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However, my time has been spent at a hospital in the midst of an employee’s soap opera family drama which led me to kowtowing to an effusive social worker and opening my home to an orphan and her aunt like I was Daddy Warbucks. And today I spent the working hours trying to manage little orphan Annie’s slip-up.
At least Annie came with a loyal mutt. All I got was a hairless demon cat.
Instead of admitting this, I stare at my lawyer until the smile falls from his face.
‘Well, uh, what I mean is—’ he uncrosses his legs and sits up straight ‘—it isn’t as easy as people think.’ He leans over and picks up his briefcase from the floor. ‘See, you can’t just show up at a chapel and get married these days. At least not legally.’ Briefcase on his lap, he removes a manilla envelope from inside. ‘You need a license.’
A vague memory of Chase and Bell running off to sign paperwork before the wedding surfaces.
‘And marriage licenses are a matter of public record in Nevada.’ Briefcase back on the floor, he slips a sheet of paper out from the folder and slides it across the desk.
It’s a column of names starting with Molina and ending with Mount.
He taps on one he’s highlighted in yellow. ‘While I found Mr Chase Moore listed, there is no record of a marriage license with either your name—’ he pulls out another sheet of paper, this one with names beginning with a T ‘—or one Ms Alice Truman’s. Not in Clark County or in the whole state of Nevada.’
I frown at the paper, trying once more to remember details of my night with Alice. I don’t remember leaving the room. Signing papers. But then again, I don’t remember buying or exchanging rings and we woke with evidence of that happening. ‘Could there be a delay in the filing?’
Henry shakes his head. ‘Everything is electronic these days, and the marriage bureau in Clark County is open even on weekends.’ He snorts. ‘Man, I bet the night shift sees a lot of interesting people.’
His laugh cuts short and his complexion pales under my glare. ‘Ah, sorry. I didn’t—’ He clears his throat and focuses on my fountain pen aligned perpendicular to my keyboard. ‘Bottom line – in the eyes of the law, you aren’t married, and you and your company’s assets are safe.’
I stare at the yellow slash across the white paper until it’s burned into my retinas. If my name isn’t listed under my brother’s, then what the hell happened that night?
‘Good news, right?’ He smiles, his expression frozen as if waiting for my approval.
‘Yes… good news.’ While I may want to second guess my choice of lawyer based on his personal demeanor, he has given me exactly what I want. A way out of the mess I’ve made. A clear path back to my life pre-Vegas.
One without Alice.
So why am I not pleased?
For starters, even if he’s correct, with what happened this morning, the entire store still thinks Alice and I are married. Which is why, at precisely eight tomorrow morning, when employees arrive and begin store opening procedures, an email will hit their inboxes. One with an updated employee handbook complete with a detailed section on social media professionalism and strict rules regarding personal phone use during work hours.
True, the new guidelines won’t stop the gossip but the new handbook I spent most of today working on, and the email instructing George to shut down the employee Facebook group, should help mitigate it.
Henry slides out another stack of papers. ‘The only sticking point is the paperwork you filed to foster Ms. Truman’s niece.’
Ah, yes. Mary.
He lifts the top page of the stapled documents, scanning over the words and the signature I recognize as my own and grimaces. ‘Because your signature is on a legal document where Mrs. Truman has listed your address as hers and then signed as Alice Moore, things might get a little… legally gray.’ Spinning the documents toward me, he taps his knuckle on my desk.
My eye twitches.
‘Since you allowed the paperwork to go through and are fostering one Miss Mary Rogers, you have legally acknowledged that you believe yourself to be married. At least, in the common-law definition.’ He places both hands palm up as if delivering his final argument. ‘Even though you’re not married, each time you acknowledge the possibility or represent yourself as such, you continue to leave yourself, and therefore the company, at risk. Ms Truman could seek legal compensation.’
Alice would never do that. That’s my first thought. But then I remember her dressed in Chanel and shopping with my mother this morning, so I keep that thought to myself.
‘Are you saying that all the money I pay to have you on retainer would fail against a lawsuit that a woman with very little means might bring against me?’
‘Ah, no. Of course not.’ He leans back, as if completely unconcerned. ‘I was just thinking of the optics, what with all that the company just went through legally with your father.’
‘Indeed.’ My fists clench under the desktop and my eyes drop to the drawer above them. Earlier, but well after making a bigger mess for myself with Alice in the women’s department, I found a drawing in my briefcase. A drawing Mary must have snuck in my briefcase post-pancakes and before I made my escape to the office.
It was of the demon cat, sitting on the grass wearing a crown and surrounded by hearts and clouds. The hearts were blue, not pink or red and the clouds pink. I seriously question what kind of education Mary’s had thus far to make her so capricious with her color choices.
Even so, her letters were neat and straight when she wrote ‘To: Mr Thomas’ at the top and ‘From: Mary’ at the bottom. And ‘Prince Michael’ under the damn yellow-colored cat.
Looking over the oddly colored drawing, my anger – aimed first at Alice and then myself – drained. And when I remembered Mary’s earlier look of hurt when I so rashly called her nickname for the cat ridiculous… I can’t remember ever feeling so callow.
