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Byron cleared his throat, then slid the folders closer to us again. Mine had traveled a bit farther than Zoe’s when I’d slammed it back down onto the table.
“I know it doesn’t help right now,” Byron said, “but there were a few loose ends in Chris and Amie’s trust. Naturally, they felt like they had plenty of time to have conversations with everyone involved.”
I clenched my fists.
“Where do we start?” Zoe asked. “Mira is with me at my house right now, but ...” Her voice trailed off, and she glanced in my direction. “I don’t even know where you live.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I managed.
“Here we go,” she said on a sigh. “You are impossible.”
“On the contrary. I’m going to make this very, very easy for you.” I spread my hands out wide. “I’ll send you a check every month to help out with Mira, and you’ll never have to deal with me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you being serious?”
“I am.” I shot her a smile, then aimed one at Byron, who was sitting back in his chair and eyeing me with interest. “Tell me where to sign and I’ll be on my way.”
He blinked a couple of times. “Ah, nothing for you to sign at the moment. This was ... informational in nature. We’ll deal with finances at a later meeting; that’s when I’ll have bank paperwork for you.”
“Excellent.” I pushed my chair back and notched my fingers at my temple in a salute. “Byron, have a lovely day.” I glanced down at Zoe, who gaped at me, eyes wide. “Valentine, I’ll drop a check in the mail.”
And I walked out before I could do any further damage.
Chapter Four
ZOE
In the moment after Liam stormed out of the office, the lawyer and I did nothing except exchange stunned looks.
I blinked, a shocked exhale escaping my lips in a puff.
Byron blinked too, then blinked again.
“Well, shall we continue reviewing the paperwork?” he asked. I’d have given him an A for infusing the fakest of all confidence into his voice.
The shock faded at the idea that we’d just continue. That Liam “I’m a Big Grumpy Brit” Davies was just allowed to act like a big grumpy child whenever he felt so moved.
And in place of the shock was a blinding, white-hot anger.
“What a dick,” I breathed.
Byron cleared his throat. “He certainly”—he paused, choosing his words carefully—“doesn’t handle surprises very well.”
He’d send me acheck.
His friends had died. They’d loved and respected him enough to ask him to help raise their child, and he’d ...
I couldn’t even think it again.
Remember when I said I was constantly walking a tightrope between wanting to bawl my eyes out and wanting to punch someone? I was out of my chair before I could register another thought.
It looked like I was stepping firmly into the camp of violence.
“Miss Valentine?” Byron asked.
“I’ll be right back,” I called over my shoulder.
Sure, his legs were, like, a foot longer than mine, and I needed to sprint to catch up with him in the parking lot, but I was fueled by some pretty righteous anger, and that made up for a lot.
