Crossed Signals (Vancouver Havoc #1)

Chapter 1

The problem with first dates is that I can spot a dozen red flags in every man I meet before we’ve even ordered drinks.

Taking my dating history into account, that’s absolutely a me problem. This is what, my fifth attempt at dinner in the last two weeks? My date . . . Harry—or Henry . . . is boring. In the nicest terms possible, he’s completely uninteresting.

I don’t care about how much he lifted at the gym this morning any more than I do about the latest crypto gold mine. Honestly, I’ve been zoned out since he started explaining that plain greek yoghurt tastes the same as vanilla if you add flavoured protein powder.

His voice is dull and far too deep. It’s like he’s held up a Halloween voice changer in front of his mouth with every word in an attempt to seduce me.

Every minute I spend in his presence is another that I could have been spending at the office, finishing the handful of affidavits still on my desk.

There’s too much to be done to be sitting here, listening to this man drone on about intermittent fasting.

I take a long sip of my espresso martini and cross my legs beneath the table, shifting uncomfortably on my thick seat.

Glancing forward, I roll my glossy lips together and set my glass down.

The neatly trimmed beard wrapped around a square jaw and deep, mahogany eyes belonging to my date should have me mildly interested. They don’t.

He’s built wide and thick with muscles that bulge beneath the tight sleeves of his tight green golf shirt, but the appeal is completely lacking tonight.

I don’t believe that I’m sexually closed off, but clearly, I’m going through a self-inflicted dry spell.

It’s been months since I’ve so much as had a peck on the lips.

That should have made me far more interested in this date tonight.

Tapping my nails on the curve of my glass, I fall back into thought. I left the office an hour early tonight, but don’t think I forgot to send the updated meeting time to my client . . .

Shit, maybe I did.

“Aubrey? Did you hear me?”

I blink, clearing my throat. “I prefer eating in the morning so I don’t risk passing out by noon.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t, babe. Not after you train your body to eat later in the day. It’s quite simple once you get started,” he explains, not picking up on my blatant disinterest.

“I’m not interested in changing my habits.”

“Okay. That’s fine. As long as you still eat clean, I’m sure we’d make it work. You can probably tell I’m a bit bulky now, but I’ll surprise you with how lean I get once I cut again.”

I snag my martini and gulp it back, leaving nothing but a puddle of foam at the bottom of the glass.

My red gloss stains the rim, leaving my lips dry as I lift my fingers and wave for the bartender to bring me another drink.

The understanding nod I get in response makes me less on edge.

Maybe I’m not the problem here after all.

“I made sure to eat every piece of broccoli in my two-day-old broccoli and beef last night, if that meets your definition of clean,” I mutter, already zoning back out.

My purse buzzes repeatedly on the floor between my feet, and at this point, my date has lost me. Without a second thought, I reach down and dig through it, gripping my phone. The incoming call is from the client I was wondering about a moment ago. I answer it without a second thought.

“Lydia? Are you alright?”

“Please tell me you knew about this, Aubrey! I had such a bad feeling all night—God! I should have expected him to do something like this. He can’t do this, right? Surely, they’re not really going to use this in court.”

I stiffen, going cold. “What are you talking about?”

“Kevin! He just sent me this . . . this photo and some letter from his ex-girlfriend. Surely, he can’t use this photo for anything! It was taken three years ago. I didn’t have custody of Nathan then!”

“I need you to slow down,” I tell her firmly, pushing my chair away from the table and gripping my purse handles. “What photo?”

“It was a birthday party a few years ago. I wasn’t—I was still so young then, and I had a few drinks, smoked a joint maybe.

It was harmless fun. I didn’t know this was going to happen.

Aubrey, he’s threatening to use it! He says he already has his lawyers drafting a new affidavit with this bullshit letter. ”

Without looking at my date, I pull a few bills from my wallet and drop them onto the table before leaving. My heels clack against the polished marble floors as I glide through busy tables on my way to the exit. That almost robotic voice belonging to my date calls out behind me. I don’t respond.

“I haven’t seen an email. I was out of the office, but I would have been alerted if anyone had sent anything over. He’s trying to scare you, Lydia. Have you responded?”

I pull my keys from my bag as I step out of the restaurant, thanking past me for not handing them over to the valet like Harvey insisted. The lights of my Audi flash brightly across the parking lot as I quicken my steps.

“Well, it’s working! I cannot lose this case, Aubrey. I’m serious! We can’t let Kevin get custody.”

My jaw tightens as I nod to myself, already well aware of this.

When Rowena Shaw, my mentor and one of the three name partners at the Aldridge, Clarke, and Shaw LLP firm, brought this case to me six months ago, I knew better than to assume it was going to be an easy win.

