“Anything else?”
“Not that I heard. It got busy so I couldn't linger too much.” She reaches out, rubbing my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t understand.” I walk over, sitting down on the sofa. “I brought up divorce and a prenup and he shot them down.” Wyatt is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. I try to think of what could have happened to change his mind.
“I caught the tail end of the conversation, so I don’t know what was said before I approached the table. That uncle of his is a real piece of work. I don’t know how Wyatt puts up with it.”
“Because his job is the most important thing to him. It always comes first.” The realization of my own words hits me hard. “I can’t do this.” I stand up.
Eden grabs my hand. “Doesn't he need you for this?”
“Yes. I mean no.” Crap. I told him I’d do this for him. But at what price? How much will it actually cost me? “I’m sure he can find someone to marry him, it just can’t be me. I can’t be my mother. Loving a man who doesn't love me in the same way. Look what that did to her.” I start grabbing my things.
“Lucy, slow down.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Stop. You’re crying.” She tries to grab me again, but I shake her off.
I can’t marry Wyatt. Not like this. I want so much more.
Chapter Nineteen
Wyatt
“I don’t think this marriage thing is going to work out for you,” Uncle Cristoff says. “The firm has a certain image to uphold. We get the big clients because they feel like we’re one of them. I’m not saying you can’t have Lucy. Everyone needs a Lucy, but they keep her on the side where she belongs and they bring a...I don’t know, Estelle, to the dinners and charity events. When you find the right woman, then I’ll call that board meeting and we’ll handle the transfer of the firm.”
“You should go.” I bury my fisted hands under the table so that I don’t punch my dad’s sixty-year-old brother in the face.
“Son, this is nothing to be upset over. In fact, your unseemly show of emotion is concerning to me. I’m glad we had this talk. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”
“I’m planning my wedding tomorrow and tying the knot on Thursday,” I reply coldly.
Uncle Cristoff is unfazed by the sudden iciness in my tone. “Monday it is. I’ll expect you to come in with a signed prenup or unmarried.” He makes a grand exit, like I’m some juror in a big antitrust suit, and he’s just laid down his best argument.
I sit at The Daily Drip until my coffee grows cold and the breakfast crowd with their suits and khakis and hurried demeanor gives way to the early lunch group with their joggers and yoga pants and their leisurely sips of tea and extra whip lattes. Uncle Cristoff’s opinions about Lucy don’t sit right with me. I have limited options, but there’s only one way forward.
I crush my paper cup and toss it in the trash. On my way out, I notice Eden’s no longer behind the counter, which strikes me as odd since the woman is usually here from open to close. Maybe she’s off helping Lucy pick out a wedding dress.
On my way back to the townhouse, I ring Ernest.
“Vogt, Isaacs, and Packwood. We’re the VIP—”
“Ernest, it’s Wyatt.”
“Oh, thank God. Our caller ID is not working, and I’ve been trotting out that welcome to every incoming call and I want to kill myself.”
“Before you do that, I want to offer you a job.”
“A job? But I have one.”
“I’m quitting.”
“You’re what?” he shouts.
“Cristoff doesn’t want me to marry. He wants me to marry a specific type of person, and he doesn’t think Lucy fits, so I’m quitting.”
“This is your family’s firm, though,” Ernest says in a newly hushed voice. He’s probably bent over his desk with his hand cupping the mouthpiece of his phone. The sound is somewhat muffled.
“It’s not been my family’s firm since my dad died. Uncle Cristoff took over, replaced the board members, and now runs that place like a tyrant. How many harassment suits have we settled because of him?”
“God, so many.”
“Right? I’m busting my ass every day working my case files, trying hard as fuck matters in federal court just so that forty percent of my verdicts are getting paid to random assistants because Uncle Cristoff can’t keep his hands to himself. I’m better off going solo, so are you in? I’ll give you a ten percent raise and a month of sabbatical every year.”
“I would’ve left with you even if you were paying me less,” Ernest squeaks.
“I feel like I’ve taught you better than that.” I bound up the stairs to the entrance. “Transfer me to Rose, will you?”