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Pandi Yaruban sat with his hands folded on top of the small table while white lights snapped at him. As if he was not already humiliated enough by being here, they had to document it with pictures.
His soon-to-be ex-wife, Aimee Herald, was fucking smiling at the cameras. As if she was beyond excited to be divorcing someone she had vowed was her only love so many times.
If Pandi was not a pacifist, he would have called her a bitch to her face. That one word would have started World War 3 instantly, so he refrained from speaking at all. He just wanted to sign the papers and leave. Not like he had anything better to do than listen to other people's trauma. He silently chastised himself for that thought. His work was important, vital even. He knew he saved lives in the quiet, steady way that even he overlooked sometimes.
The judge at the front of the room banged his gavel just loudly enough to get Aimee to turn from posing for the media. The judge cleared his throat. "Miss Herald, you initiated this process, correct?"
Aimee flashed one of her famous smiles. "Yes, Your Honor."
The judge frowned down at the file open in front of him. "And you said that you're divorcing Mr. Yaruban on the basis of…" He looked up with confusion. "Domestic abuse?"
Pandi kept his face calm as the judge stared at him and the press snapped more photos, but he was shaking on the inside. He was a big man, and he could see how easily Aimee's claims would be believed.
"If you look at these pictures," Aimee said, standing up and approaching the bench with three or four photographs in her hand, "you'll see I've brought dated evidence."
Pandi frowned, wondering what "evidence" Aimee had. He narrowed his eyes. He had a suspicion he knew what photos she was using. He opened his messaging app and scrolled back in their texts. There weren't many recent messages, so he was able to find the photos Aimee was probably using He waited until Aimee sat down and then quietly stood up, drawing the attention of all the photographers eager for a picture to give to the writer of tomorrow's scandalous front page. "Your Honor, those photographs are not examples of domestic abuse." He held out his phone. "If you could, Your Honor, please read the text messages Miss Herald sent me along with these pictures."
The deputy took Pandi's phone and handed it to the judge, whose eyebrows went up almost immediately. "Miss Herald, this…evidence you presented appears to be injuries you acquired on set while filming your latest movie." He handed the phone back to the deputy, who returned it to Pandi. "What are your true reasons for divorcing Mr. Yaruban?"
Aimee raised her lip in a snarl. "You want me to say that I'm just bored of him? Fine! I'm bored of him! Are you happy now?"
"You could have just said that," Pandi pointed out, meeting her angry eyes with a flat stare. "There was no need to lie."
"Fuck you," she snapped.
"Sign the papers, Miss Herald, and I'll happily fuck off," he returned without missing a beat. It was the rudest thing he had said in their eight years of marriage, so it felt kind of appropriate for it to be the last thing he said as a married man.
Aimee snatched up a pen and scrawled her signature on the document. "Here, bastard," she snarled, slamming the stack of paper down in front of him. "You sign too so I can get rid of you."
Pandi ignored the insult and barb and calmly signed his name, careful and neat as always. He clicked the pen and gently pushed the papers back toward Aimee. "There you go." There was no bite in his voice now. "I hope you're happy." He was not sure if he meant it, but he said it anyway. Then he turned and left the courtroom while the photographers fought each other for the best angle of the picture that would no doubt grace the front pages of all the newspapers tomorrow. He could care less. He would be in appointments all day tomorrow; he had no time for the foolish drivel of the media. He did not care if they praised him or slandered him. Whatever they said would not affect his job. He would not let it.
But when his receptionist Georgia called and told him she was sick (without sounding the least bit sick), he was not surprised. Disappointed, but not surprised in the slightest. He had known the news about him and Aimee would get to Georgia someday. She had been far too invested in their relationship ever since she had found out who Pandi's wife had been.
So he implemented his backup plan and called Noah Callahan.
"Yello," Noah answered. There seemed to be very little background noise, so he probably was not at work.
"Hi, Noah." Pandi pinched the bridge of his nose, annoyed at how tired he sounded.
"Hi. Are you doing okay? You sound exhausted." Noah was not a follower of celebrity news, then. Thank goodness.
"I'm just tired. Long day, you know."
"Pandi," Noah said, his tone careful, "it's only three in the afternoon."
"Long day for me," Pandi clarified.
"Fair enough."
"So, my receptionist called out sick and you said the next time that happened to call you cause you had the perfect substitute in mind."
"Ah." Noah actually sounded happy. "I got you. Hold on a sec." He seemed to put the phone face down on his shoulder before he called, "Zay!"
Another voice, somewhat distant, asked silkily, "What, Noah?"
"Receptionist job tomorrow, early morning to late afternoon."
"Okay, tell 'em I'll be there. Give me the address though so it's not like last time."
"All set."
Pandi could not help but be intrigued by this mysterious person Noah had so easily summoned, but he was still polite. He could find out tomorrow. "Thanks, Noah."
"Anytime. See you soon."