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The words Mrs. Merritt reverberated in my ears as I settled into one of the leather chairs. I’d been Mrs. Merritt for half my adult life. Everyone knew me as Natalie Merritt. After the divorce, would I go back to using my maiden name? I said it to myself. Natalie Taylor. In truth, I never wanted to be her again. While that name had turned my life around, it brought back too many bad memories. Besides, it would be better for Will and Paige if I shared their last name as much as I now despised it. Stopping me in my thoughts, another twenty-something buxom blonde, who could be a clone of the receptionist, came to fetch me.
Jason Nussbaum’s corner office was spacious. Offering a panoramic view of Los Angeles from downtown to the ocean from the wraparound windows, it was furnished a lot like the reception area, except Jason sat behind a massive rosewood desk. Close to him was a bookshelf filled with leather-bound law journals.
I studied him. Despite the framed NYU law school degree, awards, and accolades plastered on the walls, he came across as somewhat of a sleazebag. In his mid-fifties with a swathe of dyed, slicked-back black hair, a ruddy complexion that screamed tanning salon, and a smarmy smile that revealed veneers so white they were blinding. It was obvious he’d had a lot of work done and maybe was older than he appeared.
He stood up and rounded his desk. Wearing an impeccably tailored dark suit and a crisp open-collar white shirt, he was a big man with broad shoulders and large hands. A gaudy pinky ring caught my attention, but there was no gold band on his ring finger. I wasn’t sure if the divorce lawyer was married, divorced, separated, or single. His marital status wasn’t listed in any of his five-star Yelp reviews or in his extensive bio.
Introducing himself, he extended his hand, and I shook it. His grip was so firm it hurt. Almost bone-crunching. I guess it came with his ruthless reputation.
“Where would you like me to sit, Mr. Nussbaum?” I sputtered, unnerved by his presence. His dark, beady eyes didn’t help. They made him look like a ferret. And the cloying cologne he wore was making me nauseous. Though I was wearing my red Chanel power suit, the one I often wore to board meetings, I felt powerless.
He gave me a once-over, assessing my net worth more than my fashion sense. Ka-ching, ka-ching, “Anywhere you’d like. And please call me Jason. I’d prefer to call you Natalie, if that’s okay by you.” His gruff, Brooklyn-accented voice matched his tough, rough-around-the-edges demeanor. “It’s better for the both of us if we don’t refer to your married name.”
“That’s fine,” I said, inching over to one of the club chairs flanking the coffee table. Sinking into it, I set my bag down on the dark hardwood floor and crossed my ankles while he took a seat catty-corner to me on the leather sofa. He leaned forward, sitting with his strapping legs wide apart, his hands clasped between them, a stance I always found repulsive in a man. That’s the way he sat. So I kept my gaze on his face and away from his crotch.
“Forgive me, Natalie. I forgot to ask you, would you like something to drink? Some coffee? Tea? Perhaps a Perrier?”
“Thank you, but I’m good.” While I was parched from nerves, I worried I’d spill something on myself.
His ferret eyes shot to his secretary, who was still standing by the entrance to his office. “Sweetheart, bring me some coffee. You know how I like it.”
Sweetheart. I cringed at the word and how flippantly he said it.
Maybe he banged her, I thought as she disappeared. A few short minutes later she was back with a mug of coffee. She set it on a coaster on the glass table between us. I noticed how he took his coffee. Black and strong.
“Mr. Nussbaum, can I get you anything else?” asked Sweetheart, her voice sultry and laced with an accent. From her mountain-high cheekbones, I surmised she might be Slavic or Russian.
“That’ll be it, Lola.”
At the mention of her name, my brain started humming “Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets.” Anabel flew into my mind. In her sophomore year, just before she died, she’d played the part of Lola in the Coldwater Academy production of Damn Yankees. And knocked it out of the park.
I pushed the bittersweet memory away as Jason gave his voluptuous secretary a salacious smile; she winked back. Yup. He was banging her. Whatever Jason wants, Jason gets, I thought as I watched her sashay out of the room and close the door behind her. Maybe he’d get me a ten-million-dollar settlement and the house.
Refocusing on me, Jason took a sip of his inky brew. “So, Natalie, we both know why you’re here.”
I nodded.
“Good. Let’s get the nitty-gritty out of the way so we’re not wasting each other’s time. I charge seven-fifty per hour and require a ten thousand retainer fee upfront.”
I gulped. “How much do you think the divorce will cost?”
“It shouldn’t cost more than a hundred grand. And the retainer will be applied. I know my fees may sound exorbitant, but I always say you get what you pay for.”
Matt believed the same thing. A shiver ran down my spine.
“And the way you should look at it is as an investment in your future.” He took another sip of his coffee. “Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.”
I felt my jaw work as I did the math in my head. I had the money—a little over a hundred thousand dollars stashed away—but I was going to have to tighten my purse strings as soon as Matt found out and cut me off from his credit cards and our joint accounts. No more Manolo Blahniks, weekly blowouts, or private Pilates. And that was for starters. The sacrifices seemed unfathomable…then Matt’s sister’s snide remark played in my head. He’s a snake. He always takes the husband to the cleaners.
“It’s not a problem.” I hired Jason Nussbaum on the spot. “I’ve brought along my checkbook and can write you the retainer check.”
A gloating grin flashed on his face. “Excellent. You can do that on the way out.”
I was tempted to ask him if I could write the check now, get it over with, so I didn’t change my mind, but refrained.
Onward.
Over the course of the next hour, we discussed the nature of my case. Matt’s alleged infidelities. His net worth. Whether we had a prenup. The property and assets we shared. Our children, whom I didn’t want involved. Or at least as little as possible. Our divorce was going to break their hearts, and I let my attorney know I was open to joint custody, whatever was the least messy and worked best for the kids. He understood, then explained to me that California was a no-fault state, and that because we had no prenup agreement, I was entitled to half of everything we had. Maybe more plus child support.
