Welcome to Woodbury Park: a subdivision in the burbs where desperate housewives do desperate things. Ask Zada Clark. Zada appears in divorce court expecting to get a quickie divorce from her spur-of-the-moment marriage to her hunky ex-marine husband - a man she thought was Mr. Right until she realized Rick's first name should have been ALWAYS. Not exactly known for her own ability to compromise, their short marriage has been a disaster. EXCEPT in the bedroom. Zada insists there's more to marriage than just great sex, and wants her divorce. Now! But when a brawl over the house and the dog breaks out in the courtroom, the disgruntled judge rules that Rick and Zada have ninety days to reach a compromise or face serious repercussions. Them? Reach a compromise in ninety days? Ain't gonna happen! Rick suggests they turn the situation into something they can settle between them - a real-life game of Survivor (Zada's favorite reality show). He'll move back in, and the first one to outwit, outplay, and outlast the other - wins the house and the dog. Never one to back down from a challenge, Zada says "game on." And when Rick moves back home and into the guest bedroom down the hall from hers, Zada informs Rick real quick, "We are not going to end up in your bed or mine!" But the burning question is: Will Rick be able to out-tease, out-tempt, and out-tantalize Zada into changing her mind and calling off the divorce?
Release date:
May 30, 2009
Publisher:
Grand Central Publishing
Print pages:
336
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Zada Thornton Clark didn’t miss the frown on her divorce attorney’s face as she hurried up the courthouse steps. The disapproving
frown should have intimidated Zada.
It didn’t.
The fact that the revered Angie Naylon was known around Chicago for her killer instinct in the courtroom, didn’t mean squat
to Zada, either. There was just something about having personally held your college roommate’s head over the toilet more than
once that served as a pretty good equalizer.
Zada reached the top of the courthouse steps.
Angie’s frown only deepened.
“Are you kidding me, Zada?” Angie looked her up and down. “This is your idea of a mousy-looking outfit for the judge’s benefit?”
“No,” Zada said stubbornly. “This is my idea of an eat-your-heart-out outfit for Rick’s benefit. I want Rick Clark to get his last good look at what he lost when he walked out on me.”
“And how shallow is that?” Angie said with disgust.
“Today,” said Zada, “shallow suits me just fine.”
“Obviously,” Angie snipped when two suits and ties walked past, craning their necks around for a second look at Zada’s curvaceous
nothing-skinny-about-her figure.
Angie looked back at Zada and said, “Your all-about-me dress certainly leaves nothing to the imagination. And here’s another
news flash for you. Red is not listed on the mousy side of the color chart.”
“But red is listed on a brunette’s side of the color chart,” Zada argued, tossing her long, dark hair. “Ask any brunette. It’s our signature
color.”
“It’s the judge’s signature you need to be worried about.” Angie frowned again. “I warned you this judge was old school, Zada. He doesn’t take
divorce lightly. That dress blows any chance we had of him believing you’re a meek and mousy heartbroken housewife, only asking
to keep your home and your poor blind dog.”
Angie wheeled around and stomped into the courthouse.
Zada hurried after her.
“Oh, come on, Angie,” Zada pleaded when she finally caught up. “I’m about as mousy as a wolverine, and you know it. You could
dress me in a nun’s habit, and I’d still look militant.”
“We don’t have time to argue,” Angie snapped, glaring at her again. “Your case is the first one on the docket after the lunch
break. That dress is enough to sway the property settlement in Rick’s favor. The last thing we need is to be late for your
hearing.”
Angie forged ahead, her briefcase in a death grip.
Zada picked up speed, trying to keep up.
“But we still have the poor blind dog hook,” Zada pointed out, trying to make amends. “I’m the one who’s taken care of Simon since Rick walked out on us.”
Angie sent her another mean look.
“How many times do we have to go over this, Zada? Simon is Rick’s dog.”
“The dog Rick left with me,” Zada said.
