Her Divorce Lawyer Want Her novel Chapter 52

The question landed odd, out of left field. Freya blinked. “Says the guy who can’t stand me either. Pot, kettle–we’re square.

‘Fine–whatever. You’re dismissed.”

Ryan slumped onto the edge of the bed, eyes clamped shut, lost in his own head.

Freya glanced back at him, totally baffled about whatever game he was playing.

Her anger had fizzled out by now, though, and common sense had kicked back in–he was her boss, end of story.

She wondered, ‘Have I come off too bitchy?

‘What if he gets petty and actually fires me?‘

Roof over her head meant playing nice when it counted.

“Mr. Reed, sorry for snapping earlier. It wasn’t personal–just fried from the extra hours. Everyone hits a wall sometimes; hope you get that.”

Ryan let out a scoffing chuckle. “Freya, you really don’t remember a thing?”

“Remember what?”

He leaned back on his hands, cocking his head in that half–assed, lounging stare. “Forget it. Water under the bridge if it’s blank. Get lost.”

Freya hauled ass out of there, mind reeling.

Waiting for the elevator, she ran smack into Sophia heading out.

Sophia’s eyes went wide with a grin. “Ms. Harper! Here to see Ryan?”

“More like he summoned me.”

“Gotcha–say no more! You two crazy kids go wild. I’ll hit the bar below. No rush–take all night if you want!”

Sophia blasted off like she’d hit the turbo button, slapping the down arrow and zipping away.

Freya watched the floor numbers tick down on the display, facepalming internally.

From the 64th–all the way to lobby? Easy two, three minutes. Then she’d have to ride it back up, weaving through god- knows–how–many pit stops for other guests. She’d be stuck here till dawn.

“Freya.”

Ryan again.

She shot a glare at the ceiling, pasting on her best customer–service smile to butter up her boss–slash–VIP nightmare, when -whoosh–his hand locked around her wrist.

He yanked her right back into the suite.

Freya jolted. “Whoa–what the hell?”

12:41 pm

Chapter 52

SI 30 souchard

The king–sized bed in the bedroom loomed closer by the second, sending a chill racing up her back. “Ryan, you off your meds? Your girlfriend just rolled in–she’s downstairs at the bar. Need me to go grab her…?”

“Sherri’s dead.”

Freya froze solid, everything grinding to a halt.

Sherri–her sweet little Westie.

Fifteen years old, a creaky old lady dog with all systems failing, hooked to IVs at the vet just scraping by.

“How… just like that…”

“Not sure yet. Grab your stuff–I’m getting you back to Haventon.”

“But the elevator’s out there…”

“Suite’s got its own. Faster this way.”

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