Oliver
Carmen Reynolds sits opposite me in a Michelin-starred restaurant. It’s our first meeting, and she looks
as if she’s turned up for a fashion show. She is in her early seventies but looks fifty-five. She’s wearing a
long diamond necklace that plunges down the front of her suit jacket. She isn’t wearing a shirt, the narrow
neckline exposing the edges of her fake breasts where the necklace hangs down between them.
She has long, glossy, black hair, bright red lipstick, and sunglasses perched on her head with diamonds
at the corners.
I have to admit that Carmen Reynolds is an incredibly beautiful woman. She’s also completely crazy. “I
want to nail his balls to the wall,” she says, in a clipped British accent. “He has taken everything from me.
Everything. I am going to drag his life, his money, and all the things he loves out of him and build my
empire with it. The fucker can sit in his ivory tower, sipping champagne and snorting coke with his new
harpy, and I’m going to make my millions while he rots away without me.”
She takes a long sip of her red wine, narrowing her eyes as she checks the bottle label. She raises her
eyebrows.
“My God, that’s good.” She sits back in her chair, giving me a once- over with unabashed interest. “You
know if I were ten years younger, I would climb you like a tree.”
I take a sip of my soda water and raise my glass to her. I really need a glass of wine to get through this
meeting, but it’s lunchtime, and I have lots of work waiting for me when I get back to the office.
“And I might just let you.” That’s a huge lie, but I have no idea what else to say.
She throws her head back and laughs at that. “I bet you hate me,” she says with feeling. “I would hate
me, too, in your position. You’re like a tax inspector who’s discovered that his new client has been ke eping
track of her accounts on post-it notes and cigarette packets for thirty years.”
“It’s fine, Mrs. Reynolds.” “Oh, Christ, call me Carmen. I’m chucking that fucker’s name away, as well
as everything else he’s left me with. I know it’s a mess. I was angry, and I shoved everything together
before he could get to it, but I know the little dickhead is hiding something.”
“Like what?” “Look, Oliver,” she says, giving me a lascivious smile, “my husband and I lived a lavish
lifestyle. I haven’t had to work a day in my life. I know I’m a despicable human being who most people
hate, but it’s my life, and I want half my assets back. He fucked his way through half of London before he
met me, and the other half afterward. Seeing as he’s been living on and off in LA for the past ten years, I
would suggest you start there.”
“You think he has a mistress?” “Oh, hundreds of them, I imagine. Is that enough for me to get fifty
percent?”
“Infidelity? No. Not usually. But if he’d been paying a mistress, buying properties in her name, cars,
gifts, tuition fees. That’s something the court will sit up and take notice of.”
“Hm,” she says, sipping her wine as the entrees arrive. “I’ll have a think about it. I imagine some poor
bitch lives out in LA thinking she’s the only one he loves. He never could ke ep his dick in his pants. One
time, I walked in on him fucking our nanny with my diamonds draped around her neck. The little whore. I
wish I’d had the balls to fuck more men, too.”
I clear my throat. “And you think there will be evidence of his infidelities in the paperwork you provided
to us?”
“Well, I nabbed a lot of it before he could get his meaty fingers on it. He was ever so pissed off about it.
But who knows? Maybe after seventy-five years, he’s learned to be careful with paper trails. But that’s what
you’re for, isn’t it? The legwork is all on you, that’s what I’m paying you for.”
I give her a tight smile and bite my tongue to stop myself from explaining just how much legwork she’s
created. I stab at the fish on my
plate, knowing that arguing with this woman would be futile.
I’ve had clients like her before. She’s the sort of person who’s your best friend until she runs out of
patience, and then all hell breaks loose. This case is going to take a lot of investigating. It’s the kind of work
I longed for as a junior lawyer, but now I can’t be bothered with it. Spying on people, having them
followed, and discovering what they’ve been up to in their covert lives isn’t my idea of fun.
But then, Noah Finnigan seems very interested in impressing me; maybe I can make him do all of that
while the rest of the team works through the documents.
Carmen eats like a bird, picking at her fish and forking tiny pieces of it into her mouth while staring
around the restaurant.
By the time the meeting is over, I can feel the tension in my shoulder blades. I hate socializing with
clients these days. It feels like a lot more work than it used to.
Forcing smiles, pretending to care about them losing their eighth home, it’s all so soul-sucking.
“Natalia is a menace.”
I smile at my mother’s exasperated voice on the other end of the line. “What’s she up to now?” I ask,
lowering into my chair with the phone to my ear, having just gotten back from lunch.
“She ke eps moving my pills.” I sit forward, frowning. “Really? Is she there? I’ll speak to her.” “No. No.
It’s just when she cleans, but the ones by my bed were in the bathroom, and I couldn’t find them.”
All amusement drains out of me. My mother is constantly complaining about Natalia. I know she loves
her really, but her pills are an essential part of her care routine. If she doesn’t take the right pain medication,
her back seizes up completely.
“Let me talk to her, Mom.” “No. I won’t have you shouting at her.” “You’re the one complaining. And I
never shout, I’ll just ask what happened.”
“We dealt with it in the end,” she insists. “It’s all fine.” I sigh, staring at my inbox. I have 36 unread
emails, at least 10 of which are urgent, and there is a partner’s meeting on the horizon that I need to make
sure I am fully pr epped for. There just aren’t enough hours in the day.
“How have you been feeling?” I ask. “Oh, you know, tired and angry. How about you?” “I’m fine,
Mom.” “You’re not. You’re sad all the time these days, and you’re working too hard.”
“I always work too hard.” She snorts. “Any ridiculous purchases lately?” “Such as?” I ask, smiling
fondly. “Well, at last count, you had how many fountain pens?” “Twenty-nine, yours made it an even thirty.
I think I’ve got all of the Montblancs now. They’re beautiful. I’m looking at the one you bought me right
now.”
“Ollie, you should be spending your money on a woman.” If only you knew. “Is that right?” “Yes.
You’re too good for this world to be single, Oliver. You’re a handsome man and worthy of love.”
The words make something crack open inside me, my chest tightening painfully as I struggle to draw in
a full breath.
Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I shift in my seat, feeling the scars on my back catch against
my shirt.
“I don’t need a woman, Mom. You know how miserable I would make her.”
“I know no such thing. My boy doesn’t make anyone miserable; he brings light wherever he goes.”
I roll my eyes. “Come on, Mom.” “It’s true.” “Alright, I know better than to argue with you. I’ll be over
tomorrow, and I’ll bring Truman with me.”
“I adore that dog. I’ll ask Natalia to get him something from the store as a treat.”
“Don’t, he’s getting fat.” “Nonsense, greyhounds can’t get fat. I love you, see you tomorrow.” “Bye,
Mom.”
I try to focus on my work for the next few hours, but thoughts of Lissa ke ep invading my mind.
Finally, I rise from my chair, loosening my tie as I glance at the clock. It’s almost five, and I can barely
wait any longer.
I’m already half hard by the time I cross the room. I drag one of the chairs to the center, readjusting my
pants as the anticipation ramps up inside me.
I look around at the toys on display with a mixture of excitement and anticipation.
Which will she choose today? I go to my desk, taking off my jacket and rolling up my sleeves as I lean
against it, pressing the button behind me. I watch the door, my cock throbbing in my pants as I wait for
Lissa to appear.