“And the dog who saved Rick’s life,” Angie reminded her. “Rick’s attorney will make a big production over Rick and Simon being
injured recovering that explosive device at O’Hare. Separating a man from his heroic life-saving dog is not going to be an easy task.”
“That’s when you bring up the fact that I didn’t even know Rick when he and Simon were injured,” Zada said, “but that I was
so touched when I heard Simon was blinded in that explosion, I visited Simon at the vet’s hospital every day and even wrote a children’s book about him.”
“And Rick’s attorney will remind the judge that Rick is one of the top trainers of explosive-detection dogs in the nation,”
Angie said. “Rick trains dogs professionally every day of the week.”
“Yes, Rick does train dogs professionally every day of the week,” Zada said. “Twelve to fourteen hours every day of the week.
But I’m Simon’s stay-at-home mom. The mom who didn’t walk out and leave Simon behind.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Angie insisted. “Rick’s attorney will say the only reason Rick left Simon behind, is because Rick had your house specifically equipped so poor, blind Simon could function as a normal dog again.”
“Wrong again,” Zada said. “Simon could have learned to function like a normal dog without all that high-tech equipment Rick
had installed in the house. Any owner of a blind dog will confirm that. Rick never gave Simon a chance to learn to manage
on his own. Rick’s a techno-geek. Plain and simple.”
Angie stopped walking and turned around to face her.
“And you were supposed to be a plain and simple housewife,” Angie reminded her. “But now that you’ve blown that strategy to hell and
back, you tell me, Zada. Who do you think the judge is going to say deserves Simon and house?”
“Me,” Zada insisted.
Angie groaned and walked off again.
“Angie!” Zada called after her. “I’m the one who’s practically made Simon a household name with my Simon Sees children’s series.” When she caught back up, Zada said, “Be sure and point that out. Publishers Weekly and the New York Times have both hailed Simon Sees as an inspiration for children with disabilities everywhere. Simon and I already have a national tour of children’s hospitals
scheduled around Christmas this year.”
“How convenient,” Angie quipped, “since red is your signature color.” Her eyes cut sideways for a second. “Take my advice this time, Zada. Wear a different dress for the
children’s tour.”
Angie turned down a corridor.
Zada clipped along behind her in four-inch heels.
At least Angie hadn’t said anything about the shoes. Her sling-back red pumps were as sexy as the dress. Or maybe Angie just
never got past the dress.
When they finally reached the designated courtroom, Angie pulled Zada aside and pointed a finger under her nose.
“Keep your militant mouth shut,” Angie said. “I mean it, Zada. I don’t want even so much as a peep out of you in that courtroom.”
Zada made the zipped-lip motion with her fingers.
Angie said, “You walk in there and sit down as quickly as possible before the judge notices the lower half of your dress is
missing. And it wouldn’t hurt to slump a little. Judge Parkins is in his seventies. The way that dress clings to every inch
of your body, the old fart could have a heart attack and croak right there on the bench.”
“Sit and slump,” Zada said. “Got it.”
She tried smiling brightly at Angie.
Angie didn’t smile back.
She tossed her auburn hair back from her forehead.
She adjusted the jacket of her gray business suit.
And she marched into the courtroom.
Fine. Be that way, Zada decided.
Maybe short and clingy wasn’t the best choice.
And maybe red wasn’t the best color.
But Zada quickly changed her mind when she saw the look on Rick’s face when she walked into the courtroom.
He was already seated at one of the tables at the front of the room with his attorney. And now with an eyes-popped-out expression
on his dropped-jaw face.
Zada smiled inwardly.
Screw slumping!
She threw her shoulders back.
She thrust her breasts forward.
She held her head high.
And walked right past her soon-to-be ex-husband.
Rick was already nervous, but there was no doubt in his mind about why his mouth suddenly went dry. Zada always had that effect
on him. Long, shimmering dark brown hair. Sultry, dark brown eyes. Voluptuous curves that had the power to bring any man to
his knees.
