Page 5

“Okay. Well, that doesn’t sound horrendous. Were you using heavy machinery?”

“Mostly nail guns.”

“Seriously?” An office tower had been built across from my office about seven years ago. That had been noise. A few nail guns? “Okay. Did we get a ticket? I’m happy to pay it—”

“She threatened to shut us down.”

“What?”

“Bylaw enforcement takes noise violations seriously. We promised not to do it again, and I promise we’ve started five minutes late and ended five minutes early since.”

“Did that appease the guy?” Because, seriously, what was his problem?

“He came by yesterday, and I took the opportunity to apologize to him. He seems like a good guy. His name’s Gideon. His grandparents owned the property—”

“I don’t really care what his name is. Or who owned the property.” My chest was tingling, and the thought of more pain wasn’t pleasant. “If you think money will work…”

A long pause. Finally, “that’s not how we do things. That would, I promise, make it worse.”

Right.

Because not all problems can be solved with money .

“You apologized…?”

“Yes. And he said he understood. He’s got some medical—”

“So it’s resolved?” I needed peace and this wasn’t getting me there.

“Uh, yes. I just wanted to keep you informed of what had happened. I waited a couple of days to ensure there were no more issues. We appear to be in the clear.”

“Well, that’s good to know. Definitely keep me apprised of anything else that happens. I trust you.” And was paying her big bucks, but I’d never bring that up. “We’re on track?”

“We got the work done, yes. The inspector is coming out to sign off on a couple of things, but things are moving forward.”

I could ask for specifics—but I never did. I trusted her. As I’d said. “I plan a visit. Soon.”

“That would be good.” She chuckled. “I haven’t seen you since you hired me.”

She’d driven into Vancouver with the plans, her quote, and a promise to do a kickass job. She’d sent weekly updates with photographs.

Somehow, I hadn’t found the time to get out there. Between Thea and a couple of important cases, making a way to Mission City hadn’t been a priority. Maybe because I thought she could do a grand reveal? If I had problems, though, they would be much harder to fix. But I’d pony up extra money if required.

Money could solve all problems.

“We’re good?”

“Yes, Archer. We’re good.”

“Great. It’s Friday night. Take some time off.”

“We’ll be back at it tomorrow morning.”

God, she even works weekends. Did I know that? Better factor that in with the bonus . We didn’t have a written agreement, but I’d set aside extra money to reward being on time and on budget. Extra if she came in early and if I loved the place as much as I thought I would.

“Goodnight, Archer.”

“Thank you, Riley.”

She cut the line.

Slowly, I placed the phone back on the nightstand.

Gideon . Okay, so my problem had a name. All problems could be fixed. If he complained again, I’d go see him myself. I could charm anyone. Even Thea admitted that when she presented the divorce papers. You charm everyone. It won’t work on me anymore. Don’t try to talk me out of this. Just sign, pay me what I’m due, and we’ll move on with our lives.

Oh, and that she was moving in with her trainer.

Right.

So…apparently she was now impervious to my charms. Good to know.

I let out a long sigh. Then I lay on my back and placed my hand over my heart. That seemed like a logical thing to do. Except I couldn’t feel it beating. So I pressed my finger to my carotid artery. Which was fanciful because even in those first aid classes I’d taken in high school, I’d never been able to find it. Oh, radial pulse. I’d always had better luck with my wrist and, in fact, within moments I found it.

Strong.

I tried counting. Only I didn’t have a good sense of time—and couldn’t remember what a normal heart rate was—so the exercise was pointless.

A panic attack. You just had a panic attack.

Okay…but why?

The thought of starting your life over at thirty-nine. The hope that someone might find you attractive on the inside. That they won’t gaze at you and only judge by your good looks.

I got that a lot. Many an opposing attorney had looked at me and thought he’s too pretty to be smart . At least until I’d solidified my reputation. Now, only the uninitiated—or those who’d been living under a rock—dared to think I was anything but a piranha who would destroy them.

Kill them?

What exactly did piranhas do?

A shark. I was a shark. I was some kind of apex predator.

And until Thea left, that had been enough. I had my pro bono clients. Usually abused spouses. Or spouses with abused children. Because that I couldn’t abide. Spouses—usually men, but not always—who abused others. Who beat up their wives, sexually abused their children. Just grotesque behavior. Hell, I’d helped a few of them wind up in jail. And I’d helped more than a few clients escape and start new lives.

Not as many as you could have. Because if someone asked you to list your accomplishments, you would say money first with the helping of others a distant second.

Jesus, so snarky.

Not wrong—but so damn snarky.

I rubbed my face with my hands. I wasn’t going to die tonight. Hell, I wasn’t going to die for another fifty years.

Grandpa Chamberlain had a bad ticker.

Sure, but all my other relatives lived nice long lives.

Your point?

That if I died tonight, I wouldn’t be remembered for the people I’d helped. Most of that had been done in the shadows—where no one would ever know. No, I’d be remembered as one of the best—if not the best—divorce attorneys in Vancouver. That had always been enough. That had always been my high-water mark. The pinnacle of my professional success.

