You Dropped a Blonde on Me (46 page)
Razor-sharp eyes flashed at her. “Have you thought about what a crappy wife you were? If you’d done what good wives do—”
“Oh! Wait. I can finish the sentence for you.” Planting her hands on her hips, she mimicked him. “ ‘If you’d been a better wife, Maxine, I wouldn’t have gone elsewhere. If you’d kept the spark alive, I wouldn’t have had to set fire to half the tri-state area with my useless dick.’ Right? Isn’t that how it goes?” She nodded, agreeing with herself. “Yes. That’s how I remember it. It was all my fault.” Her shoulders shrugged. “Maybe it was. Maybe I didn’t do my part. But you know what?”
His sneer grew. “Get to the point, Maxine.”
“I asked a question,” she pouted with a coy, flirtatious wink.
“What, Maxine?”
“What if Lacey never gets to do her part?”
Finley rose, leaning over the desk with tense muscles. “What part?”
“What if I don’t sign these papers? I can drag this divorce out forever and Lacey will never get to do her part, stroking your monster ego as your wife because she won’t be able to marry you unless I
let
her.”
let
her.”
His eyes narrowed to ugly pinpoints, but there was something else there, too. Relief? “So are you saying you’re going to hold me hostage because you’re as pathetic as I tell everyone?”
Her smile was sly. “You betcha.”
Finley’s face cracked, just an inch, but crack it did. “What would it take to get you to sign them?”
She jabbed a finger into that crack, forcing it open just a little further. “Connor’s education. What kind of father are you that you’d let your own flesh and blood suffer because you want to punish him for standing up to you? I don’t mind telling you, you’re disgusting. How I missed that all these years just goes to show you how far a little cash and a semi-convincing line will get you. It sure wasn’t your brains and brawn that made me stick around. So, here we are. If you don’t draw up a new agreement that says you’ll pay for Connor’s every little collegiate need, I’ll be Mrs. Finley Cambridge
for-ev-ah
.”
for-ev-ah
.”
Phew. Who was she?
And then she remembered. She was Connor’s mother, and she’d squeeze Finley’s balls until the Winter Olympics were held in hell before she’d give up the opportunity for Connor to realize his dream.
“You’re some fucking bitch, Maxine,” he growled.
“Uh-huh. And your vocabulary is still just as original. Stunted, but original. So,” Max waved the papers in his face, “do we have a deal?”
“The hell we do,” he spat in her face.
“
Bum-mer
,” she spat back from somewhere deep and ugly. “I guess Lacey’ll just have to wait to change her monogrammed towels, huh?”
Bum-mer
,” she spat back from somewhere deep and ugly. “I guess Lacey’ll just have to wait to change her monogrammed towels, huh?”
“Fin?” A frantic voice barged through the door in clattering high heels and clingy material. “Sweetie? What’s going on?”
“Oh, look. It’s the never gonna be Mrs. Finley Cambridge number two,” Max said on a wicked chuckle. Whatever, whoever possessed her right now was invited to stay. Even if it made her head spin and she ended up yarking pea soup.
Lacey went immediately to Fin’s side, concern riddling her face. “What does she mean, Fin?”
He stretched his neck upward, sucking in his cheeks. “Maxine’s refusing to sign the divorce papers, pumpkin. I told you she was a bitch.”
Lacey flapped a hand as though this were all so silly-willy. “Oh, Maxine, don’t be a poop. You know you don’t want to be married anymore. You have that new boyfriend. Doesn’t he want you to be divorced?” she asked in a tone littered with an appeasing edge.
Seeing Lacey like this, watching her run her hands over Fin’s arm to soothe his escalating temper was like a flashback to the early years of her marriage where it was all about keeping Fin calm. “I’m sure he does, but that’s not going to happen until I get what I want.”
Confusion spread over Lacey’s youthful face. “But what could you want? You signed a prenuptial agreement. What else is there? Is it the furniture? I’d give it to you because I’m only going to replace it anyway, but where would you put it at your mother’s? Besides, Fin said you didn’t want it.”
The furniture? With the speed of a fastball to the head, enlightenment smacked right into Max. Jesus Christ on a cracker. Lacey had no idea. None. She was clueless about what Fin was doing. How advantageous to find that out now—right here—at the bargaining table.
Max’s smile grew. So did her balls. “Lacey? I don’t want the furniture. I don’t even want my clothes. That Fin’s let you believe those items,
any items
, were ever an option for me makes him a bigger scumbag than even I thought he was.”
any items
, were ever an option for me makes him a bigger scumbag than even I thought he was.”
Her blonde head tilted as if she hadn’t heard Max right. “But he said—”
Max’s laugh was bitter when she cut her off. “Oh, I can only imagine what
he
said, but here’s the truth—”
he
said, but here’s the truth—”
“Shut your trap, Maxine!” Fin roared.
Max reached over the desk and patted his arm, much the way she did when she was pacifying one of the seniors. Only this time, it wasn’t to make his boo-boo all better. “Easy there, big guy. Your cholesterol’s pretty high. I know I told you all that whole wheat bread was the only kind Lola could find at the store, but it was really to keep you from having a heart attack. Upon reflection, I should have given you white bread—loaves at a time.”
“Get. Out. You. Bitch!”
Hopping off his desk on light feet, Max held up the papers. “Oh, I’m getting, but before I do, pay close attention. I don’t know what you’ve been telling your girlfriend here to make yourself look like you give a damn about your son, but here’s the scoop. If you don’t have a new agreement drafted, you ain’t goin’ to the chapel any time this millennium.”