Except Rick was done.
No more on his knees, begging Zada to reconsider.
A man’s pride could only take so much.
Yes, they’d had one hell of a fight. Yes, they’d both said horrible things to each other. And no, he shouldn’t have walked
out. Especially when he knew exactly how Zada felt about the “walking out” issue.
Zada’s father had walked out on her mother when Zada had only been six, and her younger sister had just turned four. They’d
been in their teens when her mother took her father back—something Zada had never fully forgiven her for doing.
Unfortunately, younger sister Sally served as proof that history does have a way of repeating itself. Sally had allowed her
own husband to come and go at will, begging Zada to understand that she had two young sons to consider; another huge sore
spot with Zada.
In Zada’s mind, walking out was the ultimate taboo.
Rick had known that.
And he’d cursed himself every day since he walked out; for allowing his pride to get in the way when Zada gave him that damned
you-walk-out-now-and-it’s-over-between-us-for-good ultimatum.
Except Zada knew ultimatums were his pet peeve, which was the exact reason she’d hit him with an ultimatum.
Rick sighed inwardly.
Some days you were the dog.
Some days, the hydrant.
He’d expected her to be angry, sure. Only angry didn’t cover Zada’s reaction. Furious was more like it.
Zada had changed the locks on the house the same day and filed for separation papers two weeks later.
Any chance for a reconciliation had walked right out the door with him. Zada had told him so—in those exact words—during the
one and only verbal conversation he’d had with her since the day he left.
After that conversation, she’d refused to speak to him at all. Their only direct communication over the last six months—except
through their attorneys—had been via brief one-line e-mails. Him confirming every Wednesday he would stop by to see Simon.
Zada confirming she would make arrangements to be gone for the hour he would be at the house.
They’d lived apart for the required six months now.
The legal separation period before a divorce.
Zada had no intention of backing down.
He had no intention of backing down.
They were two strong-willed, hard-headed people—each determined to bend the other to their own way of thinking.
And where had their stubbornness gotten them?
Straight to divorce court.
Now, Rick found himself sitting in a courtroom, ready to face a judge who would put an end to their marriage. Yet, all he
could think about was how great Zada looked in that red dress, and what a damn fool he’d be if he let her go through with
the divorce.
Rick was still looking at her, Zada could feel it.
It should have given her immense satisfaction knowing she’d definitely gotten his attention. But as good as she knew she looked
in her new red dress, Rick looked ten times better.
I never should have glanced in his direction.
His cream-colored summer sports coat really showed off his tan. And his a-little-longer-than-fashionable Matthew McConaughey-style
hair was still damp and sexy-looking from the shower he’d obviously taken before he left the dog training center to appear
in court.
If she dared look directly at him, Zada knew his eyes would be a deep, brooding blue. Rick’s eyes always turned darker when
he was angry or under pressure.
Funny, but she’d never been attracted to blond men before she met Rick. Funny also that the second she did meet him, her tall,
dark, and handsome preference switched to tall, blond, and handsome in about two seconds flat.
His ex-marine fine-honed body hadn’t deterred her from switching to the blond side of gotta-have-him, either. If any man had
a fine-honed body, it was Rick.
Supposedly thanks to his stupid health food.
Zada’s lips pursed in a pouty frown.
Proper nutrition was an obsession with Rick.
Her idea of a balanced diet was a cookie in each hand.
She hoped Rick felt stupid when he died of nothing.
That’s all health was anyway—the slowest possible rate at which a person died.
As for her, she wanted to slide through the Pearly Gates—a doughnut in one hand, a chocolate éclair in the other—yelling,
“Show me the bakery!”
She’d often wondered what she’d been thinking going from a whirlwind romance straight into a marriage. Other than the fact
that Rick excited her like no man ever had, or ever would again. Unfortunately, if any two people had ever been total opposites,
it was definitely the two of them.
Opposites attract, sure. But that didn’t mean they could live together. She and Rick had sure proved that point, in more ways
than one.
