Page 105 of Masters of Control

Personally, Camille would like to see nothing more. Professionally, it was her job to thwart their intentions. According to him, she was supposed to keep him from having to pay anything at all, which was why they were going to court.

She was pretty sure he’d hoped Mrs. Alexander wouldn’t be able to find representation or that she’d decide it wasn’t worth going to court and would just quietly go on her way. Camille had tried to explain to him that wasn’t going to happen as soon as she knew who Mrs. Alexander’s representation was, but Mr. Alexander had dug in his heels, and now here they were.

Which meant trying her best, knowing if she succeeded, she was going to screw some poor woman out of money she was rightfully owed, or her own client, and therefore, her firm, were going to be unhappy with her. This morning, she’d figured out the reason the partners had passed Mr. Alexander off to her. They knew the chances of winning were fifty-fifty, and they didn’t want him unhappy with any of them.

Worried it would ruin their golf game or something.

“No,” Mr. Alexander said after a long minute, straightening in his seat and tugging his suit jacket down so he didn’t look so rumpled. “No, I’m not going to let that bitch get her hands on any of my money. Not when she’s trying to fucking leave me.”

Camille really hoped Mrs. Alexander actually was a bitch. Then she wouldn’t feel so bad about having to represent this asshole. She didn’t bother to point out the reason his wife would get his money was because of the prenup he’d signed.

There was a knock on the door before she could respond. It opened and Rachel smiled as she walked in. The knock had just been to give them a quick heads up that the other side had arrived.

“Right this way. Ms. Sinclair and Mr. Alexander are waiting for you.”

To Rachel’s credit, she didn’t give Mr. Alexander one of her simpering smiles. She just stepped out of the way to let the people behind her walk in.

Halfway to getting to her feet, while Mr. Alexander rudely remained seated beside her, Camille froze when she saw who was walking through the door.

Freddy.

Blue eyes widened, and his gait only faltered for a moment before he moved to the side, holding out his hand for the woman behind him to take it like the gentleman he was. With his blond hair perfectly styled, he was wearing a salmon pink suit that fit him perfectly. Next to her, Mr. Alexander made a derogatory noise even before his wife walked into the room, and she realized it was at the sight of Freddy in pink.

Mr. Alexander was an asshole bigot among other things, and when he saw another man in pink, his toxic masculinity couldn’t take it.

Which was likely deliberate on Freddy’s part.

Finally standing straight, Camille’s gaze dropped to the woman who was clutching Freddy’s hand while doing her best to pretend she wasn’t. Petite with auburn hair, wide hazel eyes, and stick thin other than her breasts, she looked like she was about to have a panic attack or flee the room. When Mr. Alexander made another derogatory noise, she flinched.

No, she was definitely not the snobbish bitch Camille had been hoping for, unless she was also an incredible actress. She looked exactly like what Camille had hoped she wasn’t—a woman who had been beaten down by years of marriage to a self-involved, extremely entitled, abusive dickhead.

I am on the wrong side of the table.

The worst part was looking across and seeing Freddy on the right side, wondering what he thought of her.

They were both just doing their jobs, but… The way he looked at her with his carefully neutral expression… it made her chest ache. She wanted to scream that she wasn’t this person.

But she couldn’t, because she was.

“Mrs. Alexander, Mr. Johan.” She managed not to choke on the words, gathering up the little pieces of herself and going into her carefully rehearsed speech. “Thank you for coming to meet us today.”

Freddy opened his mouth, then closed it and gave her a short nod before pulling out a chair for Mrs. Alexander. The woman sat down, placing her purse on her lap and clutching it tightly now that she no longer had Freddy’s hand for support. Her gaze came to rest on the middle of the table while beside Camille, Mr. Alexander glared across it.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Rachel asked. “Tea, coffee, water?”

“A water for each of us would be great, thank you,” Freddy said after a moment, giving her a smile. Rachel beamed back at him. Mrs. Alexander kept staring at the center of the table. Mr. Alexander glared.

It was excruciatingly awkward as Rachel retrieved two water bottles from the mini fridge in complete silence. As Rachel left, Camille cleared her throat and lifted her chin, readying herself for the opening sally, but it was already too late. As soon as Mrs. Alexander reached for her water bottle, her husband struck.

“Really, Brittany? He’s the best you can do?” Mr. Alexander sneered, looking between Mrs. Alexander and Freddy. “I thought you must have spread your legs to get a lawyer, but he clearly⁠—”

Camille slammed her hand down on the table with a loud crack that made Mrs. Alexander jump, and even Mr. Alexander pulled back, surprise clear in his expression. Turning to him, she glared. The man shriveled.

“Mr. Alexander, you will keep quiet until you are spoken to. You will not insult your wife. You will not insult her counsel. This is a mediation.” She spoke in a low voice, but her words were crisp and clear, and Mrs. Alexander and Freddy would both be able to easily hear her since the room was otherwise dead silent, no matter how quietly she talked. “If you do not want to ruin the mediation, you will be civil.”

Despite his initial reaction, Mr. Alexander’s face began to turn red as she spoke. She glared harder.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Freddy said from across the table. His voice was nothing like it had been the other night. This Freddy spoke in a clipped, stern tone that wouldn’t have been out of place from a Dominant. “It’s too late. I told Mrs. Alexander that the moment Mr. Alexander turned hostile, we would no longer be negotiating.”