I blink, snapping out of my thoughts, and look at her through my shades. “Yes?”
She looks at me with a frown, “Are we going or are we just going to sit here? You were just rushing me a moment ago?”
“Yes, we’re going,” I say, pulling away into traffic. “How are you? Did you manage to sort out your tyres?”
Shayla glances at me and shrugs, “Yes. Someone will be coming to fit new ones later this evening.” She explains, and I nod. “Thank you for offering to help. I was in a sour mood. I hope I didn’t come off rude.” She looks over at me, apologetically, and I shake my head.
“Not at all,” I wave off her apology. “Honestly, it would have pissed me off too if someone stole all the tyres off my car. Did you report it?” Shayla shakes her head. I frown, “Why not?”
She sighs, looking out the window, “What’s the point? It’s hardly the crime of the year, is it? It’s inconvenient sure, but I think the police have much bigger cases that require their attention than my stolen tyres.” I smile, shaking my head.
“That’s one way to look at it.”
Shayla sighs, brushing her hair away from her pretty face, “Nothing seems to be going right for me at the moment. It truly is bizarre.”
I smile and glance at her before I look at the road again. “Oh, I’ve been there. But you should always try and stay positive because you never know when your luck might change.” Shayla looks at me briefly. “Might be sooner than you think.”
“I doubt that.” She utters, her voice an octave over a whisper. The rest of the twenty-five-minute journey to the lawyer’s office, we spent reviewing my work schedule.
“Your two-thirty meeting got pushed back by fifteen minutes. Mr Cohen’s flight got delayed from Belgium; his driver dropped me an email earlier.” I nod as we walk into the office, and Franc— our lawyer, greets us.
“Morning, Mr Hoult, Mrs Hoult,” I observe Shayla’s reaction when Franc called her by her married name. She smiles tightly and takes his offered hand, and sits at the table. “Okay, Mr Hoult I have drawn up the papers for the divorce. All I need are your signatures, and I can get it processed.” Shayla nods and picks up her pen, and signs the papers. She holds the pen out to me, and I take it and stare at the paperwork in front of me.
“Cole?” I lift my gaze and look at Shayla. “Sign the papers.”
“Franc, will you leave us a moment, please?” Shayla watches as he stands up and leaves the room before she looks at me again.
“What’s wrong?” She questions, eyeing me warily.
“Shayla. I have a proposition for you.”
Her frown deepens, “A proposition?”
I nod slowly and hold her gaze, “Yes, a proposition.”
“Okay…”
“What if we don’t get a divorce?” I suggest, and she stares at me blankly, then laughs suddenly.
“Hilarious, Cole. Stop screwing around and sign the papers so we can get out of here.” When I make no move to sign the papers, her smile fades slowly. “You’re not—wait, are you serious?!”
“Very.”
“Very? Very what, Cole? We agreed to get a divorce. What are you talking about?” She exclaims, rising up from her seat.
I sigh and put the pen down, and watch her as she glares daggers at me. “I’m only suggesting we stay married for a little while longer.”
Shayla stops pacing and looks down at me angrily, “And I’m suggesting we get a divorce—right now.”
“Shayla, just listen to me for a second. I’m stuck in an impossible situation, and I need your help.” I explain, and her gaze softens a little. “My Dad, he’s forcing me to marry someone I don’t love in exchange for his and my grandfather’s shares to the company.” I sigh and stand up. “My grandfather has a terminal illness and doesn’t have long to live. His dying wish is to see his firstborn grandchild married before he dies. If I don’t, he will give his shares to my cousin Harry who is an absolute goon and will fuck up everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve at the company.”
Shayla shakes her head. “Cole, have you lost your mind? You’re talking about lying to your family. To a dying man. Absolutely not.”
“I can’t marry Hollie. She’s just not the type of girl I see myself settling down with. She’s not for me.” I explain, and she shrugs indifferently.
“How is that any different to what we did? We don’t exactly get along either. Just marry her, get your shares, then divorce her.” I sigh and shake my head, feeling frustrated.
“Shayla, you don’t get it. This girl has been obsessed with me since we were ten years old. Do you think she’s going to divorce me after waiting years to tie me down? No fucking chance,”