Page 2 of Marrying the Pakhan

She ignores that. “You should hire a husband.”

I stop filing. “A what?”

“A husband. For the custody thing.” She shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You said it yourself, your lawyer keeps bringing up marital status. So, marry someone.”

“That’s not a real solution, Renata, that’s a sentence.”

“It’s a real factor. You said so.” She says it easy, like she’s not suggesting anything more complicated than picking up milk on the way home.

“I’m not hiring a husband, Renata.”

“You could. There’s a place.” She’s grinning now, fully committed to the bit. “That club on Ashford. The one with the gold sign. I went there for Danny’s bachelorette, remember? Half those guys would marry you for the right price, and they’re gorgeous, Harper, like, genuinely⁠—”

“I’m not marrying a stripper to keep custody of my niece.”

“I didn’t say strip club.”

“You said gold sign, gorgeous, and Ashford. I know exactly what you said.”

She laughs, and it’s loud enough this time that the guest waiting by the elevator glances over, and I press my lips together to keep from laughing too, because it is a little bit funny.

“I’m just saying,” Renata says, quieter now. “Options.”

“That’s not an option. That’s a felony waiting to happen.”

“Marriage isn’t a felony.”

“Marrying a stranger to win a custody case might be.”

She shrugs like she’s not so sure, and the desk phone rings again before either of us can push it further, only this time it’s not a guest.

It’s my lawyer’s office, and I know that before I even pick up, because they’re the only ones who call this line instead of my cell, on account of my cell going straight to voicemail these days out of self-preservation.

“Harper Wilcox,” I say.

“Harper, it’s Denise. Do you have a minute?”

Denise never opens with do you have a minute unless the answer needs to be yes regardless of what I actually have.

I turn my back to the desk, phone pressed to my ear, and watch Renata pretend not to listen while filing a registration card upside down.

“I have a minute.”

“The Ivanovs’ attorney filed an amended petition this afternoon. I just got off the phone with him.”

“Amended how?”

“They’re arguing financial instability now. Specifically yours.” A pause. “They pulled your bank statements somehow. I don’t know how yet—I’m looking into it, but they’ve got three months of overdraft fees, and they’re planning to use them.”

My stomach does the thing it’s been doing for weeks now, the slow drop that never quite finishes falling. “Those overdrafts happened because Ginger needed a coat and new shoes in the same month daycare raised their rates.”

“I know that. You know that. A judge doesn’t automatically know that, and they’re going to make it look like a pattern instead of a bad month.” Denise’s voice softens, just slightly. “I need anything you’ve got. Pay stubs, a letter from your manager, proof the coat and the shoes were one-time expenses. Anything that shows this was a month, not a lifestyle.”

“I can get you pay stubs tonight.”

“Good. And Harper—” She stops.

“What.”