Sealed With a Kiss

Thirty Two Pt. I

I had asked the company beforehand to block his number. I deleted all of his messages and voicemails without listening to him. I had made the mistake of listening to one of the more recent ones and I didn't want to do it again.

He was drunk. Completely and utterly pissed at what I could only assume was a party. There was loud music on the background and drunk, giggly laughter. Another man had taken the phone before he could get something other than my name out. 'Stop acting like such a pussy," the stranger had said. 'You have a half naked girl on your lap and you're calling that other bitch again?' The stranger hung up then and I proceeded to delete every last trace of him from my new phone.

There was also one from Remy. She said the paperwork for returning Mina's inheritance had legally been filed. It was done, over.

Except for one thing. He was refusing to sign the divorce papers.

Every week Remy sent them but she would get nothing back. At that point it had been a little over a month. It was then that Remy received something from him, but it wasn't the divorce papers. He had sent the will for White Lies and the cheques of revenue from my investments in his side projects like Club Carbon.

I called Remy, and it was the first time I used my voice for something other than crying in over four weeks. I told her to get in contact with his lawyers and get me out of his projects. After some convincing, he finally agreed to buy me out. I received not only the will of my gallery--which was actually decent of him, although I suspect he just had no interest in owning an art gallery--but also a handsome check for selling my shares of half a dozen of his businesses.

I no longer had any attachments to him. That is, except for being legally married.

I had half a mind to run to his condo and demand he sign the divorce papers but I know it'll end badly. Although not for him.

This was so typical of him, stringing me along with childish games. Why else would he refuse me my freedom when I had given him his? It was probably some messed up scheme intended to hurt me more.

Deciding that I was drifting into red-flag territory, I shook my head to clear it and focused on changing. I quickly pulled on a dove grey pussybow blouse and dark wash jeans. I layered on a light ivory peacoat and added a pair of metallic tipped heels on my feet. With a clutch in hand and a half-asses pep talk in mind, I forced myself down the stairs and out onto the streets.

THE TRIP TO THE GALLERY WASNT LONG. Before I knew it I had run out of prep time and the cab was outside the building. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out and kept my face cast down in case someone took my picture.

I was looking down at my feet, which is probably why I didn't notice the man I inadvertently ran over in my haste to get to the doors.

"Oh, pardon me." I said looking up.

A pair of pretty brown eyes stared back at me and smiled. "Don't sweat it."

Excusing myself, I continued on my way to open the doors.

"Whoa wait, you work here?" The man asked, running up behind me.

"I-I uh" I looked over at the glass doors and shrugged. "I suppose you could say that."

"Listen, I need your help. Two minutes, all I need is two minutes. Please, have a heart and help a guy out. Two minutes is all I need."

I raised my brows and scoped out his face. He was young, maybe right around my age. He wore tattered jeans and combat boots, his face honest and unshaven with last week's stubble. I could see some of his curls peeking out from under his beanie, and a sketch pad tucked underneath his arm. "What exactly are you asking?"