Soaring (Magdalene #2)(125)

“My relationship with Martine is no longer a weapon you can use against me,” he declared.

“Perhaps. Though, her and Gail Conway might get me somewhere.”

Gail Conway, the instigator of the sexual harassment suit in Lexington and a woman who had since moved on but who still very much disliked Dr. Conrad Moss.

Conrad blanched.

Bulls-eye.

“If that isn’t enough, I’ll add Hillary Schmidt,” I went on.

Ms. Schmidt did not file a suit, but she wasn’t too happy Conrad slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am’ed her while he was also wooing Martine, this going on for six months.

I couldn’t say I was overjoyed to see the fear flash across his face.

But it didn’t suck.

“And Erin McIntyre,” I kept going.

Obviously, I’d had a report from my attorney.

And he had a very good investigator.

“I would refrain from trying to get to them,” I advised. “They’ve already agreed to be deposed. Jumped at the chance, actually. They aren’t real big fans of yours.”

His face twisted and, really, how had I ever been in love with him?

“So this is your new tactic?” he bit out.

“No. This is your warning,” I replied. “You do not keep my children away from me. You allow them to come when they please,” still standing close to Mickey, I leaned into Conrad, “without one peep.” I leaned back. “And when I speak to them about making that a regular thing, suggest sharing custody and they agree, you’ll not only also agree, you’ll f*cking champion it. Other than that, you’ll keep your mouth shut. You’ll also keep your wife’s mouth shut. Or we will be back in front of a judge, Conrad. But this time, I’ll eviscerate you.”

“The Hathaway comes out,” he sniped.

“At least they gave me something,” I fired back.

“You’ll regret this, Amelia,” he threatened.

On this, clearly, not liking me being threatened, Mickey shifted a little so he was between Conrad and me.

When he did this, I fell a little more in love with Mickey Donovan.

And I was falling in love.

Tumbling.

Head over feet.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t feel all the goodness of that. Conrad was there being an ass.

“Too late,” I replied. “I’m already deep in regret that I wasted twenty-two years on you when you weren’t worth a minute.” I delivered that, peering around Mickey’s arm to do it.

“You’re done,” Mickey stated right after I was done speaking and right when Conrad opened his mouth to retort.

Conrad’s eyes jerked to Mickey.

Then he jerked them right back to me. “You share any of the dirt you dug up on me with our children—”

“I could bang my chest and drag you to your truck by your throat,” Mickey suggested and Conrad’s eyes flew back to him. “That way, you might get me.”

“You touch me, I press charges,” he warned.

Mickey looked down at me. “I feel some grunts comin’ on. You wanna go get my club?”

I started giggling.

“Fuck you,” Conrad spat.

Mickey looked to him and lifted his brows. “Now who’s cursing?”

Conrad looked ready to explode but he had no choice but to scowl, turn and stomp away.

Mickey backed up and with our proximity he took me with him. He shut the door and locked it.

He then turned and again looked down at me.

“Babe. Seriously. You’re a fun date.”

I burst out laughing.

While I kept doing it, Mickey’s arms stole around me.

I put my hands to his chest, slid them up and curled them around the sides of his neck.

However, when I sobered, I saw Mickey didn’t find anything funny.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yep,” I answered.

He studied me closely.

I snuggled into him and assured, “I’m fine, Mickey.”

“He’s not a dick, Amy. He’s a motherf*cking dick.”

“Yep,” I repeated.

He looked to the door and back to me. “You gonna get any blowback from that?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea. If I do, I’ll deal. He’s already done his worst, I survived and now I’m standing in my fabulous house in a magnificent man’s arms. He no longer has any weapons that could harm me.”

His arms convulsed on “magnificent man,” but when I was done talking, he warned, “Watch your shit with that guy. He’s a man with a little dick but he still likes to swing it.”

I hadn’t really thought about it but having a man as endowed as Mickey, it occurred to me this was quite accurate.

“I’ll watch my shit,” I promised.

“Good,” he muttered then asked, “We done with that?”

“Yeah, Mickey.”

He was back to muttering. “Excellent.” He let me go, grabbed my hand and tugged me across the landing, announcing, “You owe me a hard f*ck on that weird couch by your fireplace, baby.”

I absolutely did.

“It’s a daybed,” I informed him.

“Whatever. It’s sturdy.”

I thought it was fabulously stylish but Mickey wasn’t wrong.