One Week (HaleStorm) by Elisabeth Staab Page A

on. “Yeah, he gave me the papers. I haven’t signed.” A pause. Heavy breathing. “I don’t know. I’ll come up with something.”
    Holy shit! What did that mean?
    Elise flushed the toilet for the sake of a sporting warning, waited a few seconds, and opened the door. She walked out and washed her hands, pretending no notice of the Burberry clad snake-lady standing at the sink next to her.
    Elise couldn’t be sure, but that bit of conversation sounded awfully mercenary. Did Michael have any idea that this woman was scheming behind his back? Was this kind of thing why they were getting divorced? Elise found herself wanting to do some very un-classy things to this lady’s eyes with a roller ball pen.
    Snake-lady spoke first. “You were in my husband’s office earlier.”
    My husband’s . God. Elise’s neck muscles went painfully rigid. Had she been a cat her tail would have gone all puffy at those two little words. “I’m working on a contract project for him. I needed some information before I’m gone next week.” Those last four little words felt important to say. I’m not a threat to you, I’m merely a lowly contractor, and I won’t blab to Michael about what I just heard.
    Would she though? Should she? On one hand, Elise owed it to Michael to let him know his soon-to-be ex appeared to have something up her designer sleeve, and intended not to be his soon-to-be ex after all. On the other hand, in light of last night’s horizontal events, such warnings coming from Elise could come across as having an ulterior motive—vindictive or needy maybe—and that was the last way Elise wanted Michael to think of her.
    Had she misunderstood something? Maybe Michael wanted to work things out with his ex after all. She didn’t think so, but she could have heard what she wanted to.
    Elise grabbed for a paper towel, anxious to get away from the current scenario. Burberry Lady dabbed at her eyes and had that painful expression women got when they might burst into tears at any moment.
    Okay, time to blow this keg stand. Elise could not be party to comforting the wife of the man she’d wanted since college.
    Then the sputtering started. The tears. Oh, hell. Elise moved quickly to grab a hunk of toilet paper from the stall. “Here.”
    “Thank you.”
    She grabbed her purse and tried to escape with a sympathetic smile and a nod, but the not-yet-former Mrs. Hale turned to her with wet eyes. “It’s hard being with such a powerful man, you know?”
    Elise froze, about two-thirds of the way to the door. So close. “I’m sure it must be.” Staying away from Michael was the hard part.
    Sniffles now. “He comes home late. Some nights not at all. All the stress. The yelling and screaming.” She blew her nose daintily and folded the tissue. “Oh, I know I could have been better. God knows I made mistakes, but I tried. And he could be so demanding. You know?”
    Elise coughed. She sort of had an idea about the demanding part. Just maybe in a naughtier way than Lady Stiletto meant.
    She took a lap through her mental history of working for Michael the summer of her internship. He’d so been friendly and warm, which was probably the reason Elise found it hard to stop her growing attraction. She couldn’t imagine him yelling and screaming. “I’m not sure I’d want to stay with a man like that,” she muttered. Truly.
    The Mrs. Almost Ex looked up, smiling sadly at Elise. “I’m so sorry. TMI, I’m sure.”
    Yes.
    Elise’s tried to manage a smile, pulling her bag higher onto her shoulder. “I’m very sorry.” That much certainly was true. “Good luck.” With that, she pushed through the door and headed for the elevators, chewing on the most uncomfortable conversation she’d ever had.
    She rolled the words backwards and forward in her mind, wondering about the Burberry Lady’s sincerity. Whose story was true? Was this a desperate woman in love who simply wanted to cling to her husband? Or did she have more