Split Decision Read online

  SPLIT DECISION

  By Traci Hohenstein

  SPLIT DECISION

  Traci Hohenstein

  Copyright © 2012

  All Rights Reserved.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Writers struggle to support themselves. Please help them by buying their books from legitimate sources. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Find Traci Hohenstein online at

  http://www.tracihohenstein.com

  Cover art by Jeroen ten Berge

  Layout provided by Everything Indie

  http://www.everything-indie.com

  Thanks to Julie Thibodeaux and Michelle Couch for being first readers.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Previews

  Chapter 1

  “In our family, we don’t divorce our men – we bury them.” - Ruth Gordon

  “I want my damn dog back!” The Prada clad woman slammed a tiny rhinestone collar on my desk.

  “Please, Mrs. Coulter, have a seat.” I gestured to one of the two empty chairs in front of me.

  “I don’t want to sit down. I want Ginger back! That no-good son-of-a-bitch hates that dog. He’s just doing this to spite me. And I am pissed off and I’m not agreeing to his piddly fifteen-million dollar settlement. He cleared that much on his last TV production.” She took a deep breath and sat down anyway. “I just want Ginger back.”

  Pushing the intercom button, I called my assistant.

  “Meghan, get Dalton Balzer on the phone, please. Also, bring Mrs. Coulter some tea.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Meghan replied.

  Dalton Balzer was the attorney for Blaine Coulter’s husband and the other big divorce attorney in this dog-eat-dog town (no pun intended). We often met in court over divorce proceedings.

  Blaine was twenty-nine, a former beauty queen, and former Dallas Cowboy cheerleader. She also had the pleasure of being Stephen Coulter’s fourth and soon to be ex-wife. Their marriage only lasted a paltry ten months. This was a first for Stephen. His former wives lasted much longer. At least more than two years.

  Stephen Coulter was one of the biggest television producers in Hollywood. His claim to fame was producing reality shows. The latest one titled, The Love Bug, was a show that put twenty eligible girls in a mansion to vie for the attention of one eligible bachelor. The last girl standing wins a three carat diamond ring and a marriage proposal. Unfortunately, Stephen liked to sample the goods and Blaine caught him in a comprising position with one of the contestants.

  Meghan’s voice rang in over the intercom system. “I have Mr. Balzer on line one.”

  “Hi, Dalton. It’s Ava Spivey,” I said into the phone. After exchanging pleasantries I explained the situation about Ginger, the missing pooch, and he promised to call me back after speaking with Stephen.

  Hanging up the phone, I smiled at Blaine and spoke to her in a calming tone. “Mr. Balzer assured me that he would sort this out and get Ginger back to you.”

  Blaine seemed to relax. While she inspected her well-manicured fingertips, I noticed she was still wearing her five carat, princess cut, diamond wedding ring. The sunlight hit the ring just right so that it cast thousands of sparkles and tossed them around the room when she moved her hand.

  “Thank you Ava. All I really want is Ginger back.” She smoothed her long, bleached blonde hair with her perfectly manicured hand and giggled. “Well, that and my twenty-four million. I think it’s a fair amount of money for all the bullshit I’ve put up with for over a year.”

  “You’ve only being married for ten months,” I reminded her.

  “Yeah, but we dated a couple of months before we got married in Vegas.” Blaine stood up. “Two million for every month we were together is not much to ask. Especially since Stephen just signed a lucrative deal with one of the big networks to move The Love Bug over to them.”

  I made a note on my legal pad. “How do you know this?”

  “It was in this morning’s Hollywood Buzz.” Blaine rolled her eyes at me. “Don’t you keep up with this stuff? What am I paying you for?”

  “I’ll check it out,” I said, mentally rolling my eyes. “We’re getting close on the settlement, though. I think you really need to think about the latest offer. Fifteen-million for ten months is nothing to scoff at. We don’t want to go to trial.”

  And we didn’t want to go to trial because Blaine had some discrepancies of her own that Stephen “may or may not know about” as Blaine put it. I didn’t want to chance it.

  “Twenty-four million. Not a dime less.” Blaine left my office in the huff that she walked in with.

  It would take all day to get the smell of Chanel perfume out of my office.

  Chapter 2

  “Make crime pay. Become a lawyer.” - Will Rogers

  My life as a celebrity divorce attorney in Hollywood definitely had its perks. I’ve represented the crème da le crème of Hollywood. Big name movie stars, Grammy award winning artists, runway models, television and movie producers, daytime soap stars and everything in between. These are clients that can afford my $1000 an hour billing fees. I’m invited to all the glamorous, red carpet events and attend as many of them as my schedule allows.

  In the legal world, I’m known for my tough negotiating skills and ruthless settlements. I’ve had many nicknames such as “the pit-bull”, “the castrator”, or my personal favorite, “the executor”. But you can just call me Ava.