Rick liked the house kept military-standard neat and tidy. Her idea of daily cleaning was a sweeping glance around the room.
Health-food-nut Rick prayed to the tofu gods who kept him in tip-top physical shape. She was on a first name basis with Ronald
McDonald.
Early-to-bed-early-to-rise Rick ran five miles before breakfast every morning. Burning the midnight writing oil meant she
rarely got up for breakfast—and her idea of exercise was jogging over to the fridge for another Dove ice-cream bar.
Living together had been a total disaster.
The fact that they were both type A personalities with limited skills when it came to the art of compromise, didn’t help matters,
either. Zada was surprised their marriage had lasted even a year. In fact, it was a miracle they hadn’t killed each other
that first week after the honeymoon. If the sex hadn’t been so fabulous, they probably would have killed each other.
Fabulous sex.
Zada quickly dismissed that thought.
Reinforcements zoomed forward to take over.
Mind-boggling sex tapped her on the shoulder.
The twins—hot and sweaty sex—whispered in her ear.
Pleasure ran an enticing finger up and down her spine.
Ecstasy did a lively little tap dance just below her belly button.
Zada squirmed uncomfortably in her seat.
She reached for the water pitcher sitting on the table in front of her, poured a glass of water, and took a cool, calming
drink. Only then did she chance her first real look directly at Rick.
Dammit!
He was staring right at her.
She still loved him, truly she did. But there was more to marriage than just great sex.
Damn you, Rick Clark!
Why did you have to walk out on me like that?
“All rise,” the bailiff announced.
Angie grabbed Zada’s arm, pulling her to her feet.
Zada didn’t dare look at Rick again.
But when a sinking feeling hit the pit of her stomach like a wrecking ball, Zada decided slumping wasn’t going to be any problem
for her at all.
Rick was only half listening as his attorney, Bob Thompson, argued back and forth with Zada’s attorney over the property settlement.
Bob had already assured him there was no way the judge would rule in Zada’s favor. Especially with Rick’s generous offer to
purchase a condo or any other residence of Zada’s choice—gratis, of course.
Against Bob’s advice, he’d insisted on making the offer to purchase Zada another residence himself. He still loved her. Hell,
he’d always love her. They just couldn’t live together. The least he could do was make sure Zada was settled and happy on
her own.
What he wouldn’t do—and the reason he’d held firm on his desire to keep the house—was uproot Simon again. He owed the dog
his life. Simon had learned to maneuver freely with the aid of the high frequency sensors he’d had installed in the house
he’d bought shortly after he and Zada were married. Simon could maneuver so well in his new environment, in fact, no one would
even suspect the dog was blind.
The state-of-the-art equipment had cost a fortune and was well worth every penny as far as Rick was concerned. But going through
that expense again, only because Zada was trying to punish him by keeping the house, was ridiculous.
Almost as ridiculous as her expecting to keep Simon.
Which wasn’t going to happen.
Not without a fight.
Simon was his dog.
He’d never prevent Zada from seeing Simon.
But dammit, Simon was his dog!
His dog, dammit!
Rick glanced back at the judge again.
Judge Parkins was the epitome of what a judge should look like. Somewhere in his mid-to-late seventies. Gray hair, slightly
thinning on top. Regal-looking in his black robe. A wise expression on his slightly wrinkled face.
When Parkins ruled in his favor this afternoon, he’d be able to take immediate possession of Simon and the house in Woodberry
Park—all thanks to the stipulation Bob had been smart enough to include in the property settlement. Zada had been given full
notice she would be expected to vacate the premises immediately should he be awarded the house. That meant by the end of the
weekend, he’d be completely settled and moved back into his own home.
And not a moment too soon, Rick thought.
Living in the furnished apartment he’d rented month-to-month for the last six months had been nothing short of a nightmare.
He’d endured the type of agony all apartment dwellers endure, from less-than-desirable neighbors to no privacy whatsoever.
