The Divorce Club (33 page)

"I looked for it," Mel says.

Yeah, right. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"See, after looking, I forgot. You're mad,
aren't you?"

I shake my head. "Just don't expect brunch in
the near future. I've got to go and sort out this mess you
caused."

"Sarah," Mel says, "I'm—"

I hang up because I can't take another
apology tonight.

The guy's still standing outside. I smile,
but don't invite him in. "Looks like I forgot to post the
application package and it got lost in the process."

"Then you'll have to close shop until you get
your license," he says.

"But I talked to an advisor who assured me
there's no way I wouldn't get my license with my qualifications.
Can't you just give me a few days?" I bat my lashes. "Please, I
can't afford the financial loss. Things are looking really bleak
right now."

"We know you're a registered psychologist,
however, regulations are regulations," he says. "We still need to
see all documents. Until you provide everything we need, there's
nothing we can do. I'm sorry about that."

"Yeah," I mutter as I close the door behind
him. It's all my fault. I should've checked with the council
instead of relying on an unofficial confirmation that's useless. I
just assumed it took them longer to get the formal letter to
me.

The room's still quiet as I return. "Ladies,
can I have your attention please." I peer from one face to the
other. "I'm sorry to say the club's closed until further notice.
You'll receive a refund for the rest of the month as soon as I get
to the bank."

Lucy inches closer and pulls me in a tight
hug, whispering soothing words in my ear, but I'm too numb to hear
or feel a thing.

The Divorce Club's closed. I can't wrap my
head around it. Even though it's been in business for a few weeks
only, I feel as though my heart, or what's left of it after the
Jamie disaster, has just been torn to shreds.

"Hey, babe," Greg greets me at the door.

I slam it shut and dash past him shouting,
"Well done! You should be proud of yourself. Now we're both
unemployed." I know it's not his fault, and yet I can't help
feeling bitter toward him. If it weren't for his stalking and the
consequent messing up with my sanity, I might've thought about
calling the council to make sure they received my application.

"What's wrong with you?" he asks, but I can't
be bothered to answer.

I spend the evening sulking in my bedroom,
searching through my documents. Of course, I didn't keep copies.
That would've made my life way too organized and easy. Greg knocks
on my door a few times. I ignore him. The phone rings. Without
looking at the caller ID, I switch it off and bury myself under my
sheets, my tired mind surprisingly devoid of thoughts.

***

The next few days pass in a blur. I don't
know how I survive filling out countless forms and photocopying
everything related to my degree while taking care of Sam. Greg's
surprisingly mellow as though he understands the seriousness of the
situation, or maybe he's just concerned about the financial aspect
of me losing the business. I know I won't be able to hide forever,
but my club's reputation has taken a blow, which makes me
self-conscious and unwilling to face the world.

I drive to the council to hand in the
documents to an advisor rather than post them, lest something
happen again and the club remain closed. I arrive home with a few
hours to spare before cooking dinner when I notice the letter in
the post. The writing seems familiar. I can't place it, so I tear
open the envelope, frowning as I see the name at the bottom.
Jamie.

Holding my breath, I skim the text, then slow
down to read it once more since I can't believe my eyes. He
couldn't possibly mean it. I'm fuming; my blood runs hot and cold.
I always knew once I established my business idea people would copy
it in a heartbeat if they realized its financial potential like it
happened to
match.com
,
Facebook
et al. But I never
figured Jamie would try to steal my customer base.

I enter the living room to inform my daughter
I might need to spend the evening plotting someone else's downfall
and find her sitting on the sofa, giggling with Jamie. For a
moment, I'm left speechless and my heart drops. He looks so
handsome in a pair of casual jeans and a shirt with his hair all in
a mess. Then I remember he's my rival.

"The girls told me about the club." He inches
closer, stopping a step away from me, hesitation written on his
face. I could make a move now, ease the tension, and tell him
everything's all right between us, but I won't because he's a
traitor.

"Really? You must've been shaken up for all
of five minutes, or as long as it took you to realize with the
competition held up you could start your own business." I snort. "I
bet you even employed someone to design something as fancy as
this." I toss the invitation toward him.

He frowns. "What?"

"Don't quit your day job," I hiss. "You'll
end up starving."

"And there I thought you might be interested
in a new position since you have so much free time on your hands."
He cocks a brow. I know he wants to say something, but my mind
can't grasp the meaning of his words.

"He's offering you a job, Mum," Sam says. "I
think his exact words were that he actually needs someone to run
the place because he has no clue what it's like being
divorced."

"You—" My voice trails off.

"It's more of a business partnership." Jamie
grabs my arm and pulls me closer, his eyes twinkling. "Let's face
it, Sarah, you're an awesome life coach. Heck, there was a time you
had me convinced I was married and needed to get rid of the nagging
wife. But you honestly suck in business matters. How could you
forget to file a business license?"

I shake my head. "Mel—"

Jamie cuts me off, "You're lucky I'm good at
that. Nothing against Mel, but you need a major advertising
campaign, a proper PR manager who isn't blinded by
Armani
suits and, most importantly, a location that is on
Google
Maps
and doesn't look like a drug lair."

"What's wrong with 21 Terrace Street?" I
ask.

"Let me think." He taps a finger against his
chin. "The scratched floors, the peeling plaster, the thin walls
through which you can hear the flushing toilet in the adjacent
building. Need I go on?"

I laugh. "Enough already."

"I'm a businessman, but I don't want to spend
the rest of my life working in the city. What do you say I invest
in your idea for let's say, a forty per cent share?"

"What?" I snort. "No way. You get fifteen,
and it's my last offer."

"You're trying to rip me off." The corners of
his lips twitch.

"Fifteen sounds like a fair deal to me," Sam
says.

"Whose side are you on, Sam?" His gaze
doesn't leave mine. My heart skips a beat as I realize what this
could really mean. I might be jumping to conclusions here, but it
seems as though he wants me around. For a long time.

"Fifteen," I whisper. "And dinner as often as
you want."

"Only if breakfast's included." He winks.

I nod because I can't get another word out.
Jamie's lips lower onto mine, hesitant at first. I open my mouth to
welcome his and bury my fingers in his unruly hair, drawing him
closer because this is one kiss I'm not going to run away from.

"Get a room," Sam says, but it could've also
been, "Holy gloom." I don't know, since the only thing I can be
certain of is Jamie's hot breath meeting mine and the consequent
somersaults inside my stomach.

The End

Other titles by Jayde Scott