“You heard the judge,” he stated in a condescending tone.
That was more than she could take. Delaney jumped out of her seat and rushed around the table. She wore a low-cut, red blouse, and her breasts seemed to be fighting for release as she ran. Thick hips swayed up and down with every movement, and Lord, those curves were more than any one man deserved to have.
“You want to see abuse, I will show you abuse! You abused me for all of our marriage about my weight, my clothes, my appearance, my dialect!”
I jumped up to block her from physically attacking him but somehow ended up with my arms wrapped around her, and the bailiff grabbed Clayton. Delaney’s soft, cushiony behind pressed against me, and I had to close my eyes for a moment to control my breathing. Lord, she felt so good pressed against me. Every thought running rampant in my mind was so wrong and out oforder in this setting. She was the enemy, not some woman I was pursuing to date.
“Get your hands off me!” she shouted, wiggling in my arms and brushing her ass over my dick. I closed my eyes, but I quickly released her as she asked.
The judge ordered her to calm down before he arrested her. This woman, who I found attractive for some odd reason, was bold as hell. Yet, her behavior was distasteful. Looking between her and Clayton, though, I knew something was off.
He had shown me proof that he was a victim of domestic violence. Yet, he didn’t act like one in her presence. I pushed it out of my head, deciding that maybe he was more comfortable in the presence of other people, especially considering he wouldn’t have to deal with her after today.
Clayton tapped my arm and whispered to me when I leaned down toward him.
“Your Honor, my client would like to take out a restraining order on his ex-wife,” I stated.
“Very well.”
She blew up again, but this time, her attorney and the bailiff escorted her from the conference room. I called an end to the rest of my day because I felt a bad headache coming on.
I had only been awake for twenty minutes when the doorbell rang. I set my plate of fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, and collard greens that my housekeeper had made for me aside, and I headed to the front door.
“May I help you?” I asked the short white guy wearing a hoodie and baseball cap at the door. I knew from the packet inhis hand that I wasn’t being served, but I wasn’t sure why he was here.
“These are for you.”
“What is it?”
“Evidence that your client lied on his wife or presumably ex-wife.”
“I have dozens of clients. Who are you referring to?”
“Professor Settles.”
“Why are you handing these to me? The matter is over. The judge has ruled, and in case you didn’t realize it, he is my client.”
“Either way, you know he’s no good. I have followed plenty of your cases, and I know that you’re a good attorney. This is proof that the documents submitted to the court were false. Proof that Professor Settles propositioned his family, colleagues, friends, and students to lie for him. They were paid to offer their testimony, and the students and colleagues who participated were women he’s slept with in the past. One of the women who offered her testimony was someone he cheated with in the past. Not only did he pay her to testify, but also to attack him. Then he paid Dr. Angelo, his long-time friend, to take the photos that were submitted to the court and write a detailed statement about the abuse. He backdated the information when he put it in the medical records and made it appear to have happened on multiple occasions over the last two years.”
Fury filled my veins because I hated being lied to, manipulated, or used to further someone else’s gain.
“Who are you?”
“The private investigator who was hired to prove Professor Settles was cheating. Ms. Synclair hired me to find out whatever I could to protect her in the divorce, but I wasn’t able to uncover this information in time. Rather than taking it to her directly, I decided to bring it to you.”
“Why?”
“I’m worried what she might do to get revenge. The woman is hurting, and she’s a woman scorned. You don’t cross paths with a woman like that. Besides, she’s suffered enough hurt, and I don’t want her to get in trouble over the likes of him.”
“I can’t do anything with this information,” I declared, shaking the thick packet he handed me.
“You can share it with someone because you’re no longer representing him; the case has ended. You’re a pretty smart guy. I’m sure you’ll find a way to leverage that information to help Ms. Synclair and to make Mr. Settles pay what he really deserves. Have a nice night.”
I watched as the man sauntered back down my driveway and tipped his hat as a goodbye.
I stared down at the packet, closed and locked the door, and returned to my food. I had lost my appetite, and something told me that I was in for a long night.
3
