Read Online And One Last Thing... by Molly Harper - Free Book Online

to say he always lands on his feet.”

7 • Swimming Lessons with Sammy the Shark
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    Despite agreeing to take my divorce case, Sammy “the Shark” Shackleton hadn’t had time to meet with me yet. His office, however, had time to cash my retainer check. Given our newfound financial relationship and Mike’s recently filed lawsuit, I had no qualms about calling Shackleton and Associates and asking for an emergency consultation.
    I twitched a little as I waited in the lobby of the law office. Despite the elegant, minimalist décor, it still felt like the principal’s office. Here was the one person who would probably yell at me about the newsletter thing and his opinion would actually hold some sway. What if Mr. Shackleton decided that my case was too weird and sent me on my way? The closest decent divorce lawyer (that didn’t play golf with Mike’s daddy) I might be able to get would probably be in Louisville. And that meant my piddly ten thousand dollars cash reserve would be spent in no time.
    It was almost disorienting to be outside of my parents’ house after hiding for so long. But frankly, the constant ringing of the phone was driving me crazy. The question was, what does one wear to meet with her attorney after ridiculing her husband’s sexual abilities in a public forum? I didn’t want to look like Betty Draper or the woman wronged. I wouldn’t show up wearing my typical khakis and twinsets. I wanted to look like someone else, someone braver and bolder. I put on a black tank top and a pair of my skinny jeans, which fit better than ever thanks to my stomach churning for the last three days.
    Mama suggested that she come to the meeting with me, but somehow I didn’t think bringing my mommy would reinforce my stance as a responsible, emotionally mature, non-insane person. I twisted my purse strap round and around my fingers, staring at the clock. Shackleton was running five minutes late.
    A young woman clipped through the reception area, wearing a crisp gray pantsuit and shuffling through several files.
    “Excuse me, do you know when Mr. Shackleton will be ready to see me?” I asked in my polite-customer tone. “I’m a little anxious.”
    The woman’s lip twitched. “Aren’t we all? Why don’t I take you back and I’ll see if I can find him for you.”
    I followed her into the surprisingly light and airy office marked “S. Shackleton, Attorney-at-Law” and quirked an eyebrow as she circled the desk and sat in her boss’s chair. She extended her hand over the desk and shook mine. “Samantha Shackleton.”
    I wouldn’t have had any idea this woman was a lawyer, not because of any preconceived sexist notions, but because she looked nowhere near old enough to have attended college, much less law school. Samantha had sharp aquamarine eyes and a long nose, set in a face completely devoid of makeup. Her skin was deeply tanned in that genuinely healthy way, like she’d spent all weekend hiking. She looked like she’d just walked out of an advertisement for trail mix.
    “Well, I am deeply, deeply embarrassed,” I said, chewing my lip.
    “So I take it you didn’t put a lot of research into your quest for a divorce attorney?” she asked.
    My cheeks flushed hot. “I’m so sorry. All I’ve heard about you is that you got Mimi Reed’s husband’s… well, you know.”
    “The junk in the mayonnaise jar story?” she asked, grinning. “Well, that’s been slightly exaggerated in the telling and retelling. And I can’t really comment on it, because I protect my clients’ privacy, as I will, of course, protect yours. Let’s just say that if your wife supports you and cares for you while you recover from testicular implant surgery - and pays for the surgery using a recent inheritance - you shouldn’t leave her for your nurse.”
    I gasped. “She really did take them back?”
    “I can’t really say,”