What about Muriel and her three children?

A success story. Her husband had threatened her repeatedly if she tried to leave him. The most dangerous time for a woman and her children was after she’d decided to leave and thereafter. Some men wouldn’t let go. Some men believed they owned their wives.

Muriel’s husband had believed that. He’s even killed their cat to prove his point. Well, he’d told the kids that the cat had run away while assuring Muriel the fucking creature would never be heard from again.

She’d known what that meant. Their beloved pet hadn’t been rehomed or taken to a shelter. No, she was dead. As Muriel would be if she left.

But she’d seen the writing on the wall. Had believed she’d die if she stayed. And the children likely would as well.

She’d reached out to a shelter.

Who had called me.

I’d been there every step of the way.

Muriel and the kids now lived in Brockville, back east in Ontario. With a friend’s great aunt. No way for her to be traced. And I’d worked on getting her new paperwork—a new identity.

I’d had the pleasure of serving the divorce papers on the bastard myself.

As predicted, he’d taken a swing at me.

That had landed him in jail

And secured a permanent injunction against ever seeing the kids again. Muriel had quietly documented the abuse—the evidence I was happily willing to file with the court.

She was safe. Well, as safe as she could be. The entire family was in counseling, but they had a fresh start.

And I ran regular checks on the ex—planning to make his life miserable if he tried any other shit. I couldn’t protect all the women out there from him…but I could keep an eye on him.

See? I did good.

Tonight, though? That victory felt hollow.

Because there were too few Muriels and far more clients who paid big bucks to be extracted from marriages they were merely unhappy in. Nothing wrong with that. Except I, for all my experience, felt marriage should be taken more seriously. So many people entered it without considering ramifications. Added kids and then treated them like ornaments.

Now, reflecting on those rich clients, I felt like I’d somehow had everything backward in this life. That I didn’t know what was really important.

That I hadn’t done enough.

I can do better. How hard would it be to do better? A couple of phone calls to various legal aid departments. Contacting social workers at a few shelters I’d worked with in the past. I’d just finished two huge divorce settlements. One for a rockstar—who’d discovered her wife was cheating on her and had stolen a bunch of her money.

Ouch.

And a celebrity couple. No infidelity, interestingly. Nope, just two people who’d been together for fifteen years and had decided they hated each other and their marriage had been the biggest mistake of their lives. No kids, thank God. Just a shit ton of assets to be divvied up. That decoupling required weeks of intense negotiations. I didn’t feel badly about the amount of hours billed, because my client wound up doing nicely. In fact, she’d given me a hundred grand as a bonus.

Which I wasn’t supposed to accept.

She found a way, and that way was legal, so I just let it go.

You should donate that money.

Yeah, I really should.

You’ll get a tax receipt.

I chuckled at my inner voice. Always a mercenary at heart. On that note, I closed my eyes. I didn’t make a memo because the next time I checked my bank balance, that money would be sitting there. I had yet to move it to my brokerage account. Or to park it somewhere so I could put it toward the construction of my new home. I needed the place to help me relax—so why not use money obtained through a stressful time to help pay for the retreat?

You can justify anything. Talk yourself into anything.

Of course I could…that was why I made such a great lawyer.

You want better. You want to turn over a new leaf.

Uh…yeah. That’s what tonight was supposed to be. I’d chosen my first night out to be with a man, but it could’ve just as easily been a woman. A warm body to bring me pleasure and comfort in a way I hadn’t had for a long time. Someone to remind me what passion looked like. What being alive felt like.

An experience to hold with me when I went back to my fast-paced, high-stress life. Changing up something in my life. As much as I loved my family, they weren’t enough. I needed more. Life-affirming ardor. Proof that, as hurt as I was, that I still lived. My heart still beat. Breath still filled my lungs. Blood still thrummed through my veins.

I want to do better.

That was my voice—not the inner snarky one dominating tonight. I could do better. I would do better. I’d make the phone calls to find more clients who would never be able to afford me. I’d offer to babysit for each of my siblings so they could have a night out with their spouse. I’d drop by my parents’ house and cook pancakes so they’d have breakfast in bed.

That means getting out of bed in less than six hours.

Okay, Sunday morning would work just fine. And I’d better call ahead because Mom was always up so early.

Right.

I had a plan.

Something workable. Something realistic. Something executable.

I also held firm to the notion that somewhere out in the big, wide world, there was the perfect person for me. Man…woman…I didn’t care. Just not some slimy, brawny dude named Chevy. No, I could do better than him.

Today was my awakening. Tomorrow I’d get to work.

On that note, I closed my eyes and willed myself to sleep.

With the niggling worry that I might not wake up.

Oh well. The fatalist in me was vaguely amused at the notion…and then I slipped into sleep.

Want to know what happens to Archer and his picky new neighbor? Grab your copy of Gideon’s Gratitude , Love in Mission City book 5, coming soon!