Escorting the Player (The Escort Collection 3)

"She saw you coming, Chase. Jesus." My attorney smoothed his impeccable pants. "So…what's going on with her, exactly? She's found a new food source in the form of Pax Unger?"

I nodded. "Appears that way."

"Who'd she hire for the divorce?" He looked grim.

"I don't know yet," I said.

"What exactly happened with you two?"

I shrugged. "She wanted to do a bunch of stuff that I wasn't supporting. So I guess she found someone who would get with her program."

"What program's that?"

"She wanted to do a reality show—based on us," I sighed. "She'd gotten an agent to pitch it to the networks and everything."

"You mean—like a Real Housewives sort of thing?" he asked.

I grunted. "More like a Kendra Loves Hank kind of thing. You know the one with the ex-Playboy playmate, her ex-NFL husband, and their kids?"

Mickey scrubbed his hand across his face. "I must've missed that one."

"Jessica wanted cameras in the house twenty-four-seven. She wanted us filmed going to dinner, fighting, the whole deal."

"Management would never agree to that," he said.

"Well, I know that, and you know that, but that didn't stop Jess from being angry when I said it was never going to happen. She said I was ruining her career."

"Her career?" Mickey coughed. "Why didn't she just ask WRX for her old sports reporter job back? Sounds like she needed something to do."

I'd met Jess when she was a rising sports reporter for a local news station. She was smart. Focused. Tenacious. She was like a female version of me. I remember the first time I saw her—tall with long legs, dark hair cascading down her back. Incredible tits…that she'd subsequently defiled with too-large, fake-looking implants. "That's not what she wanted. That wasn't enough," I said. "She wanted a show about her. She kept talking about the Jessica Layne brand."

"Her brand?" He looked stymied. "I don't think she's exactly a good role model."

"She did go to Brown," I said, a little defensively.

"I didn't say she was dumb," Mickey said. "I just don't think she's a nice person. No offense, son."

I sighed. "None taken. You want a beer?"

Mickey nodded. "I could do a beer." He watched as I went to the outside refrigerator on my shaded patio. "All this wasn't enough for her?" he asked, gesturing around my setup—the enormous in-ground pool, the hot tub, the waterfall. "And why no kids?"

"She liked the money," I said. "But she wants to be famous in her own right. And she'd actually started bargaining with me about the kid thing. She never wanted to have one because she was worried about her figure. But if I'd have said yes to a series deal, she would've finally said yes to a kid." I took a large swig of beer. "So she could be filmed being mother of the year."

My attorney grimaced. "Real piece of work, Chase. A real piece of work. She's going to try to soak you. You know that, right?"

I shook my head. "Let her. I don't even care. And good riddance."

He was quiet for a minute, nursing his beer. "I'm surprised you punched the guy—Pax. Doesn't seem like you, going and doing something that would get you suspended."

It was out of character for me, and I didn't do "out of character".

"But I guess you had to," Mickey continued. "Somebody sleeps with your wife—even if you don't even like your wife—you have to punch him."

"That's sort of what I was thinking. If you could call it thinking."

Mickey patted my shoulder. "It's okay, son. We'll deal with Jessica. We'll make this whole thing go away."

I took another swallow of beer, wishing that was somehow true.