The One Dollar Divorce Settlement Chapter 1

The first thing I noticed when I opened the office door was the junior analyst, Jett Sawyer, beneath the conference table.

The kid, barely shaving, was intent on his mischief, and Cassia’s attempt to suppress her pleasure was failing dramatically.

I placed the file on the desk without making eye contact.

“The Soho Initiative funding request. Just sign here, please.”

She was preoccupied with a much more immediate form of gratification. Distracted and humming, she grabbed the pen and signed through the pages without looking.

Only then did she lift her slightly hazy eyes. “Wait… wasn’t your flight tomorrow? Why the sudden return?”

I retrieved the file. “Came back to handle some urgent business.”

Before turning to leave, I glanced under the desk. “Tell him to come out now.”

Cassia paused, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.

She was likely expecting a scene—me throwing a fit, making threats, recording the confrontation as I had done years ago.

Instead, I simply added, “He’ll lose the circulation in his legs if he stays down there too long.”

Feeling caught and slightly foolish, she deflected. “What urgent business are you here for?”

I didn’t answer. I just closed the door and, with a gentle click, flipped the magnetic [Do Not Disturb: In Meeting] sign on the handle.

She didn't realize that my urgent business had already been accomplished.

...

* * *

From inside the office, I heard Jett Sawyer’s voice, a childish hint of laughter threading through it.

“Cassia, you scared the hell out of me just now.”

Cassia’s low chuckle was intimate and throaty. “Scared of what? He’s not going to eat you.”

“But he’s your husband…”

“Exactly. And he’s well-trained. See? He just left on his own.”

I stood motionless just outside the door. The afternoon light sliced into the hallway, leaving a sharp line by my shoes.

Jett lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, are you coming home tonight?”

“Business is business, but,” Cassia said, her tone utterly natural, “I always go home.”

Jett scoffed from his throat. “Boss, you’re so used to being pampered, you miss him after a single day?”

“Anything he can do, I can do better. Or did I not satisfy you a moment ago?”

“You and him? It’s not the same.” Cassia’s lazy voice cut in. “He’s stubborn as an ox, but he can’t live without me! You know how much trouble he went to with his family just to marry me.”

She paused, the implication hanging in the air. “If I don’t go back, do you think any of you little lovers would survive?”

She spoke of weighty, painful history as if reciting a bedtime story.

Jett’s voice was syrupy, laced with curiosity. “And do you… like that about him? The way he pretends to be the one in charge but is actually just pathetic?”

The air went still for a beat.

Then I heard Cassia emit a brief, dismissive laugh. She countered, “What do you think?”

“I think—”

Jett never finished the sentence.

Because I opened the door again.

Both people in the office froze instantly.

Jett was half-perched on the edge of Cassia’s expansive mahogany desk. Cassia leaned back in her chair, the top two buttons of her silk blouse undone.

She was startled for only a fraction of a second, then raised a knowing eyebrow.

“Forget something?”

I ignored the question, walking straight toward the side table where the key bowl was.

My car keys were indeed there.

I picked them up and turned to leave once more.

“Declan.” Cassia stood, walking around the desk to me.

Her arms instantly wrapped around my waist.

She always did this at the office. Affectionate public displays of ownership—she was never stingy with those.

I gently disengaged.

After his encounter with her, Jett carried the distinct scent of the men’s cologne she’d given me.

The exact same bottle.

Last month, when she presented it to me as a birthday gift, she’d called the fragrance “irreplaceable” and uniquely mine. Now, I realized she must have bought them in bulk.

“I’ll be home for dinner tonight.” Her voice adopted its usual, soft coaxing tone. “What do you want to eat? I’ll cook it myself, hmm?”

Jett let out a small, contemptuous huff beside us.

“Don’t bother,” I said. “I have plans tonight.”

Her smile faded slightly, though her lips remained curved upward.

“What is it? Are you upset?”

She leaned closer. “Because of Jett? I told you, he’s nothing but a—”

“I know,” I interrupted softly. “He’s an intern analyst. He needs your hands-on guidance.”

What sort of skills she chose to instruct him in was entirely up to her.

She seemed momentarily stunned.

She probably hadn't expected me to skip the protest, the argument, and even the sarcasm this time.

She raised a hand to touch my cheek, but I had already taken a step forward.

“Fine,” she shrugged, switching her grip to my forearm. “Whatever it is, be home before nine.”

Jett snickered nearby.

I looked at him, and he met my gaze.

Compared to the other men I had quietly dealt with over the years, he was remarkably protected. His eyes held undisguised triumph and provocation.

Youth is a powerful thing.

Looking at his arrogant, fresh face, I was transported back to the summer I was twenty, when Cassia pulled me out of the psychiatric clinic.