Braxton--The Offer

The next morning, I can still smell Julia on my fingers, even though I’ve showered and washed my hands a few times. I hold the phone close to my nose as I speak to my lawyer, inhaling deeply because I can’t be upset at the news they’re telling me if I am dreaming of being with her.

“It doesn’t look good,” the lawyer says. “They’re demanding a lot, and the fact that they have a signed contract that requests that Thompson allow you to sleep with his wife, well, that doesn’t look good either, Mr. Merriweather. I really do recommend we try to settle this out of court if we can. It simply won’t make a good headline for you, amongst other things.”

I know how it sounds. “I got her permission as well, Shawna,” I say to my lawyer.

“No, I know that, but the press isn’t going to run with that. They’re going to try to turn this into some sort of soap opera, some sort of scheme for a rich man to get control of a poor worker’s wife.”

I realize immediately that what she’s saying is true. I don’t wan