Nora Roberts Land(3)

“Yeah, but at least he didn’t blame divorce on Nora’s books. Rick-the-Dick’s the kind of man who can’t take responsibility for his cheating, so he blamed it on you—and fiction. Isn’t that the most pathetic thing ever? It’s like blaming teen suicide on Romeo and Juliet. It’s asinine.”

“Actually, I think that’s been done.” She took the last drink of her latte and stood. Tested her balance. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“So strut your stuff over to the romance section.”

She didn’t strut. She stumbled—twice. Thank God there were scads of bookshelves to grab. As she passed the periodicals, she stopped in her tracks, her eyes zeroing in on a picture of her ex and the cocky smile he used to make women fall for him, her included.

“Richard’s on the front of The New York Man, ” she rasped, taking in the navy suit and patriotic red tie. “Huh?” Jill asked, probably because Meredith sounded like a smoker on oxygen.

“Rick-the-Dick is on the cover of a magazine,” she said, enunciating each word. “It’s like a weekly local GQ. ”

“What does it say? Please tell me he’s come out as a cross-dresser and is modeling your La Perla lingerie.”

After her split with Rick, she’d thrown out all of her cotton underwear, substituting it for La Perla bustiers and matching panties. Cinched in luxurious lingerie, Divorcée Woman was kind of like a superhero, sans the billowing cape and iridescent tights. Sure, it was a bit strange to create an alter ego for yourself, but it was helping her move forward. She could pretend she was a young and hot New Yorker, capable of bringing any man to his knees.

It had been a while since she’d brought a real man to his knees. A long, long while.

Since Rick-the-Dick. The bastard.

She read the headline: “Media Mogul Throws Hat into Political Ring.”

“Oh, shit,” she said, picking up a copy.

“What?” her sister yelled.

“The rumors were true.” She thumbed to the article. “Rick’s finally going to do it. He’s formed an exploratory committee for the Senate.”

“You’re kidding. Man, this is the only time I wish I was a New Yorker so I could vote ‘no’ in the ballot box.”

She scanned the article, holding her breath as she checked to see if he’d stuck to their bargain. Her unease grew when she reached the part about their divorce. He hadn’t. Isn’t that why her pulse had started pounding the second she saw the cover? “He broke our agreement not to talk about the divorce.”

“Asshole fink. What does it say?”

“It says…” Her heart rate doubled as she read the print. She was tempted to put her head between her legs, standing up. “He said we had different ideas about our life together. He wanted to serve a higher good. Give the public information to…improve their lives. Bullshit. Oh, and now he wants to be a public servant in an elected office. He said I wanted a more traditional family with kids— the kind you read about in books—not that he’s against that.” Pain seared her temple at the betrayal even as she wanted to rip apart the magazine. Her old wounds emerged, raw and fresh.

“Asshole, dickwad…” her sister said.

Jill continued to call him names while Meredith’s head spun. She tagged a bookstore worker, who was carrying an armful of books. “When did this come out?”

The young woman stopped and puffed out her chest. “That’s an advance copy. We negotiated to receive it a few days earlier than the other outlets since it’s such a big story. He’s cute, huh? I’d vote for him.” She sashayed off without another word.

Meredith turned back to her cell phone. “We agreed we wouldn’t talk about the divorce. We shook on it.”

“When did he ever keep a promise? I’ll bet he’s super nervous you’ll tell the media about his infidelities. Voters don’t like cheaters.”

Or politicians who paid for sex…But that hadn’t stopped him. Nothing did. That’s why people called him a mogul. Her phone beeped again. She looked at the display. The familiar number had her breath hitching again. Then her anger dug in.

Rick-the-Dick was calling her. Well, he wasn’t the only one who had something to say.

“Jill, it’s Richard. I’ll call you back.”

“Wait—”

She clicked over. “What in the hell do you want?”

“Meredith,” he uttered brightly. “I take it I didn’t reach you before you heard the news.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I called your assistant three times this morning. When she finally said she couldn’t reach you, I decided to try your cell.”