Had Bob not been so confident the judge would rule in his favor, he might have considered going ahead and buying another house.
Possibly even having the house equipped to accommodate Simon.
But Bob had assured him the victory would be his.
He’d held out and dealt with the inconvenience.
Handing over the apartment keys to the complex manager earlier that morning, however, had been the equivalent of being let
out of prison.
Now, he was only minutes away from being a free man.
Free to go back to the suburbs.
Back to his neighborhood buddies in Woodberry Park.
Back to Saturday night poker games with the guys.
Back to Sundays on Woodberry Park’s private golf course, the eighteenth hole of which could be seen from his own back deck.
Back to an empty house without Zada in it.
Rick frowned at that thought.
Don’t go there.
Enough is enough.
Not once during their separation period had Zada given him any indication she’d regretted filing for the divorce. Once the
judge ruled in his favor, if Zada did have any regrets, she’d just have to…
Voices raised suddenly.
Rick’s head jerked to the right.
A face-off.
The debate was growing hotter by the minute.
Rick glanced back at the judge.
Judge Parkins looked anything but pleased.
“Order in the court!” Parkins declared. He banged his gavel twice.
Rick flinched both times.
“We are in an esteemed court of law, counselors, not some backyard brawl!”
Parkins boomed this from the bench as he glared from one attorney to the other. Both attorneys, Rick noticed, stood up a little
straighter.
“A busy court of law,” Parkins added. “Too busy to waste time going over a property dispute that should have been settled before
you ever walked into my courtroom.”
Rick glanced at Bob.
His usual cool-and-confident attorney, the all-American linebacker from Notre Dame who had known no fear on the football field,
seemed to wilt under the judge’s cold stare.
“Your honor,” Bob said, “if it pleases the court …”
Parkins cut him off. “For the record, Mr. Thompson, nothing about this case pleases the court.”
The judge looked over at Zada for a second.
Rick sat up straighter when Parkins looked back at him.
Parkins said, “Both parties have agreed to a no-fault divorce. Is that correct?”
Both attorneys nodded in agreement.
“So you would assume if the parties could agree on a no-fault divorce like two mature adults, they could also agree on a property
settlement like two mature adults. Is that also correct?”
Neither attorney nodded in agreement with that statement.
“Yet, what we have here,” Judge Parkins said, his frown deepening with every word, “are two self-absorbed people, childishly
trying to outdo each other, while they waste the court’s precious time and the taxpayers’ money on an argument over a dog,
and what appears to be the dog’s eight-hundred-thousand-dollar doghouse!”
Several people snickered.
A loud gasp followed.
Rick didn’t even turn his head.
He knew the gasp came from Zada.
“Don’t shush me, Angie!” Zada said loud enough for him and everyone else in the courtroom to hear. “I happen to be one of those taxpayers! A taxpayer who came here to get a divorce. Not to be insulted!”
Typical in-your-face Zada, Rick thought.
He leaned back far enough to peer around Bob.
As expected, Zada had one of her just-who-do-you-think-you’re-talking-to looks on her face. Her embarrassed attorney was doing
her best to keep Zada in her seat.
The wrath of Zada personified.
Rick smiled.
Parkins will rule in my favor now out of pity for me.
Rick didn’t appreciate the judge’s insult, either. But being at the mercy of the court called for a certain amount of diplomacy.
He glanced back at Zada again, trying to imagine his feisty soon-to-be ex-wife being diplomatic in any given situation. The
thought was so absurd, Rick almost burst out laughing.
“Do you find this situation funny, Mr. Clark?”
Bob punched him.
“No, sir!” Rick said emphatically.
“Then wipe that silly smirk off your face,” Parkins warned, his ears now flushed a deep red.
What?
Zada’s the one yelling.
Why are you reprimanding me?
Rick looked over at Bob for an answer.
He could have sworn Bob was trembling.
Judge Parkins pointed to Zada’s att. . .
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