The Laws of Love

Chapter 9

Marc waited for the future divorcees and the lawyer to leave the room to do it himself. It wasn't a polite gesture or a learned rule, but another strategic move in favor of his "wicked goals," as Nick liked to call them. The way in which the parties said goodbye and if the lawyer had sweated the seat were key clues to know what their chances were.

Seeing that "the Campbells"“it would be better not to say that in front of Carol Price”would not approach each other and avoid looking at each other even in the face of even a basic courtesy such as "see you tomorrow," Marc imagined that he could destroy to her client's ex”husband without her making any qualms. In fact, he was grateful that Carol was one of those shallow, even unscrupulous women whose only goal in asking for a divorce was to keep everything and bring the gentleman down. It never hurt to have ambitions in common with someone who was going to pay him a substantial amount.

As for the lawyer... There was no trace of sweating on the seat, nor on the bottle of water from which she had been taking small sips during the half hour; only thirty minutes, because both Campbells had commitments to attend to. And thank goodness, because if she had spent one more second behind closed doors with that wretch, she could have thrown herself on his neck without apologizing afterwards.

He left the room reviewing his mental notes. He had studied Yuri's work. He didn't need to scribble, or record. The information stuck to his mind like the best glue and didn't come off until it was his turn to face another problem. Instead, she had not stopped jotting down individual words in her tiny ring”bound pad, full of colorful stickers.

It was possible that this had somewhat diminished her physical discomfort, her tremendous desire to lash out at Campbell's son of a bitch: Yuri Sandoval's serenity and her exceeding humility when showing a notebook typical of a ten”year”old girl to a client who He paid hundreds of dollars an hour. This woman was the very definition of peace. Even when the Campbells yelled at each other and hurled accusations at each other, she didn't lose her cool, didn't freak out. He would smile softly and intervene, calming them both down and entertaining them with his next question. He had a very marked, orderly and simple working method. Just like him. And she had a beautiful doll face that haunted him.

It was ridiculous, absurd, pathetic and hundreds of other adjectives, but there was an explanation for why he hadn't been able to get her out of his head since he saw her.

He was used to taking what he wanted when he felt like it; call it a phone number or call it a great fuck in the cleaning room... And he hadn't gotten anything out of Yuri because prudence obstructed his consciousness. Marc was brought up to despise anything that really interested him, because that was what always led to destruction. The suppression of his passions to avoid suffering, he liked to call "Epicurean philosophy"; Nick preferred to call it an obsessive illness, and his brother went easy on him by calling him stupid. Apart from that, he knew it was an exaggeration to label Yuri Sandoval as a destructive element, and contradictory when it came to an adorable woman. But dedicating himself to advising stock investors, Marc was an intuitive man who knew both sides of expediency very well. And she did not suit him. Too many possibilities for distraction packed into such a small body.

Outside the room, Marc stopped at the door and swept across the hall where Nick was surveying the scene. He located Yuri exchanging a few words with Brian Campbell.

He was the destroyer point, and not her. That guy was the annoying element, the one he had to focus on. Difficult, because it was hard for her to look at him without her strength concentrating on her fists.

She preferred not to martyr herself with the pseudo”man and went to Nick. She waited with her fake patience for him to make a comment that didn't come.

“Y? he asked, seeing that I wasn't going to speak. He nodded at the couple. What nickname are we going to give it?

"Which of the two?"

"Her, of course."

The nickname thing had started as a way to help Marc remember the names of everyone who passed by the firm. He had a privileged memory, but only for what was convenient for him, and that included two exclusive groups: people who mattered to him, and people who paid him. He referred to the others with a name that, in general, made reference to his most remarkable physical quality or to some humiliating story that, by chance, had reached his ears. And while at first it was just a collaboration tool, now it was a source of amusement for Nick, who had a great time testing his imagination by coming up with deplorable nicknames for poor nobodys.

He wasn't sure he wanted to indulge with Yuri. He looked at her, using her comment as an excuse, and made a slow tour of the portion of legs that the skirt disdained. She was dressed like a lawyer of her position: a sleeveless white dress, closed at the chest and too long for her liking. Nothing to do with the outfit from the first time. Now every part of her was appreciated in such detail that Marc felt irrational, pathetic and absurd jealousy towards everyone who looked at her. She was slim, but not flat”bellied or narrow”hipped. There was a slight bulge on her stomach and the skirt flared out deliciously from the waist. Her long dark hair almost prevented her from appreciating the curve behind her. It came down to her tailbone, which made her look a little smaller.

“No nicknames. I think I will remember his name.

Nick gasped, as if he'd insulted her, or worse:

as if he had realized that...

"Fucking shit!" he howled under his breath, grabbing the edge of the table. You want to fuck her!

Marc looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You do not? he inquired sardonically. Is it not supposed to?

"We're talking about your first divorce and Brian Campbell," Nick reminded her. Her stomach turned just hearing his name again. Of course you shouldn't. Is she seriously attracted to you, or is this your way of telling me that you're going to sleep with her to get her to drop the case?

“Obviously you have to drop the case. I want her out no later than next Monday.

“Why? Because it's a distraction?

"Because it's good," he corrected.

“ A good distraction , already. That is what I meant.

Marc looked at Nick wryly. All their exchanges carried a ballast of complicity that had earned them numerous marital statuses, from lovers to "secretly married." It was certainly flattering to be associated with a woman who was not only intelligent, but crossed the twisted and reveled in villainy... In addition to being attractive enough to stop the evolution of the universe.

She sported orange hair in a flattering bob cut; her straight bangs framed her cat”gray eyes. She lined her lips in red daily, and wore the cleavage that any man would crave, at any time of day. If it weren't for the fact that she was a redhead and they had a story behind it, Marc would have approached her in terms other than ally.