Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
“Joelle is the ex-wife of Brad Landry, CEO of Excel Properties. That’s who she knows she is.”
I’m not appeased.
“But still!” I rage. “What the fuck? We have a pre-nup! We signed it with witnesses present! How the fuck can Joelle think she’s entitled to a penny more? A five million dollar one-time cash payout isn’t enough for that bitch? We were only married two years too.”
Cameron shrugs, his features harsh.
“Five million is nothing to you, bud, and she knows it, and the judge knows it too. Hell, the whole world knows it. It’s a drop in the bucket to you, and yeah, now she wants more. Joelle’s probably going to get it too,” he adds in a mild tone. “The pre-nup was signed twenty-four hours before you guys tied the knot in Vegas. She’s saying that she signed under duress, and that she didn’t have an attorney look it over beforehand.”
“Yeah, but is that my fault?” I rage. “What the fuck, was I supposed to call an attorney for her, and pay him to review the pre-nup for her? What am I? Her servant?”
Cameron remains unperturbed.
“Some men do hire attorneys for their fiancées,” he says in a calm voice while steepling his fingers. “It’s a way to protect their wealth. They retain lawyers before any deal is signed, for both themselves and for their future wives. The optics are better that way,” he explains. “Not that your pre-nup is illegitimate. It’s plenty legit. The optics are just better if both sides have the agreement reviewed by attorneys before the document is executed.”
“Optics,” I spit, practically shaking with rage. “Fuck ‘em.”
My lawyer merely shrugs again.
“It is what it is. So what are you willing to pony up, my friend?”
“Nothing,” I say in an icy tone. “Not one penny more than what’s stipulated in the pre-nup.”
Cameron gets up then, unfolding his long legs.
“I understand that you’re angry, Brad. I realize you’re a reasonable man who believes in the enforcement of contracts, not to mention the rule of law. But divorce is never like that. There are emotions at play—”
“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” I growl. “And get the fuck out of my office.”
The tall man strides to the door, unfazed by my anger.
“I’m just saying,” he says in a smooth tone. “You can pay this problem to go away. It’s just money, and for a man like you with infinite resources, why would it matter? Just pay her. Then you’ll never have to see her again – or me.”
Then, my attorney strides out the door, leaving me in the silence of my massive office. I have to admit that the motherfucker has a point: money is in infinite supply for me. I have so much of it that it practically pours out of my ears. I own dozens of luxury properties, including vacation homes in Paris, Tokyo, Aspen, and Sedona; two planes; a super yacht; and even a helicopter to get me to work, not to mention a garage filled with high-end vehicles. So why am I quibbling about an extra payout to my ex? Who the fuck cares?
The problem is that I hate Joelle’s guts, and our marriage is one of the few times in my life when I let my dick do the thinking. Yeah. When we hooked up a couple years back, Joelle was a hot little piece of ass. Even at age thirty-eight, she looked more like twenty-five, with long blonde hair, winsome blue eyes, and a body made for sin. Sure, her tits were fake, but I’m okay with some nip and tuck. Sure, she admitted she’d had lipo in the past, but who isn’t surgically enhanced these days? The long and the short of it is that I was entranced by the sexy nurse, and fell head over heels in lust.
I admit that we didn’t think the marriage through. We were partying in Vegas with a couple of friends, and had too much to drink. It’s a hackneyed story, but I had her sign a pre-nup on a cocktail napkin. Then, around 4 a.m. that night, Joelle and I rolled into a drive-through chapel in our rental car and tied the knot. Yeah, we said our vows while still in the vehicle, with an Elvis impersonator leaning out of the drive-through window to officiate the ceremony. Even crazier, he had a burger in hand the whole time. It turns out that Elvis gets an appetite at 4 a.m., and he wasn’t putting down that Big Mac for anything.
But things went south soon after. Sure, we enjoyed some bouts of hot sex at the start, but it probably only lasted for a couple months. Then, Joelle complained that my dick was too big. Then, she said it was too small. Then, she said it didn’t “rub her right” on the inside. Soon, she’d only let me fuck her with a dildo, although she had no trouble handling a variety of dildo sizes with that sassy cunt. But soon, even the dildo was a no-go, and she always “had a migraine” or “was too tired from work.” What a load of bullcrap. Me, a fucking handsome, powerful billionaire, was being boxed out by my new bride.