Billionaire Assistant

The heavy oak door of the midtown Manhattan law firm groaned as Carlee Barron pushed it open.

The faint sound shattered the dead silence of the conference room. Alistair Finch, the proxy attorney for a husband she had never met, looked up from his paperwork. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, a calculated move meant to project authority.

Carlee did not break her stride. She walked straight to the long mahogany table and pulled out a leather chair, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. She sat down.

Alistair slid a thick stack of divorce papers across the polished wood.

"I must remind you, Mrs. Vaughan," Alistair said, his tone dripping with condescension. "By signing this, you forfeit all claims to alimony. You walk away with nothing."

Carlee did not even glance at the asset division clauses. She flipped directly to the last page, her eyes scanning for the signature line.

Alistair reached out, his hand pressing flat against the document. "Do not let your emotions dictate your future. This is a mistake."

Carlee let out a short, cold laugh. She swatted his hand away.

She pulled a Montblanc pen from her purse. The metal felt heavy and cold against her fingers. She paused for a single second, the tip of her pen hovering over the blank space designated for the male party. A flicker of mockery crossed her eyes.

She had never bothered to learn the full name of the man the world simply called Mr. Vaughan.

Without another moment of hesitation, she pressed the nib to the paper and signed her own name in sharp, aggressive strokes on the female party's line.

Carlee tossed the pen onto the table. The sharp clatter echoed in the room, finalizing the death of a ridiculous three-year marriage.

Alistair gathered the papers, his jaw tight. "You will regret leaving the protection of the Vaughan family."

Carlee stood up. She smoothed the front of her tailored trench coat.

"Tell your boss he can keep his money and his hiding out," Carlee said, her voice flat. "I'm taking my life back."

She turned on her heel and walked out of the conference room, her stilettos clicking sharply against the marble floor, never looking back.

Carlee pushed through the revolving doors of the building and stepped onto the sidewalk. The crisp autumn wind whipped her long hair across her face. She took a deep breath. The air burned her lungs, but it tasted like freedom.

She stepped toward the curb, raising her hand to hail a yellow cab.

Tires screeched. A black Maybach swerved into the lane right in front of her. A wave of dirty street water splashed up, soaking the hem of her beige trench coat.

Carlee looked down at the dark, muddy stains ruining the expensive fabric. Heat rushed to her face. Her stomach tightened with sudden, violent anger.

She pulled out her phone and opened a ride-share app, her thumbs hitting the screen with unnecessary force.

A notification popped up. The driver had canceled due to rush hour traffic.

Carlee bit down on her lower lip hard enough to taste copper. She stared at the canceled screen, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

She had a critical gala to attend tonight. She could not miss it.

She shoved the phone back into her purse and started walking. The Four Seasons was only three blocks away.