Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 102361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“No, there’s no rush. I just don’t want her to contact me anymore.”
“Tell me more about that,” Chad says. “How often does she contact you?”
“Literally every day. Sometimes multiple times a day. I told her that she wasn’t allowed to call or text, only email, but she doesn’t respect that. I finally changed my number, and that only pissed her off, and my email blew up.”
“What is she contacting you for?” Chad asks, clearly confused.
“More money.”
The attorney that I’m quickly coming to respect shakes his head. “That’s not how this works, Jules. She gets a set amount of money, period. It’s not a negotiation, so I’m not sure why she’s contacting you for more. Have you allocated more to her in the past?”
Jules nibbles on her lower lip. “In the beginning, yes. Because I didn’t know any better. Daniel wasn’t speaking to me, so I didn’t really have anyone to ask questions. But when it got worse and worse and more abusive, I googled the protocol.”
Chad sighs and holds up a hand. “You used Google for legal advice?”
“I didn’t know what to do. But I read that as the trustee, I’m not supposed to just hand out money whenever the beneficiary asks for it, so I told her that she’d get her monthly stipend and that’s it.”
“How much does she get?” Chad asks.
“Fifteen thousand a month.”
Fucking hell.
“But she blows through it fast and always asks for more.”
“You’re going to block her on everything. I’m going to file a restraining order. That’s bullshit. I’ll do some digging, and we’ll meet back here in thirty days. You can withdraw yourself as a trustee. You don’t have to be in charge of that money, Jules.”
My wife’s lower lip quivers, and then she swallows hard. “Really? Because I was told that I didn’t have a choice.”
“Christ.” I push my hand through my hair, feeling so fucking helpless.
“You have a choice,” Chad says gently. “We’re going to figure this out. By the end of the year, this will all be behind you.”
“That sounds amazing. Thank you so much.”
She’s quiet as we head back to Bitterroot Valley, and when I pull into our driveway, she pushes the door open and hops out before I can tell her to wait for me.
“Fucking asshole,” she mutters. She’s good and pissed off now. “Motherfucking, cheating, microscopic-dicked piece of shit.”
I wonder how she really feels about him.
“Is there a hammer in there?” she asks, pointing at the big house across the street.
“No, but I have a few in the garage.”
“Great. I need a big one.”
“Uh, baby, I can’t let you hurt yourself.”
“I can swing a goddamn hammer, and I need to destroy something right now, so please get it for me.”
With a nod, I stride into the garage and grab two sledgehammers.
Looks like demo is starting early.
“Come on, Wildfire.”
With a tool in each hand, I set off across the street, and Jules is right beside me. Anger rolls off her in waves, rivaling my own.
“My brothers are coming in a bit to help tear some of this out,” I tell her.
“Fine. There’s plenty here they can demolish, but I get to start.”
I unlock the door, and she takes a hammer, hardly flinching at the weight of it, marches right through to the kitchen, and starts fucking swinging.
This is amazing as fuck.
“I hate him!” The hammer crashes through the cabinets. “I hope he’s rotting in hell. I hope every single second is fucking terror for him.”
She rears back and swings again.
Remind me never to piss off my wife.
Jules takes another swing, making the cabinet door fly open. She swings at that, too, and it goes flying across the room.
“Baby, you need some gloves and eye prote—”
“Don’t fucking tell me what I need.” She rounds on me, her blue eyes fierce as she strips off her shirt and flings it aside. She’s now clad only in a bra from the waist up as she takes another swing. “I’ll tell you what I fucking need. I need to beat the shit out of something.”
Smash.
Crash.
“You’re doing that,” I reply and grin when she spins to glare at me. “Well, you are. But Wildfire, if my brothers see you like this, I’m going to have to kill them because they’ll be looking at what’s mine.”
“It’s a bra, Brooks. The same as a bikini. Are you going to turn into a controlling asshole who tries to tell me what I can and cannot wear? Is that who I married? Again?”
“Enough.” All humor fleeing the premises, I tug the hammer out of her hand and toss it aside, then frame her face and make her look up at me. “First of all, compare me to that piece of shit ever again, and I’ll spank your ass until it’s so red, you won’t sit for a fucking week.”
She swallows, and tears fill her pretty blue eyes.