She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, positioned in a way that exposed an ample amount of cleavage. The shirt she was wearing barely covered up anything anyway. And the tiny shorts she wore looked more like underwear. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and I noticed her forehead was much smoother than normal. I guess I had paid for another round of Botox.
“I only just got your message, Chelsea. And I know Lena told you I’m busy until next week.” I instantly felt tired.
Chelsea pouted like a five-year-old. “But I need to speak to you now, so I thought I’d come on over.” She poked my chest playfully. “Then you can’t run away like the naughty boy you are.”
“Jesus, Chelsea. This is my place of employment. You can’t waltz over here whenever you get a brain fart,” I snapped.
Chelsea flicked her ponytail over her shoulder. “Don’t be so crude, Adam,” she chastised. “Can’t a woman see her man when she wants?”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I knew that would only exacerbate the situation. “I’m not your man, Chelsea. There’s a big pile of paperwork with your attorney that should spell that out pretty clearly.”I glanced up at Meg, but she was now engrossed in painting yellow with big, angry strokes.
Chelsea, finally realizing that she didn’t have my undivided attention, looked up at Meg on the scaffold. “Why are you having your office painted? And why that god-awful yellow color? It looks like something a cat threw up.” She made a face.
“It’s for the bicentennial. I told you about it months ago,” I explained to her through clenched teeth.
Chelsea squinted up at Meg. “Oh, right. The mural thing. Is that the artist? Let’s hope she paints better than she dresses.” She giggled meanly. God, she was such a bitch.
There was a clatter as Meg’s brush dropped onto the ground, landing only a couple of inches from Chelsea’s feet. Bright yellow paint splashed Chelsea’s legs—her designer wedges now stained.
“Oh, my God!” Chelsea screamed, scrambling backward. “You fucking bitch! You got paint all over my five-hundred-dollar sandals.” My soon-to-be-ex-wife turned to me in indignation, her overly endowed chest heaving with fury. “Do something, Adam. Fire her! She’s a liability!”
I shrugged, trying to stifle my laughter. And it was hard. “It was an accident.”
“It was not an accident. That horrible woman did it on purpose,” Chelsea whined, wiping her legs.
“Sorry about that!” Meg called down, not even trying to hide her grin.
Chelsea looked up again, her eyes narrowing as recognition set in. “Wait for a second…” She looked from Meg to me then back again. “Is that two-backed Meghan Galloway?” she cackled.
“Don’t be so fucking rude, Chelsea,” I growled.
Chelsea waved away my threat. “Don’t be such a sourpuss, Adam. It’s only a joke.”
Meg waved in an exaggerated gesture one reserves for small children. “Hi, Chelsea. How are you?”
Chelsea’s smile was brittle. “I’d be a lot better if you hadn’t covered me in paint. But you’ve never been very good at holding onto things.”
Shit, things were getting nasty very quickly.
“Chelsea—”
“Is that a new nose?” Meg asked, cutting me off. She cocked her head to the side. “I remember yours being much larger.” Her tone was all sweetness and sugar. It was deceptive.
Chelsea bent down and picked up the paintbrush Meg had dropped. With exaggerated slowness, she walked over to the garbage can and threw it away.
“Chelsea, those are expensive,” I barked. Meg looked as though she were ready to come down and throttle her.
Chelsea’s eyes widened. “Oh, oops. I thought since she dropped it, she wouldn’t be able to use it again. My bad.” She looked back up at Meg with a saccharine smile. “Sorry, Two-Backed—I mean Meghan.”
Before Meg could respond, I took Chelsea by the elbow and pulled her away. I walked her to her car, which was parked on the street in front of the building. “What do you want, Chelsea?”
Chelsea ran her hand up my arm, and I recoiled from her touch. “As I said, I just wanted to see you—”
“Quit the crap. I don’t have time for this song and dance with you,” I practically yelled in her face.
Realizing I was serious, Chelsea became slightly more serious, which was difficult for her. “Fine. My lawyer wants to sit down with you and go over the finer details of our divorce agreement.” She ran her hands through my hair. “You really need a trim. You’re looking shaggy.”
I took a step back. “What finer details? I’ve been very generous.”
Chelsea closed the distance again, practically pressing her breasts into my chest. “There are just a few concerns. Nothing major. He only wants to make sure you’re not trying to screw me over.” She giggled again. “Though I told him I wouldn’t mind if you tried. Isn’t that right, baby?” she purred.