Don't hate me for adding another Tanya chapter. I seriously hate the shit out of her. So it's short because you only need a peek at her horrible self, and I refuse to write a longer one...

Chapter Twenty-Four
i fucking hate you

Tanya

"Mrs. Masen, how may I help you?"

Mrs. Masen?

Like this stupid asshole doesn't know I'm no longer married.

Judge Yorkie angles his head, and I smile seductively, determined to do exactly what I came here for.

"Judge, how are you?" I coo, placing my hand in his outstretched one.

He smiles, but behind those too-kind eyes, I see anxious nervousness, and I step closer. Surprisingly, he doesn't step back, but I hide my smirk when his breathing becomes labored, halfway to a full-on panic.

His Adam's apple bobs with his audible swallow, and he says, "I'm well, Mrs. Masen."

Fuck Mrs. Masen, you dickhead.

"Judge, please," I giggle, patting his pounding chest, "Call me Tanya."

He smiles, and even though he's a good-looking guy, he's nowhere close to my type. For one, he's not fucking rich, but I pretend to admire his handsome face anyway.

"Tanya, call me Eric."

Eric the pussy, married to betty homemaker Angela.

Out of the two judges in Forks, Eric is the easier prey. The other one about 60 years old, and while I'd do anything to make Edward's life a miserable fucking hell, I'd rather not spread my legs for 60-year-old dick.

Now, married dick, that's more my style.

"Eric, I need your help," I say, fluttering my lashes, slipping a long finger underneath an open button on his wrinkled shirt. Wiry chest hair meets my touch, and I inwardly cringe, but keep the prize-winning smile plastered on my face.

I need Eric to help me win custody of Edward's kid, not that I feel like raising him, legal custody is the only way to get Edward to fucking bow down and give me what I want. Never did I imagine this would be such a fucking task. The prick doesn't even want the money and yet he divorced me without offering a red fucking cent.

I've never hated someone so much in my fucking life.

I wiggle my finger, stepping completely into his space, and he gasps when my stomach makes contact with the dick straining inside his black slacks.

"Tanya," he stutters, "What do you need?"

"Help me, Eric, please," I pretend beg, lifting on my toes to kiss his jaw, knowing if Mike found out I was trying to seduce the judge, he'd pack my shit and throw me out on my ass. "Help me, and I'll do anything you want…"

His whole body shudders, and I nibble his perfectly clean shaven chin as his too soft for me touch grips my hips. I exaggerate a moan, and he groans, not once putting up a fight. Not once thinking of his precious wife and his two kids sitting at home knitting him horrendous sweaters and fucking scribbled drawings to frame.

Not once pushing me away even when I ride him in his squeaky leather desk chair.

I've got you right where I want you, Judge. Right where I fucking want you.