She smiles, leans over the counter, and squeezes my arm. “No, but it is what she needs.”
I chew on my bottom lip. “How can you be so sure?”
“You make her happy and she’s had very little happiness in recent years.”
My brain ticks over. I’d be lying to myself if I said Ihadn’t thought about it, but I worried it was too soon. It's still early days for us, and we have so much to sort out.
“Before you get ahead of yourself, there’s a lot more I have to do before anything like that can happen. Finalising my divorce with Chelsea, for one.”
“Then do it, Tommy,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a beaming smile. If you’re so set on divorce before you move on with Angie, then make it happen as fast as you can. Life is too short and you’re wasting time.”
“Is everything okay, Tom?” Alex, my solicitor, asks while we wait for the bane of my life.
Not wanting to get my phone out in case it seems rude, I look around his sleek, comfortable office for a clock, finding one on the wall behind him. “Yeah. What time are they getting here?”
“They’re late, but don’t let it bother you. That’s exactly what they want and, remember, I’ll do all the talking.”
Alex’s assistant taps against the door. “Mrs Graham and Mr Morrison are here for you, sir.”
“Thanks, Jules,” Alex says, and we both stand.
Alex offers his hand to Chelsea’s solicitor, and so do I. Meanwhile, Chelsea struts into the room wearing bright red lipstick, a short as hell red dress, and black high heels. She’s ready for war, but I’ve been told by Alex not to bite. This has to go smoothly, although this is Chelsea we’re talking about, so anything could happen.
The three of us take a seat in comfortable leather chairs, while Alex sits at his desk. His elbows rest on the top, his fingers steeple, and he waits for them to start the conversation.
“So, Mr Graham, we’ve received your offer in writing. The financial payout and split of assets are very generous, but we have some concerns over your personal conditions,” Morrison says.
“Which are?” Alex replies.
“You’ve requested Mrs Graham publicly apologise for the allegations she made against your client during an interview withTame Magazine. The allegations reference an affair with Mrs Angela Knox while they were still married.” His glasses slip down his nose as he looks over them towards me. He’s trying to intimidate me, but the old geezer doesn’t faze me at all.
“Correct,” Alex answers. “The apology should be made to Mrs Angela Knox, in particular. She suffered immense stress and loss of earnings to her business due to the huge amount of press attention.”
“So, you’re saying the affair never happened?”
“Correct. My client and Mrs Knox dated while at university some years before, but since then, they haven’t been romantically involved.”
I hope my face isn’t giving anything away while I wonder if kissing counts.
“I see. And you’re absolutely confident about this?” The old git smirks.
“Yes, I am, but you seem to imply otherwise.”
“It’s just your client has previously stayed at the address owned by one—” he looks down at his papers, “—Ashton Chambers. The same Ashton Chambers who is a neighbour and brother-in-law to Mrs Knox and is also part of Mr Graham’s rock band.” He pronounces rock by rolling his R and exaggerating the K. Then he tuts. “You must concede it’s all very convenient.”
“Convenient, yes, but it doesn’t mean an affair took place.”
Keeping my mouth shut is fucking hard, but Alex knows what he’s doing. That’s obvious.
“You have to view the facts, Mr Morrison. As there is no visual evidence or witnesses, it means your story holds no weight. It’s the complete opposite of your client’s situation.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Chelsea stands abruptly from her seat while Morrison shoots a hard-faced scowl towards her. She sits back down, and Morrison continues, giving her the side-eye. “Go on, Mr Pine. You were saying.”
Alex takes a collection of photographs from his desk and passes one to Morrison.
“I believe this should tell you everything. It’s quite clear Mrs Graham is in a romantic embrace with another gentleman.”
I catch the images of Chelsea and Dylan that were couriered to me. They’re getting down to business, half naked. Those images still turn my stomach, but I silently thank Brett for sending them. To say Dylan and Chelsea weren’t too discreet was an understatement. Brett was the third person, that I know of, to see them together. I felt like a fucking idiot for not realising myself.
