Page 7 of A Million Boss Kisses
That was nearly a year ago, and after tracking me down, offering a few grand gestures that I wasn’t feeling, Quinten decided to take the deadbeat route.
When he said don’t ask him for shit, he meant it.
I still had access to our shared bank account, but the evil bastard ceased the monthly deposits six months ago, hence my appearance in Miami.
This divorce needed to be underway because I just wanted to move on with my life.
Alexandria pulled me out of my thoughts when she placed a manila folder in my hands.
My shaky hands flipped it open, and I flopped back down in the chair so I could examine its contents.
I lifted the alleged prenup and skimmed through until I reached the third page where my signature was sprawled across the line.
Pulling it closer to my face, I blinked hard and read it again, as my heart thumped in my ear.
I traced the signature with the tip of my thumb, disbelief knotting in my stomach.
It looked exactly like my signature, down to the girly curl at the beginning and end of the M. But I knew I didn’t sign a prenup!
“I can’t deny that looks like my signature, but I know I didn’t sign a prenup.”
“I understand, and I’m not questioning your memory. However, Quinten’s attorney provided a signed prenuptial agreement with your signature, and it’s dated three days before your wedding.”
“I’m telling you that’s not possible. I never would have agreed to give up alimony and property. A prenup wasn’t even a topic and if it would have been I would’ve laughed in his face and declined the proposal.”
“Okay, then the next step is to challenge its validity. If you truly didn’t sign this knowingly or if you were misled, we may have grounds to contest it. Especially considering your age at the time and whether you had your own legal counsel.”
“The elders in our families handled all of the wedding plans,” I recollected, trying to remember if somehow all of those years ago I did sign that form. After a brief moment, I peered up at Alexandria.
“The only thing I signed was the marriage license.”
“If we can prove you signed under pressure, without proper disclosure, or without understanding the terms, the court may throw it out. But we have to move quickly and have a forensic expert review the signature.”
“Whatever we have to do,” I muttered, passing Alexandria the papers back. “He doesn’t get to leave me high and dry just because I don’t want to remain in this marriage.” I stood from my seat and exited Alexandria’s office without another word.
After twenty-five years of marriage, I probably could have forgiven the infidelity as long as he took a lie detector test to prove he hadn’t cheated since.
A little unhinged? Possibly. But I am my uncle’s child.
The fact that Quinten had a living daughter who shared the same name as the deceased daughter that I never got to see grow was a level of disrespect that we couldn’t come back from.
I didn’t give a damn who didn’t like it.
I slipped back into my car and placed my head on the steering wheel. Before I could get deep into my thoughts, my phone rang. I lifted my head and saw Karina’s name flash across the screen. Sitting up in my seat, I accepted the FaceTime call and relaxed in the seat.
“So how was your meeting with your lawyer?” Karina inquired.
“Frustrating,” I muttered, a bitter chuckle escaping my lips. “ Allegedly, I signed a prenup and he doesn’t want to give me anything but the condo in Key West.”
“What do you mean, allegedly?” Karina’s eyes doubled in size as she brought her face closer to the camera.
“It looked like my signature, but I never agreed to a prenup. It was never a topic. When have you ever heard of a prenup among our families? ” I asked, my hands flying in frustration.
“Never,” Karina exclaimed.
“Exactly,” I huffed, placing my car in reverse and backing out of the parking spot. “I’m supposed to attend the fundraiser with his mama tomorrow, and I’m going to bring it up. Hopefully she can talk some sense into him.”
My phone notified me that a call from Lil Q was coming in. “This is Lil Q calling me. I’m going to call you back later.”
“Okay. Breathe, don’t let him get to you. Handle the rest of your business and get back to Tampa with your boys so they can love on you. I love you, bestie.”
“I love you too.”
I quickly clicked over for Lil Q. “Hello.”
“Ma, you saw that shit I sent you with Yaseer Haynes?”
“Ughhhhh, no. Who is that?”
“That fuck nigga who owns the Gulf Coast Vipers was talking cash shit about Quincy. I’ll slap the taste outta his mouth if I see him out,” Lil Q fumed.
“Huh?”
“You know he wants to play for Tampa, and the scouts been on him heavy. Yaseer owns the minor league team he’d play for if he stays in Tampa. Everybody knows that Yaseer’s opinions carry weight when it comes to Tampa.”
“Well, why would he be talking shit about Quincy?” I wondered, trying to make sense of everything.
“Go look at the video I sent you. I’m about to go to his apartment. They got my brother fucked up. He was all excited talking about his chances of staying in Tampa last night, then this shit dropped.”
“Okay. I love you. Let me know when you get with Quincy.”
“Love you too,” he replied.
We ended the call, and I maneuvered through traffic until I stopped at the next red light and played the video to see what Lil Q was going on about. A dark skinned bald man was in the background of a video where a girl was doing her makeup with the phone to his ear ranting.
