so steamin’ mad. “You didn’t encourage me. You barely asked what I was doing. I worked on my dresses at night until two in the morning. I worked weekends. You told me once that it was embarrassing to be seen with me when I was wearing one of my lace skirts. You called it too ‘redneck country.’ You said the wedding gowns were too ‘repulsively unconventional. A bridal circus.’ You said nothing I ever made would sell, and that I should wear my ruffled shirts only at home in the bathroom where no one could see them.”
“Nah,” Grayson said, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t remember that. I remember long nights being up with you while we worked. I remember analyzing your designs and making corrections. I presented a plan for marketing and making contacts in the wide world of fashion . . .” He smirked again. He knew he was lying. He knew I knew it. He was simply using lawyer talk to pressure me into capitulating.
I grabbed a law book off a nearby shelf and heaved it at Grayson’s face. Cherie sat back, relaxed.
“Nice one, June.” Grayson ducked.
“Control your client!” Walid shrieked, rather high-pitched for a man who tried to present himself as a manly man.
I threw another book at Walid. He squealed and bent under the table.
“I will sprout wings before I give you the house, Grayson. Half of it is mine.”
“Then start sprouting wings,” Grayson said, running a hand through that perfect gob of slicked-back hair.
I pelted another law book.
