Chapter 18
Future Hall Of Famer: Opinion on this guy?
The photo he’s attached features a tall, athletic-looking, dark-haired man doing a bench press in a brightly lit gym.
His thick thighs are spread symmetrically while he stares up at the bar with a rabid glare.
At first glance, yeah, he’s hot. But I know better than to go out with anyone solely based on looks at this stage in my life.
Been there, done that a thousand times.
Me: Are you going around the gym taking photos of random men?
I shake my head at his continued antics and set my phone back down before signing my name on yet another piece of paperwork.
It’s been three days since Finn’s fake date, and while we’ve texted a few times since, he’s got one last game against Texas tomorrow before he can come home.
Baseball season is exhausting, even when you’re not the one playing.
My phone buzzes beside the turquoise, bedazzled stapler Kellan got me for my birthday last year. I pull my eyes away from the blur of tiny, printed black words on my paperwork and focus on the text.
Future Hall Of Famer: Would you prefer I go to a library or hockey rink? And answer carefully. There IS a right and wrong answer here.
Me: Feeling a bit territorial, Finny?
His answer comes immediately, followed by a GIF of a cat glaring into the camera.
Future Hall Of Famer: Of my honey bun? Yeah, I am. No hockey players for you.
Me: Buzzkill.
Future Hall Of Famer: Careful or I’ll pass territorial into jealous territory.
I read his message three times before replying, my heart quickening just enough to knock me off-kilter.
Me: I don’t think I’ve ever seen you jealous.
My throat tightens before I swallow and tuck my phone beneath a few papers.
My skin feels warm, like I’m blushing or something from simple, innocent text messages.
It’s not the first time in the last three days that I’ve felt this, either.
Maybe I’m sick. I haven’t gotten the flu in years, but it’s not like I’m immune.
Yeah, maybe I should take a personal day tomorrow. I could relax and find a new show to watch for the first time in months. If that doesn’t help me feel more like myself, then I’m not sure what will.
There’s a firm, quick knock on my office door at the same time I feel my desk vibrate. My breath hitches. I ignore the text and put all my focus on work. Immediately, I feel the unnerving tension leave my body.
“Come in!”
The door opens, and that brief moment of relaxation disappears.
Rowena Shaw’s presence sucks all the air from my office, and I push out of my seat, standing behind my desk.
My blistered heel screams at me when it rubs against the back of my new high heel.
I keep the wince hidden behind a mask of easy confidence.
“Good morning, Aubrey,” she says.
Her voice almost always sounds the same.
Smooth and dry with a hint of judgment. But when it’s just us, that judgment lessens, filling with respect instead.
Hearing that subtle change for the first time was just as fulfilling as if she’d outright declared that she was proud of me.
I remember everything about the case that earned me her utmost approval and even have the photograph of me and our joint client hung up on the wall across the room.
Few lawyers get to have one like Rowena Shaw as a mentor. Even fewer get to be on the receiving end of her friendly tone of voice, let alone easy banter. Spencer, for example, never will. Asshole.
I smother my smugness before it can show and gesture for her to come further into my office. “Good morning, Rowena. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Victor’s on about the Winston case again, but you know how it goes by now. You snooze, you lose.”
“Wasn’t Graham the one originally approached?”
Rowena blows out a loose laugh and takes a seat on the white leather couch.
Her long, white-blonde hair is down today, draping across her plum suit jacket.
She pulls it over one shoulder and crosses her legs, revealing the bare lengths of her tan legs beneath her matching knee-length skirt and then the red bottoms of her black pumps.
The smoky makeup on her eyes intensifies her light brown eyes as they sear across the office and focus on me.
“Yes, he was. However, we all know Victor is a greedy beast who’s never satisfied unless he’s the only one with a full belly.
Between him and that spawn of his, we’re all going to fall victim to their gluttony eventually. ”
I roll my lips together to hide a smirk and finally sit back in my office chair. Rowena lets the corner of her nude-painted lips lift in approval.
“I’m going to assume that he’s unhappy with the recent praise you’ve received from Tucker himself?”
“You assume correctly. He’s a pouty little suck sitting upstairs in his office. If I trusted you not to rub this in Spencer’s face the moment we parted ways, I’d suggest taking you to go see for yourself.”
Tucker Winston is currently one of the highest-paying clients the firm has.
While recently traded to the BC Pythons CFL team, he’s had ongoing legal battles with the mother of his four-year-old daughter for the last year.
When he moved to Vancouver, he sought a new firm to handle his case.
Graham was the first one to speak with him, but the moment Rowena swooped in, he was putty in her hands, leaving no room for Victor to try sneaking his way in.
Now, she’s the lead lawyer on his custody case. And too similar to his protégé Spencer, Victor knows how to hold a grudge.
“Oh, come on. Who do you take me for?” I ask coyly.
“You are too much like me for your own good.”
“Last time I checked, that was a good thing. It got me here, didn’t it?”
She tips her chin thoughtfully, growing more serious than I expected. “I’ve heard rumblings about the gala.”
“Spencer’s doing, I assume,” I grumble.
“I know we’re not women who paint our nails together and gossip much, but if you are in a serious relationship, Aubrey, I would like to know so I can help you lessen your workload accordingly.”
The offer shocks me. I do a shit job of hiding it, considering the humour that flickers across her gaze.
She clears her throat and leans forward. “I’m not heartless. At least not in this room. You work more than anyone with someone waiting at home for them should. Trust me on that.”
“I appreciate it, but I’m alright. My work/life balance has always been a bit . . . off.”
