Page 31 of Accidentally Engaged
“Patsy. That’s the fax machine in the printer, right?”
“Right!”
“The one you kept? The one I saidIshould have because I actually might use it for looking at field data and reports from remote places, but you saidyouhad to keep it because your uncle gave it to us as a wedding present?Thatone?” His voice grows stronger the tighter I cling.
Caught in her stupidity, Patsy swallows, then takes in the sight in front of her. “Who’s this?”
“My—”
“I’m Chloe. Jared’s fianceé.”
Her knees actually buckle in shock. Her mouth hangs open like a rusty gate, and the sounds she’s making match, a scratchy squeal of disbelief that comes from the back of her throat.
It’s delicious, and the stab of pain in my middle unspools, some of it dissolving. I paw Jared’s chest, lying my head on his side and not breaking my gaze.
“What the fuck? Are you serious?” Patsy finds her voice, but it’s filled with ugly laughter. “Well! Oh, honey... He doesn’t have any money. Not anymore. Not with my alimony, and the money he sank in that house.”
“I have my own money, thanks. I want him for his heart. For what’s inside,” I say in a warning tone, little bits of my magic escaping in my rage.
“Chloe, careful,” Jared whispers. “Not worth anyone getting hurt and uh... Any follow-up that might cause.”
“She’s a scrawny thing next to me, Jar. She’s not going to hurt me. Hell, I’m surprised she doesn’t get squashed under you. Did you tell her that’s why I stopped sleeping in the same bed with you, in case you rolled over and—”
“Enough!” Jared’s tone quivers with hurt, while mine pierces like an arrow. I see Patsy grab her left eye, and I know that the banshee version of an ocular migraine is about to make her week a living hell.
Yay. Goody. I mean, oh, what a shame.
I push away from Jared’s side, slowly walking to Patsy. My steps are measured, trying to force control into my seething body in just a few feet. “I like when he’s on top. Underneath. Behind.” I close my eyes with an exaggerated look of pleasure on my face, exaggerated for her benefit, not because it’s untrue. “He didn’t tell me anything about you, except that you hurt him. Guess he’s mine to heal, huh?”
“I... Whatever you say. I still say that you’d better up your insurance or plan to have your own bedroom,” Patsy mumbles, rubbing her forehead.
That fucking does it. I grab the Prius by its short, stubby tail and yank backwards, letting out a little cry of spiraling song to pull up some of my banshee powers.
The car moves.
Patsy falls.
“Crap,” I whisper.
“That was so fucking fantastic!” Jared sweeps me into a hug over Patsy’s collapsed form. “Superwoman!”
“Well, ha ha. I hope you still think that once she wakes up and starts screaming at me.”
Jared releases me and bends to shake Patsy. “She’s out.”
“She will be for a few hours, too.”
“Well, let’s see what papers she was screaming about,” he sighs, picking up the fallen sheets from under her. “Oh. Oh... Oh, damn it!”
Each “oh” changed pitch, from confusion, to surprise, to anger. When he stops, I ask, “What’s wrong?”
“We’ve been divorced for months, but my publishing bonus was part of the contract I had while I was still married to her. It’s just been paid out recently, but Patsy’s lawyer seems to think she gets half.”
“What’s a publishing bonus?”
“I was credited in the publication of a paper on honeybee decline that included my specialty area of research, potential medical interventions to stop whatever viruses or mites may be contributing to the decline. At the last university where I worked—one of the biggies— lead scientists and professors got bonuses per paper they published in a scientific or peer-reviewed journal. For us lowly assistants, there was also a bonus, much smaller, but still pretty hefty to me. Twenty grand if it was published in an international journal. Which it was.”
“And she wants ten thousand dollars for work you did while you were married—but didn’t get paid for until after the divorce? Is that even legal?”
