An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach) Mariah Stewart (best classic books to read TXT) 📖

fire them both. But she had no grounds to take to HR, and she’d known that to fire two extremely competent employees without cause was tantamount to putting out the welcome mat for a lawsuit she couldn’t defend.

“Ms. Flynn.” The judge would look her straight in the eye—and with her luck, the judge would be Judge Borden, the only judge in the Philadelphia Court of Common Pleas who hadn’t liked her father. “Can you tell this court why you fired Amber Costanza?”

“Yes, Your Honor. She stole my husband.”

“And why you fired your ex-husband?”

“He allowed himself to be stolen.”

The judge would have stared her down. “Your paralegal boinking your husband is not legal grounds for termination of the employment of either party. I find for the plaintiffs in the amount of eight trillion dollars.” At which time he’d bang his gavel and uniformed officers of the court would drag her away in chains. She’d be dressed in orange—so not her color—and her hair would be a mess. Her picture would be on the front page of the Philadelphia Inquirer and the Main Line Times and all over the internet the following morning and would be front and center in every Wawa from Center City to the Jersey Shore and the Delaware beaches.

She was pretty sure firing their asses was probably not a defensible option.

She’d looked for subtle ways to make Amber’s job unbearable and thought she’d found the solution by reassigning Amber to work for Paul Groh, the oldest, grumpiest attorney in the firm, but somehow she’d charmed him right out of his get-off-my-lawn sign, for which everyone in the office blessed Amber.

Since Grace wasn’t about to leave the firm her father had founded, and Zach had laughed at her suggestion that he quit and take Amber with him, she had to find another means of venting her anger, frustration, and humiliation.

Hence the birth of her blog, TheLast2No.

It had started as something she’d done only for herself. She’d found it cathartic to write out her feelings and say the things she really wanted to say when her desire to save face demanded civility. Then one day it had occurred to her that there had to be dozens—hundreds—probably thousands of other women who’d been dumped by their significant others in favor of another woman who’d like a safe place to vent their anger, a place where they could just let it rip where no one would tell them to calm down or get over it. So, Grace had set up a blog under the name of Annie Boleyn (no way was Grace Flynn going public with her humiliation!) and invited others to share their tales of betrayal at the hands of their ex.

The blog had just about blown up the first week.

She’d grossly underestimated how many men had stepped out on their wives/fiancées/girlfriends, and every one of them seemed to want to tell their story on her blog. She tried to make it a place where women could complain anonymously, could vent without being told to grow up or move on. A place to express their rage and humiliation and frustration and know they weren’t alone, that it had happened just as unfairly to other women, and that some of those women were there for them, to commiserate and remind them it wasn’t their fault, that their life didn’t have to end with a breakup.

From merely commiserating and offering a virtual hug and an uplifting word, the blog had expanded after several women mentioned how they missed going out with their friends on the weekend, but it seemed that once their divorces were final, the invitations eventually stopped coming. So every Friday night Grace hosted a virtual happy hour, and she’d select one of that week’s commenters as her Woman of the Week. Everyone at happy hour would toast this one woman and wish her the fulfillment of her every desire after cursing out her rotten ex (and his little honey, too). It cost Grace nothing but seemed to make a lot of women happy. There were days when she had trouble getting her real work done.

It was all very harmless and gave Grace something to focus on other than the great love story that was playing out under her nose and the pain it caused her every single day.

Next, she’d invited her followers to Saturday night at the movies. Every Monday, she’d suggest three movies to be voted on during the week, then on Friday, she’d announce the movie that had garnered the most votes. On Saturday night, they’d all watch the selected movie and share their thoughts on her blog. It was a way for them to cope, to get their feet back on the ground. Even Grace felt a lot better after a few months of getting TheLast2No up and running.

It seemed harmless enough. Okay, so a few of her followers maybe got a little carried away now and then when describing what they’d like to do to their ex or to the woman who broke up their happy life, but of course no one would ever follow through. And Grace tried to defuse any violent sentiments as best she could, either by talking the person down, if possible, and if not, by blocking them from commenting. There had been a few who protested being blocked by rejoining under another name, and once or twice had threatened Grace personally, but she figured that came with the territory. Anytime you tried to shut down someone who wanted to have their say on a topic they felt particularly passionate about, there could be protests, emotions could run understandably high, but she never took them seriously and never felt she was in danger.

The only thing she was afraid of was being found out.

She’d have been hard pressed to admit it, but Grace actually enjoyed her Friday and Saturday nights with her virtual friends more than she enjoyed being with people face-to-face over the weekend. The followers of her blog deferred