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“This is possibly the most ridiculous conversation we’ve ever had.” Hayden rolled her eyes. “If I watch anything tonight, it’ll be the van Gogh special on the Biography Channel.”
Darcy released an exaggerated sigh. “A man who cut off his own ear is not sexy, Hayden.”
“Neither is porn.” She glanced at her watch, eyes widening. “Shoot. I’ve gotta go. I’m supposed to give a deposition today about Sheila’s state of mind when she signed the prenup.”
“Sounds like a blast. Unfortunately I left my party shoes at home so I can’t come with you.”
They got up and wandered over to the door. Darcy unlocked it and held it open, her attention straying back to the flowers poking out of the wastebasket. “At least your guy only wants sex,” Darcy said, looking envious.
“Brody is not my guy,” Hayden responded, hoping if she said the words out loud she might convince her traitorous body of it. “Are we still on for dinner tonight? I’m down as long as I get home in time to watch that biography.”
“And I’m down as long as it’s Mexican. I’m feeling spicy.” Darcy waved as Hayden left. “Enjoy the deposition,” she called out after her.
“Enjoy the flowers,” Hayden called back.
She turned just in time to see her best friend flipping her the bird.
“THANK YOU, Hayden,” announced Diane Krueger, Presley’s divorce attorney. “We’re finished here.”
Hayden smoothed out the front of her knee-length black skirt and pushed back the plush chair, getting to her feet. Next to her, her father stood as well. On the other side of the large oval conference table of the Krueger and Bates deposition room, Sheila Houston and her lawyer were huddled together, whispering to each other.
Hayden couldn’t help but stare at her stepmother, still as startled by Sheila’s appearance as she’d been when the woman had first strode into the law office. The last time Hayden had come to town, Sheila had looked as if she’d stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine. Long blond hair brushed to a shine, creamy features flawless and perfectly made up, expensive clothes hugging her tall, slender body.
This time Sheila looked…haggard. Much older than her twenty-eight years and far more miserable than Hayden had expected her to be. Her hair hung limply over her shoulders, her normally dazzling blue eyes were distressed, and she’d lost at least fifteen pounds, which made her willowy shape look far too fragile.
Though she hated feeling even an ounce of sympathy for the woman who was making her father’s life hell, Hayden had to wonder if Sheila was taking this divorce process a lot harder than Presley had let on. Either that, or she was devastated by the thought of losing that yacht she’d forced Presley to buy.
“Thanks for doing this, sweetheart,” her father said quietly as they exited the conference room. “It means so much that you’re going to bat for your old man.”
For the third time in the past hour, Hayden noticed her dad’s slightly glazed, bloodshot eyes and wondered if he’d had something to drink before coming here. His breath smelled like toothpaste and cigars, but she got a wary feeling when she looked at him.
No, she was being silly. He was probably just tired.
“I’m happy to help,” she answered with a reassuring smile.
He touched her arm. “Do you need a ride back to the suite?”
“No, I’ve got my rental.”
“All right.” He nodded. “And don’t forget about the party on Sunday night. Gallagher Club, eight o’clock.”
Shoot, she’d already forgotten. There was a huge shindig at the prestigious gentlemen’s club of which her dad was a member. And apparently her appearance was necessary, though she had no clue why.
Her father must have noticed her reluctance because he frowned slightly. “I’d like you to be there, Hayden. A lot of my friends want to see you. When you were here over the holidays you declined all of their invitations.”
Because I wanted to see you, she almost blurted. But she held her tongue. She knew her father liked showing her off to his wealthy friends and boasting about her academic credentials—something he didn’t seem to care about when they were alone.
She swallowed back the slight sting of bitterness. Considering they’d just spent an hour with the woman determined to bleed him dry, Hayden figured she ought to cut her dad some slack.
“I’ll be there,” she promised.
“Good.”
They said their goodbyes, and she watched her father hurry out of the elegant lobby onto the street as if he were being chased by a serial killer. Not a stretch, seeing as the law firm was called Krueger and Bates. Hayden wondered if she was the only one who’d made the connection.