  With one in two marriages ending in divorce, and the high probability that most of those divorces happen in Tinsel Town, I’m a busy woman and I’ll never be out of work.

  Because I work long days, mostly ten to twelve hours, my husband Mark takes care of our teenaged daughters and the household stuff. Mark works in the technology field and designs gaming software, which I think is more of a hobby than a real job. Aubrey and Allison, our twin girls, still live with us and attend UCLA, my alma mater. I’d like to think we live a nice life.

  Tucked in the Hollywood Hills, our home comes complete with the requisite pool, spa, and tennis court. My girls both drive BMW convertibles while I have a new Mercedes. Mark, however, prefers to drive his old Toyota pickup he’s had since we met in college, even though I gave him an Audi A5 for his birthday. It sits in our four-car garage collecting dust. He refuses to have a nanny for the girls or a housekeeper and I let him win that battle.

  Mark and I met at UCLA. We were both freshman and studying for finals in the college library. Every time I’d looked up from my Biology book, I would catch him checking me out. I waited for him to come to speak to me
but he never did. The next day, he was there again, sitting across from me. Finally, I made the first move and went over to speak with him. He was very shy, which I found cute and refreshing. We made a date for coffee at a local café. I learned that Mark was a technology business major and I shared with him my ambitions of following my parent’s footsteps and attending law school.

  After two years of dating, we’d become engaged. A year later, we got married in Napa Valley. That first year of marriage was tough. I got pregnant – surprise! – on our honeymoon. So while I toiled away in law school, Mark worked at a computer software firm to support us. After passing my bar exam, I interviewed with several top law firms in LA.

  I’d received several offers but decided to go with Clarkston, Powell, and Grommel. They were a top firm that specializes in commercial real estate and business litigation. My first two years were spent doing mundane real estate closings and drafting commercial leases. I became bored. Really bored. The money was decent but I’d soon learned there was no excitement in real estate law.

  My lucky break happened when a wealthy, well-known celebrity client was closing on a big investment deal. Leven Peggro was a celebrity chef and had been searching for a new restaurant to buy. Over a business dinner, he confided to me that he was having marital troubles and needed a recommendation for a lawyer that could handle a potential messy split. My boss, and partner in the firm, Oliver Powell, suggested a friend who handled high profile divorce cases. Leven asked me to go with him to the appointment for moral support. Since Leven was a good friend as well, and no one ever said no to Leven, I went.

  Leven and I met with attorney Clyde Peacock. I had heard of Clyde and his bulldog reputation, but boy was I in for a surprise when we met in person. Clyde is originally from Texas where they apparently do things big. Clyde was no exception. I thought I had walked into the devil’s lair when Leven and I were escorted into Clyde’s office.

  Immediately I was entranced by the large deer heads mounted on the wall behind Clyde’s massive battered oak desk. I thought I was on the stage of the TV drama series Dallas. I soon discovered large animal heads graced the other wall. Tigers, moose, and elk all stared back at me with creepy eyes. But most disturbing of all was the twelve-foot stuffed brown bear in the corner of his office. Claws were seemingly reaching out for me. I had nightmares for weeks after seeing that.

  Clyde sat behind his desk wearing a Stetson and looked dashing in his three piece suit. All that was missing was Larry Hagman. I swear even his secretary looked straight from the Dallas set. She was a look-a-like Lucy. Everything was tiny on her. She stood at less than five feet tall and she wore a short tight skirt, and an even tighter sweater. Her boobs were the only big thing on her.

  But Clyde was supposed to be the best divorce attorney in LA that money could buy. And Leven had a lot to spend.

  After our first meeting with Clyde, I felt a weird attraction to him and his Dallas-eque office. At the end of our meeting, while Leven excused himself to the restroom, Clyde asked me how I enjoyed working real estate law. I surprised myself by blurting out, “I hate it. It’s the most boring job in law. All I do all day is draw up commercial leases and attend real estate closings. I’m going out of mind in that office.”

  Clyde laughed heartily. “Well, pretty thing. How about coming to work for me? I got more work than I can handle and I can bet you that you’ll not be bored for one nanosecond.”

  I took his card and told him that I would think about it.

  That night I told Mark that I was considering a move to family law. He thought I was nuts. It was true that I had a good salary and benefits with my current employer, but I felt I was dying inside a little every day. This wasn’t me. I needed some excitement in my life. In the end, he left the decision to me and said he would support me no matter what I decided.

  Less than a month later, I was a junior associate with Clyde Peacock Family Law. I worked my ass off for a year and managed to pull in a few nice cases. Then the awful happened. Clyde had a major heart attack, and following doctor’s orders, he semi-retired. The only good thing that came out of all that is Clyde made me a full partner. Now the law firm was Peacock and Spivey. Fast forward, many years later, I was still going strong with the firm. It was the best family law firm in Hollywood. Clyde still maintained a part-time schedule and had his larger-than-life office and we hired two additional paralegals and a junior associate to help with the influx of divorce and family law cases. Even though Clyde still had a heavy hand in running the office, I took care of the majority of cases.