Guardianship cases are hardly ever as simple as they appear at first glance, especially to lawyers like me who have spent the majority of their careers specializing in them.

Still, it should have been cut and dry. A year ago, Lydia received custody of her nephew, Nathan, after her sister, his mother, died in a car accident. There was no will, which could have helped in this case when Nathan’s father, Kevin, inserted himself back into his life and demanded custody.

Not only has he been out of the picture for the last five of Nathan’s seven years of life, but he has a nasty history with both alcohol and the Vancouver Police Department.

He and his team of low-ball lawyers claim he’s been sober for a year, watching his son on the sidelines as he attended AA and cleaned his life up.

Obviously, I don’t buy it, and neither does Lydia.

I’ve been working for the last few months to build a solid case against Kevin that will put an end to his upward climb toward guardianship, but there have been several roadblocks. Pitiful attempts at painting Lydia out to be some evil villain have become far too expected.

A photograph taken years ago and a most likely forced statement from an ex-girlfriend who I haven’t heard of until right this moment are a Hail Mary to sway the judge before court next week. That is, if they can’t scare Lydia into dropping the case.

I yank my car door open and slide inside, feeling the expensive leather moulding to my back as I repeat my question. “Have you responded to his email?”

“No. No, Aubrey. I haven’t,” she answers heavily.

“Good. What I want you to do now is forward me that email so that I can take care of this. You aren’t to make contact at all. Do you understand me?”

Turning my car on, I listen as my phone connects to our call. Her reply floods through the speakers while I pull out of the parking lot, heading toward the office.

“I understand.” A pause. “I was only twenty in that photo. You have to believe that I haven’t even thought about taking a drink or going out to a party since I took Nathan in.”

Anger pulses through me as I strain to keep from lashing out. My frustration isn’t toward her. Not at all. This is between me and Kevin’s lawyer.

“His team can submit the affidavit, Lydia, but the judge will not give it a moment of thought in the next hearing. This is clearly a smear piece meant to intimidate you. I’m on my way to the office right now.

If they still choose to submit this, I’ll file a rebuttal immediately.

I don’t know where Kevin found this legal team, but they’re going to rue the day they took this case by the time I’m done with them.

I’m serious, Lydia. I don’t want you to make yourself sick over this.

Take a moment to clear your head and go sit with your nephew for a while. ”

Family law isn’t for the weak. In the three years since I graduated from law school, I’ve seen plenty of bloodbaths. Not all of them took place in a courtroom. Far more of the messes occur outside of a courtroom, and everyone involved has a war wound and a horror story to tell.

These ruthless fights made me choose this specialty, which convinced Rowena to take me under her wing when I was just a wide-eyed, bushy-tailed little law graduate with an unnerving desire to climb the ranks.

It took blood, sweat, and far worse than tears to get to this point, as the youngest junior partner the firm has had in the last fifteen years.

Not even Rowena, who made name partner at thirty-seven, did that.

At twenty-seven years old, I have an insatiable hunger to see my name on that wall beside hers.

Lydia blows out a soft breath, and I can imagine her nodding, finally taking a seat wherever she is. “Will you call as soon as you figure out what’s happening?”

“You have my word.”

“Thank you, Aubrey.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Save that for tomorrow when I have better news.”

A small, low laugh. “I will. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for calling like this. I just . . .”

“Don’t. That’s why I’m here. I’m on your team, and I’m going to do everything I can to win this for you.”

“I know. I don’t know how to tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“Start by giving your nephew a kiss for me, okay? He needs to feel secure right now more than ever. This is all for him. Remind yourself of that, because it’s the only thing that matters,” I say as softly as I can.

“You’re right. I know. I’ve got this.”

“Yes, you do. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I hang up and release the yell that’s been burning in my lungs, letting it fill the interior of the car like an angry windstorm.

The light in front of me is red, and I pull my hair over my shoulder, regretting not putting it up earlier.

While the streets are empty, the parking garage below the office isn’t.

I recognize Victor Eldridge’s Porsche and scowl, not in the mood to answer his prodding questions nor battle his icy demeanour tonight.

Why are you here at this hour, Ms. Merrick? Rowena isn’t here, Ms. Merrick. Are you sure you need this specific office?

Okay, he’s never asked me the last question.

He’s debated it, though. I know he has. If it were up to him, Rowena wouldn’t have taken me on at all.

I blame his evil minion for that opinion, though.

It’s the only explanation I’ll accept for why he doesn’t like me when I work three times as hard as anyone else in the office besides him and the other two name partners.

I steel myself and step out of my car, letting all of that slip out of my head. There’s only one thing that matters tonight, and that’s making sure I take care of this smear campaign before it can fester.

This is what I’m good at. And I’m about to remind Kevin’s counsel exactly why I am where I am.

Whether or not they’re ready.