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I think that was nicer than telling them to do their fucking jobs and to stop hoping I’m going to perjure myself to make their lives easier.

“We’re done here.”

I push the rolling chair back, and will my hands to stay steady as I button my jacket, then force myself not to stomp out of the room.

It would be a waste of energy, and I’m going to need all of it, I realize, when I face the hallway full of . . . people.

The one thing I wanted to avoid today wasn’t losing my temper or showing any outward emotion, it was this.

Thank god my sisters went in before me—they’re gone by now.

None of us chose the order, but when I realized I’d be the last, I knew if I didn’t get out of here using the damn ten-story window, I’d probably be faced with number one, two, three, and four.

A few years ago, I was getting dressed after hooking up with this awesome gymnast, who I had a sex-buddies thing going on with, when my phone rang.

It wasn’t my birthday or any special date at all actually, but gymnast girl saw the caller ID and snorted.

“Who’s number four? Is she another one of your hookups?” She turned to me with a fake, careless smirk, and I wanted to reassure her.

“No, no. Number four is my mother.”

Safe to say, gymnast girl was appalled at how cruel that seemed, and I never saw her again.

I say good riddance, because she never stopped to wonder why a son would ever give his own mother that kind of nickname. I sure as fuck was never, have never, been the cruel one in this fucked-up family equation.

The one thing I wanted to avoid today was coming face to face with her.

She’s still beautiful, of course.

She’s only four years older than Avery, and thanks to Jim’s alimony, should have all the resources in the world to make sure she stays beautiful.

I have her brown eyes, her lips, and that’s about it.

I know what she actually wants as soon as she stands, pasting on a good impression of a sentimental smile.

“My baby,” she coos.

I stop myself before I can reel back with a sneer.

How heartless can one person be? Really?

“Mary Anne,” I say simply, offer her one nod, and move forward with the full intention of walking by her and getting the fuck out of this place.

I know Baron and Beatrice are behind me, and that there are a lot of people present in this hallway—not only the rest of the ex-wives, but also their teams of lawyers. All of them should have enough money to hire “the best,” even though Baron swore to us he couldn’t, even if he wanted to, take them on as clients.

But because there are so many damn people around, so many of them sizing me up to figure out just how much money they can leech out of me, I can’t—don’t flinch when my mother grabs my arm, stops me, and tries to reach up to kiss my cheek.

I don’t bend even a little to make it easier for her.

“Come on, Tucker. You should have a few minutes at least so you can get me a coffee, right?”

Now that their cash cow is dead, they know they’re either going to have to get married to another heartless—or stupid—rich man, or they’re going to have to find a way to get it from me.

None of them are the saving-for-a-rainy-day kind of people, so it’s too bad that there’s no way in hell I’m giving them a dime.

“I don’t, actually,” I tell her with as little feeling as I’m capable of speaking.

It hurts.