1
The problemwith 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 glassdown. 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 likeHarvey 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.