“I don’t know why the hell we are having this conversation again.
I said all of those niggas we saw last night were sorry as fuck.
Garbage!” He paused for a moment and looked up at the ceiling, annoyance all over his face before he took a deep breath.
“Yes, even Quincy Bentley. If I’m not mistaken, that’s the one who overthrew third by a mile and struck out swinging on a damn changeup like he’d never seen one before. He’s not ready. He’s not our man.”
The video ended and I rolled my eyes, pressing the gas to speed through the green light.
I was not a baseball girlie. Sports in general weren’t my thing.
I could be next to an NBA player at dinner later and have no idea.
This is exactly why Quinten’s trifling ass needs to get his shit together and be here for this shit.
I was listening to everything Lil Q was saying, but I really didn’t understand.
Not to toot my own horn, but I know I birthed a future MLB superstar.
He was currently receiving national attention for being one of the top three in batting average, and his fielding game was just as clean.
I didn’t really know exactly what that meant, but the men on ESPN kept saying that about my son, and scouts have been calling him a natural since high school.
The only reason he didn’t go straight to the minor leagues was because his father really wanted him to get the college experience.
Just for his bitch ass to not be around to help me navigate none of this shit.
The last time I spoke with a scout, they asked me about his diet and workout routine, and I didn’t have a clue what to say.
Although I didn’t understand what the hell that man was saying about Quincy, I knew he was speaking real negatively about my son and Mama Bear was coming out.
My husband was playing with my boys, and now this nigga.
I was on the verge of starring in a three-part mini-series episode of Snapped, and the only thing that would keep me from going there was a strong drink.
Instead of heading to my gynecologist appointment that I was in town for, I would pay the missed appointment fee and reschedule for a later time. Right now, I needed my go-to coping device, and my hotel had one of the best espresso martinis around.
After fighting through traffic, I pulled my car up, and the valet attendant opened the door while I gathered my purse. Once I had my ticket, I strutted inside the W hotel and went directly to the Living Room.
“I’m sorry ma’am, there is a private party this evening and we would need to verify that your name is on the guest list,” a tall young man greeted me.
Holding my composure, I couldn’t believe this shit.
After the shit show of a day I had, the only thing I wanted was an espresso martini.
The rich, velvety blend of bitter espresso and smooth vodka, with a hint of sweetness, always made me feel bourgeois and reminded me of my late grandmother.
She went crazy for an espresso martini and loved this spot when she would come visit me as well.
“Is Marilyn still one of the bartenders?” I questioned, leaning past them just enough to see inside.
There was a live band on stage playing music, a group of patrons enjoying themselves, but I would definitely fit in with the diverse yet stuffy looking crowd.
“Marilyn,” I called over the music when I spotted her behind the bar with her usual red vest on top of a white button up.
“She’s good,” Marilyn waved me over, and the two young men in black suits relaxed, granting me entry.
I sauntered over to the bar and claimed the first empty seat I could find. Tipping phenomenally well had finally paid off for something.
“Where have you been? I was missing my favorite customer,” Marilyn bubbled, placing a chilled martini glass on a napkin in front of me.
“I’m divorcing my husband. He had three kids behind my back,” I confessed, rummaging through my clutch for my credit card.
“Whew, I’m sorry to hear that. Don’t worry about your card. This is an open bar event and it’s about over, so they good and lit in here,” Marilyn expressed, preparing my drink.
I placed my card back in the slit in my purse and got comfortable in my seat. I leaned forward and buried my face in my hands, dragging my palms down slowly as if I could wipe the stress away.
“I know it might seem like your world is crumbling now, but there is always light at the end of the tunnel. Plus, you are stunning. I’ve seen countless men hit on you at this bar with that big ass rock you used to have on your finger.
Now that it’s gone, you’ll be beating them off with a bat and a better man will come along and treat you right. ”
“I remember you telling me you have been single since your divorce, so how can that be so true?”
“I’m single because my kids are six and seven. As soon as they are eighteen I’m back in these streets. My kids are my focus right now, but I’ve had plenty of men come around trying to play step daddy. You’re different. Your boys are grown, right?”
“Just about. My youngest is in his senior year of high school.”
“Yes, and I’m so proud of your older son. I saw a segment about him come across my TikTok account. I was like that’s my fave customer’s son . A MLB star in the making,” she beamed.
All I could do was smile, because the comments that Yaseer guy made had me wondering if he knew something I didn’t.
His disrespectful ass had me on edge. Marilyn finished preparing my drink and went to serve another patron that sat at the bar.
As I finished my drink, the music stopped playing, and I heard a voice play through the speakers in the restaurant.
My head snapped around towards the stage because there was no way that Yaseer guy was up on that stage.