Legally Addicted - By Lena Dowling Page 0,63

warning. She had pushed it as far as she could. Bypassing his legal representation, even representation that appeared largely ornamental, in order to harangue Buckland, was unprofessional at best.

But Georgia didn’t have to say anymore. Cherie took over.

‘If you won’t sign it, Pete, then I’m not coming home. This is just going to keep happening, isn’t it?’ Cherie directed the question at her husband. Then she turned to Georgia and Brad. ‘Thank you, both of you, for bringing me to my senses. I want to work out a separation agreement after all, Pete, and five thousand dollars is too light. I want seven.’

‘Seven thousand dollars a month.’ Buckland blanched.

‘A week.’

‘A week?’ Buckland squeaked, looking desperately to his lawyer, who only shrugged.

Georgia made a silent cheer. Cherie had finally found her she-balls and was running with them.

‘You can call your accountant to check if you like, but that’s what the household expenses add up to with the mortgage, the private school fees, and providing the kids with the things they need to keep up with their friends. I don’t care about me, but you created this lifestyle, Pete, and it’s all the kids know now, and if they have to go through a divorce along with us, then I won’t have everything else they know taken away from them as well.’

‘Alright, alright, you win, Cherie, where do I sign?’ Buckland had taken a seat at the conference table and was intently massaging his forehead with his hand.

‘Please, Georgia. You’ve got to eat. Ever since the break-up you’ve been wasting away. If I hadn’t seen how little you’d eaten over the last couple of months I’d have thought you picked up some tropical disease on your trip to Samoa.’

After working through lunch to pull out an on-the-spot-separation agreement, thereby ensuring that Buckland got no time to change his mind before he signed, Georgia was now sitting practically brain-dead, sifting through items in her in-tray looking for something sufficiently lightweight to work on until her mental faculties rebounded.

Miriam plonked a packet of sushi on the desk in front of her and stood with her hands on hips until Georgia relented and opened the container.

‘My not eating has nothing to do with the break-up with Brad.’

‘Uh huh. So this big bad and ugly moping routine, when you’re starting to pick up high-value clients and you’ve finally got that addiction centre thing you’re always going on about, has got nothing to do with you falling for the city’s most eligible bachelor and it not working out.’

‘Well maybe it has, but there’s nothing I can do about it.’

She glowered up at Miriam, but her assistant made no move to leave her office. Whenever she was stressed, Georgia stopped eating. There had often been a shortage of food when she was growing up, and the worse things were, the less likely there would be enough to eat in the house. It had been a defence mechanism of sorts to stop eating when things were bad, one that was now more detrimental than helpful, but old habits could be hard to break.

‘I’m not leaving until you finish every bite.’

The hard-nosed efficiency that she valued so much in her secretary, the secret weapon who acted as gatekeeper to colleagues and overanxious clients, was now being turned on her, and she had seen Miriam in action enough to know when to give in.

The sushi did look delicious. She squeezed soy sauce and a dab of wasabi on each slice, wolfing down four portions, one after the other.

‘Anyway, maybe I don’t need a man,’ she said, tearing her attention away from the food, realising now that she was hungrier than she thought.

‘You can’t live on work alone. Now that you’ve made partner it’s time to start thinking about your future beyond this place, Georgia.’

If having a man meant experiencing the gut wrenching confusion that Brad Spencer had generated, then she could do without it thank you very much, but now wasn’t the time to pick a fight with Miriam.

‘Alright, alright. I get the message.’

Miriam pointed at the sushi, indicating she should eat another slice.

‘Why don’t you patch things up with Brad, you know, do that thing us lesser mortals do when we make a mistake — apologise?’

‘What makes you think it was my fault?’

‘Because you would have sabotaged it somehow. That’s what you do, Georgia. You push people away.’

‘Well, you’re wrong because it wasn’t my fault. Brad’s got money. The addiction centre needs funding to get off the ground. It’s a