  After Blaine had left, I checked my calendar and saw that my next client was due to arrive at any minute. Circling his name with a red pen, my stomach tingled with excitement. Sawyer Winston.

  Sawyer was the hottest actor in Hollywood and had starred in several action-adventure movies. He made every housewife across seven continents swoon with desire. He was married to Portia Middleton, who was a pretty big star in her own right. Sawyer and Portia were the power couple in Hollywood and had been married for close to twenty years. Twenty years is a lifetime for Hollywood marriages. Sawyer was very vocal to the media that his marriage was rock solid and he didn’t condone divorce except for extreme circumstances. So it was shocking to read the tabloids reporting that Portia allegedly cheated on him with her co-star on a new TV drama series. Of course, in this town, I’m always reluctant to believe everything I read so I was particularly intrigued to meet Sawyer this morning and get the real story.

  This is another reason why I loved my job so much. I got the inside scoop.

  “Mr. Sawyer Winston is here to see you.” Meghan’s voice came in loud through the phone’s intercom system.

  My heart gave a little lurch. “Send him in.”

  Chapter 3

  “Divorce is a game played by lawyers.” - Cary Grant

  “Sawyer Winston, it’s nice to meet you.” I held out my hand.

  Sawyer was even more handsome in person. He stood around six feet tall and wore dark casual jeans and a buttoned down Polo shirt. And he smelled delicious.

  “Ava, nice to meet you, although I wish it was under different circumstances.” Sawyer smiled his trademark smile, with deep dimples, and a wide mouth full of beautiful teeth. He ran his hand through his thick dark hair, which was the only sign of nervousness that he showed.

  “Why don’t you have seat and we’ll talk.”

  Meghan was waiting faithfully behind him. “Can I get you anything?”

  I knew that she would’ve offered him water or coffee in reception while he waited, but it was customary for her to ask again once they were seated in my office.

  Sawyer shook his head.

  “No thanks, Meghan. That’s all,” I told her.

  I waited until Meghan shut my door. “So, Mr. Winston, what brings you here today?”

  “Call me Sawyer, please.” He cleared his throat while looking around my office. Unlike Clyde with his dead animals on the wall and a menacing six foot bear stuffed in the corner, my office was very minimally decorated. The only hint of animal was the zebra print rug under my desk. I didn’t like clutter or knick knacks. I had a small bragging wall, with my framed college and law diploma. The furniture was a Tommy Bahama design of exotic and elegant finishes. A couple of well-placed plants and some prints of the southern California coastline rounded out the décor. Nice, clean and simple.

  Sawyer sat down on one of the comfy chairs in front of my desk while I sat across from him.

  “Okay, Sawyer. How can I help you?”

  “I guess you’ve read the tabloids and watched the news like the rest of the world,” he said in more of a statement than a question.

  I nodded. I don’t think there was a person alive who hadn’t seen it. Just this morning I had Meghan remove the latest gossip magazines in our reception area. Headlines screamed, “SAWYER WINSTON MOVES OUT, PORTIA DENIES CHEATING”. I didn’t think Sawyer needed a reminder of his family troubles.

  “I want to di
scuss my options today. That’s all. As you probably know – and no offense here – I’m not an advocate of divorce, unless there is a situation of domestic abuse. Mental or physical.”

  I watched in horror and fascination as Sawyer rolled up his sleeves to reveal his bare arms. There were deep, red scratch marks up and down his forearms. Tiny purple and yellow bruises decorated the sides of his wrists and biceps. I had to stop myself from gasping.

  “I guess you can call this a domestic abuse case,” he said.

  With nervous energy, I tapped my pen on the legal pad in front of me.

  “Portia did this to you?”

  He nodded his head slowly.

  “Were charges pressed?” I asked him.

  “No. I don’t want this to get out.”

  “Is this the first time she has hit you?”

  Sawyer hung his head down. “No.”

  “I’m sorry I have to ask these kinds of questions.” Sawyer raised his head and his gorgeous hazel eyes met mine. “Have you ever…”

  “Hit her back?” He finished the question for me. “No, I haven’t.”

  Blowing out a breath, I went ahead with the interview. “Before I give you a couple of options, let me ask you a few questions about your situation. Okay?”

  “Of course.”

  I went through the common list of questions we asked to establish marital history.

  “How long have you been married?” I had already pulled his marriage license but didn’t want any doubts or mistakes.

  “We were married June 3, 1992. So almost twenty years.”

  I mentally noted how close our anniversary dates were. Mark and I were married in July of that same year.

  “Children?”

  “Three children together. Camden, age fifteen, and our twins, Darlia and Maria, aged twelve. I have another daughter, Cash, from a previous relationship. She is twenty-three years old.”