“It’s not too late to change that. Before you know it, you’ll be forty-three and spending every night nursing a glass of wine in your office while sorting through paperwork. Alone. Take me up on the offer while it’s here, Aubrey.”
My stomach turns, heavy with guilt. I shake my leg beneath the table and chew on my cheek, debating whether to tell her the truth about this whole thing. If anyone was going to believe me and maybe even share some of my inner turmoil, it would be Rowena, considering she’s speaking from experience.
“Can we invoke attorney-client privilege here for a minute?”
She blinks once, the only sign of confusion. “Am I your attorney now?”
“For the moment, let’s say so.”
“Alright.”
I dig my elbow into my desk and blow out a rough breath. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I haven’t in years. The only reason Spencer believes I do and that I’m bringing one to the gala is because he’s a weasel with loose, flappy lips.”
“Oh, Aubrey. There’s not a single reason for you to need to bow to Spencer’s pressure. This is petty on his part, and I’m going to—”
“No!” I blurt out, standing again. “You can’t get involved. I’m handling it.”
“This is not handling it. This is the most prestigious law firm in Vancouver, and we don’t fall prey to these ridiculous schemes. Spencer carries himself with the confidence of his mentor, not his own,” she presses, her spine perfectly straight, muscles taut.
“It’s fine, Rowena. Truly. I can handle myself.”
She rises from the couch and runs two hands down her skirt.
“I’m well aware. You’re the only other lawyer here besides myself and the two assholes that I share the upper floor with who I don’t worry might crack under pressure.
That doesn’t mean that I don’t still believe this pettiness Spencer blows out of his ass is below you.
I’ve attended every gala on my own, and that hasn’t made a dent in the reputation I’ve made for myself. It won’t for yours, either.”
“It’s more than that,” I say, looking away as my chest constricts.
“Petty or not, I refuse to let him get one over on me. I’m not afraid of someone overlooking my talent and success because of a simple relationship rumour.
It’s the entire idea of Spencer getting one up on me.
It makes my skin crawl. He doesn’t get to know he’s won when I can simply prove him wrong for one night.
You’re right in saying that he’s below me, but I want to prove that to everyone, just not the two of us.
And showing up with a man on my arm is the simplest way to get his mouth to shut for a few hours. ”
“So, this is just to beat him, then?”
“Yes.”
“And here I was expecting the worst,” she admits, offering me a genuine smile before sweeping her sobering eyes over the paperwork on my desk. “We’ll move on, then. I wanted to get an update on the Ford guardianship case.”
The topic change is more than welcome, and I hop right in, letting Spencer and his ridiculousness drift into the ether.
“The hearing went well. We secured randomized testing, and the judge was receptive to my arguments.”
She tips her chin and takes a few steps toward my desk. A pale pink nail taps at the latest report on top of the stack. “I read your affidavit. It was concise and thorough. You didn’t waste a single sentence.”
Something heavy and warm settles on my chest as her praise registers. From anyone else, I would have shrugged it off, but from her? Yeah, it means a lot more.
“Thank you, Rowena.”
“Come on a walk with me. My caffeine levels are dangerously low, and the coffee down here is stronger than upstairs.”
I don’t hesitate. We move quickly out of the office, and I eye my assistant as we pass.
“Don’t let anyone in while I’m gone. Especially Satan’s spawn.”
She grins and nods. “Of course.”
Rowena nudges my arm. I glance over at her, finding her trying not to laugh. “If Victor hears you refer to him as Satan, you’re going to need me to act as your real attorney.”
“He wouldn’t go up against you.”
“No, I suppose he wouldn’t,” she agrees easily.
We fall into a comfortable silence as we pass a cluster of paralegals. It’s bright from the tall windows rising high behind stuffy cubicles. The constant hum of printers carries through the office before we step into the break room. Rowena heads right for the half-full coffee machine.
Alone, there’s nobody to overhear her when she says, voice low and almost soft, “High-conflict cases like the one you’re working on take more from us than they give back. Which I assume you already know.”
“They do,” I agree, watching her steal a simple white mug from the cabinet.
“You’ve always carried the weight of these cases heavier than most do.”
I almost flinch. “I’m . . . working on that.”
“You don’t need to work on it.” She pours the mug almost to the top rim. “You need to focus on it and hone it into a weapon. That sensitivity has always been what’s made you so exceptional, Aubrey. It only becomes a weakness when you pretend it isn’t there.”
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I stare in silence, unable to form a proper response.
Rowena doesn’t say another word as she takes a sip of her black coffee and hums. When her eyes rise and find me again, they feel weighted, heavy with a sense of knowledge that I want to dive into and soak up.
“That’s the thing most lawyers never learn. Stoicism is overrated. Emotion? That’s where the power lies. Don’t for a second think that you need to be made of stone to succeed in this world.”
I clear my throat and follow her out of the break room. “Thank you.”
It doesn’t feel like enough. It never has.
“Don’t overthink it. I don’t say things I don’t mean.” She takes another sip of her coffee before eyeing the elevator. “If you need anything, you know where I am. Eventually, you’ll need to get familiar with taking the elevator up a level.”
I laugh softly as she steps through the opening doors. My mentor, and maybe even friend, turns back to face me and steels her expression. And just like that, she slips on a mask and prepares to step back into the lion’s den.
Before the doors close completely, she says, “You’ve laid the trap well, Aubrey. Now, you just need to wait for Kevin to fall into it.”
There’s no time to respond before she’s out of view and the elevator is rising. Her words follow me back to my office and to my desk. I sit and pull my phone from where I buried it in paperwork. The text on the screen has her advice poofing into thin air.
Future Hall Of Famer: Oh, I’ve been jealous. You’ve just never paid attention.