Her hands held up the papers in front of her face.
The joy she took in tearing them in half, the sweet sound of paper ripping into confetti-sized pieces was like a symphony of violins playing in her ears. Max threw them up into the air, watching as they drifted to the floor in all their cheapskate glory.
“Fin,” Lacey sobbed. “Just do what she wants. Please, honey. So I can finally be your wife. I don’t want to wait anymore!”
The shift in Finley’s stance, the subtle half an inch or so he moved away from Lacey, brought with it another realization.
He was using both her and Connor.
To avoid ever having to marry Lacey.
Fin could put her off until the cows came home with the excuse that Maxine was behaving like a difficult bitch, and there was nothing he could do but wait. It was free pussy without Lacey having all the Cambridge privileges.
Max’s mouth fell open, and then she threw her head back and laughed.
Laughed until tears streamed down her face and she had to hold her stomach to quell the ache. “Ohhhhhhhh, Finley, you crafty old fox, you,” she crowed. Clapping her hands, she giggled again, high on this coup she’d stumbled upon. “Lacey? I hope you didn’t pay for your wedding dress yet because by the time you get to wear it,
Vogue
will probably have closed its doors.”
Vogue
will probably have closed its doors.”
Max strode to the door, stepping over the shredded paper of her divorce. “And Fin? Just a thought. Maybe you should tell Lacey the only thing keeping her from signing checks as Mrs. Finley Cambridge is your reluctance, nay, your staunch refusal to pay for our son’s college education.”
With a wiggle of her fingers over her shoulder, Max strutted out the door, bumping into some of the dealership’s employees on her way.
Outside, in the crisp autumn air, she indulged in a deep, cleansing breath before getting into her mother’s car.
The kind of breath you take when self-confidence fills your lungs so full you can actually taste it.
And it tasted better than any Cristal or Pernod ever had.
Nom-nom.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Note from Maxine Cambridge to all ex-trophy wives: Relationship advice. Jealousy. Such an ugly beast, no? If you’re looking for excuses to run and hide from another relationship, the green-eyed monster is a perfect scapegoat. But remember this: In allowing fear to rule your life, happiness will always be an elusive butterfly. So do yourself a skinny. Hunt that bitch down, net in hand, and catch it before it owns you.
Max literally flew from her mother’s car into the pool house where Campbell was supposed to be fixing the Jacuzzi. The entire drive back over to the village, all she could think about was telling him what she’d discovered about Fin and all his stalling.
Her joy at finding out Finley’s game plan, even if it was still to her and Connor’s disadvantage, couldn’t be denied its due. She wanted to shout her independence, scream her victory. And in this moment, she wanted to share it with Campbell. To prove to him she wasn’t going to be steamrolled.
She stopped short at the sauna, peeking inside to find Campbell wasn’t there. Max poked her head into the ladies’ locker room to see if someone knew where he was. Hearing Mrs. Riley’s nasally voice, Max sighed. Poor Irene probably couldn’t hear how loud she was without her hearing aids.
But her next words brought Max to a dead stop.
“You heard me right, Esther. And all this time we thought Campbell was a nice boy. I can’t believe he’s Garner’s son.”
A snort filtered to Max’s ears. “Well, he’s a nice-lookin’ boy, that’s for sure.”
“Not nice-lookin’ enough to put up with his kind of crap. The way that poor Maxine’s going, he’ll just do to her what’s already been done.”
Max’s face flushed over her eavesdropping.
What kind of crap?
What kind of crap?
“Are you sure you heard right, Irene? Just doesn’t sit well with me. I see the way he looks at Maxine, and I really like Maxine. She’s been so good for the village.”
“I know what I heard, Esther!” Irene said with vehemence. “He said he was going to dump Maxine for Linda, clear as the day is long. Someone has to tell her, Esther. She’s had some time of it.”
Everything else drifted away, their voices became muted and muffled by the sound of her crashing heart.
Linda
.
.
Campbell’s ex-wife.
Max had to grip the edge of the door to keep her knees from caving.
Breathe.
You’ve been here before, Max. Breathe.
Breathe and think. But don’t think too much before you talk to Campbell.
Coaxing herself to stop and give this rational thought before the snowflakes in her mind became one giant snowball of accusations and unproven innuendo.
Yes, it sounded bad, she reminded herself, but she couldn’t get a feel for how bad until she talked to Campbell.
Hookay. She felt the blood rush back into her limbs and her breathing steady.
No more running away. No more pretending bad things didn’t happen if you burrowed deep enough under your blankets.
Head-on. That’s what she’d do. She’d attack this head-on and give Campbell the chance to explain before she flipped a nut.
She would not fall apart. Her superglue tube was empty.
Good.
Shoving her purse under her arm, she let the door go and headed off with determination to find Campbell.
All mature-like.
“Mom?”
“Yeah, kiddo?” she replied, distracted by her inability to locate Campbell after two phone calls and a scan of the village in her mother’s car.
“Check out what I found,” Connor said, plunking down in the kitchen chair beside her and placing his laptop on the table.
Max didn’t look up, but muttered, “What did you find?”
“Look. It’s Campbell.” He held up the screen of his laptop in front of her.
She read the headline on the Yahoo! front page almost with disinterest, skimming the words. That is until she reread it and gazed at the face she was so close to falling in love with. Her response was slow, stilted by the words swimming in front of her eyes. “Yeah. It sure is.”
Connor’s eyes searched hers. “Mom, what’s wrong? This is a good thing, right?”
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