Page 77 of The Wrong Guy
“No picketers. But I do have a bit of an emergency. Can you come over to my parents’ house? Now.”
“An emergency? A legal emergency? I don’t know many things that’d qualify for that, but you’ve got my interest piqued, and that’s hard to do for an old guy like me.”
“Well, hopefully you’re an old dog who doesn’t mind learning a few new tricks, because this one’s a doozy. Do you need me to send someone to pick you up?” Jesse’s followed me into the foyer and holds up his hand, volunteering, when he hears my question.
“Nah, truth be told, I’m out of my damn beers. Been messing with my routine all night,” Ben confesses. “Already pulling my shoes on and heading that way. You wanna give me a hint what I’m walking into?”
Behind me, I hear a hard knock on the coffee table and Mom says, “I hereby call to order the inaugural meeting of the Jed Ford Support Group.” And then the women giggling together as one.
I’m glad they’re not in danger of killing each other anymore, but now, I’m kinda worried they might kill Jed. Literally or figuratively, or both for all I know. There’s a lot of years of hate, revenge, bitterness, and more sitting around that coffee table, being fueled by sugar and cheese.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I did. You’ll have to see it with your own eyes,” I tell Ben.
When I hang up with him, Jesse crowds into me. He’s looming over me, creating that protective bubble where only we exist. His smile is a bit crooked as he looks down at me, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger. “You are amazing, Wren. I can’t believe you pulled that off with those women in there. That brain of yours is so fucking sexy.”
He presses a sweet kiss to my forehead that shouldn’t make me buzz, but definitely does. I shrug humbly. “I didn’t do much. There wasn’t a lot I could legally say.”
Jesse chuckles. “You didn’t have to say much. You set it all up perfectly, like one of those domino chain-reaction deals, and then you tapped the first one and watched your masterpiece take shape. You play so fucking dirty, but in the cleanest way possible.”
The compliment warms my heart. Not just that he values what I do, but that he sees the precision it takes to do it. Because he pays that much attention. “Thank you,” I tell him softly. “And thanks for understanding what I couldn’t say and doing it for me.”
“Anytime,” he vows seriously. “I’ve always got your back.”
Chapter 26
WREN
The courtroom is packed. Normally, family court is never like this. But this divorce is affecting the whole city, and Cold Springs has turned up in force to find out who’s getting what. Some of them are worried about their own leases and want to know who’s going to be getting their monthly rent checks. Others are just nosy as hell.
And some of us are hoping that their dominos fall as intended.
I’m sitting with Jesse on a hard wooden pew. His arm is thrown over the back, allowing me to get closer to his side, so our thighs are pressed against one another. With a quick scan of the room, I can see Etta, Mom, Dad, Daisy, Maggie, Francine, Ben, Wyatt, Lucy, and several city council members who are “friends” of Jed’s.
And of course, Jed and Robert Jenkins are up front, sitting opposite Chrissy and Oliver.
“Nervous?” Jesse whispers into my ear.
Silently, I look at him, letting him see the freak-out I’m holding at bay in my eyes. When he nods and squeezes my shoulder, I let the veil fall back over my expression. Resting Bitch Face is apropos for the courtroom, especially when I’m here to represent the city’s interests if needed.
Judge Hobner bangs his gavel on the wooden desk and warns the gallery, “I know this divorce is a big deal to some of you, but I won’t have any tomfoolery in my courtroom today. The only people I want to hear from are Mr. and Mrs. Ford and their representatives. Understood?” He points with the gavel, and everyone quietly nods agreeably, not willing to get kicked out before the good stuff happens. “Good. Now, let’s hear whatcha got. Mr. Jenkins?”
“Your Honor,” he starts once he’s stood, “with the advice of counsel, Mr. and Mrs. Ford have reached an agreement on the dissolution of their marriage and dispersion of assets.”
“That true?” Judge Hobner asks Oliver.
He stands quickly. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“Alright, lemme see it, then.”
Robert approaches the bench—which is just an oversize desk on a small riser—and hands over a manila folder before returning to Jed’s side. Judge Hobner opens it and starts to read, his brows climbing closer to where his hairline used to be with every line.
“This says that Mrs. Ford is to receive approximately seventy percent of the marital assets?” Judge Hobner chokes slightly, glancing up to make sure that’s not a typo. When neither Robert nor Oliver corrects him, he continues, seeming stunned at that figure. “That works out to be the family home, several bank accounts, her vehicle, and a laundry list of properties that I’m going to assume you’ve both verified. Is that correct?” he asks, dropping the paper to the desk heavily.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Robert intones flatly.
With his confirmation, the gallery gasps in surprise. People from town had no idea that was even a possibility and are whispering to one another with shocked expressions as they look at Jed’s forlorn expression, which is absolutely an act to play the victim to Chrissy’s moneygrubbing.
Judge Hobner bangs his gavel again. “Order, order. I warned you. If necessary, I’ll make this a closed proceeding.”