Vanessa was busting. She tried to focus on a floral arrangement half the size of a small sedan that was sitting on the coffee table, but it was hard not to jiggle her legs up and down. ‘I’m busting,’ she whispered. ‘I always need to wee when I’m nervous.’

‘Wee into the vase, no one will notice.’

Vanessa tried to laugh but she thought she might vomit. She patted her hair down for the fiftieth time and tried to will the blotches on her neck away.

‘It’s okay,’ Dave reassured her. ‘I’m all over this … Um, who are we? Why are we here? Just kidding.’

She gave him a playful poke and he dropped his briefcase. It flew open, disgorging its contents onto the floor.

‘Shit! I’m sorry.’

Her manuscript had slipped out of its bulldog clip and the pages were scattered everywhere.

‘It’s fine, don’t worry.’

Vanessa bent down to help Dave pick up the papers. As they reached for the same page their fingers touched, and she felt herself blush. Dave seemed to be blushing too—his ears were suddenly bright pink. They laughed bashfully as they shoved the pages back into his briefcase and scrambled up onto their chairs. Vanessa felt discombobulated, but in a good way. She’d liked Dave from the moment Kiri had introduced them, but she’d never expected to like him. Their eyes met again, and she looked away shyly—just as a deep voice spoke from behind them.

‘Vanessa Rooney? David Rendall?’

Vanessa turned. And almost fell off her chair again.

Marcus Stafford was standing before them like some kind of absurdly handsome apparition, and she wondered irrationally if he was real. She’d always known he was astonishingly attractive, but somehow seeing him in the flesh reduced her to a gibbering mess.

‘Marcus Stafford. Good to meet you.’

His smile exuded so much charisma that you could slice it and put it in sandwich bags. Vanessa opened her mouth but couldn’t form words. And then she realised what was happening—it was as though she’d just come face to face with Dr Magnus Maddison. Which wasn’t possible, of course, but Marcus was the spitting image of her fictional dream man, right down to his class I occlusion (or perfect teeth, in layman’s terms).

‘Good to meet you too,’ Dave screeched, then cleared his throat.

‘Thanks for coming.’ Marcus shook Vanessa’s hand and she almost swooned at his touch. Why, oh why, had she ever washed up without gloves? Her paw must feel like a wizened claw. ‘Come on in.’

Dave nervously rushed straight past her, but Marcus stood back to guide her into his chambers with his hand lightly touching the small of her back. Vanessa felt like she was wearing crinolines. She knew that made her a flawed feminist, but frankly she didn’t give a rat’s. It was so nice to feel like a lady.

Marcus directed them to plush leather chairs. His chambers were sleek and modern with piles of important-looking papers stacked on the desk and under a window that overlooked a city skyline littered with cranes. A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf was filled with hardcover legal tomes, and on the walls were photos of Marcus with various dignitaries and celebrities—but no sign of Charlotte, Vanessa noticed. She pictured Marcus tossing Charlotte’s photos onto a bonfire, tears running down his chiselled cheeks as he stood alone in the darkness … But hang on—he was asking if they wanted coffee or tea.

‘Can I have a double decaf chai latte with soy?’ Dave quipped, but his tone was strained and, although Marcus chuckled politely, the joke fell flat. ‘Just kidding,’ said Dave, red-faced. ‘I’m fine.’

Vanessa felt for him. ‘I’m fine too, thank you,’ she managed. It was a pretty paltry effort, but at least she’d strung a few words together now.

Marcus took a seat behind his desk. ‘Okay, then.’ He leaned back, exuding an air of unhurried confidence as he studied them with his azure-blue eyes. Vanessa could tell he was curious, and why wouldn’t he be? For all his politeness, he was probably thinking that she was delusional. She felt a sudden urge to cry, ‘Forget the whole thing,’ and run from the room.

‘So, you believe you have grounds for a breach-of-copyright suit against Charlotte Lancaster?’

‘That’s right,’ Dave confirmed. ‘I think it’s a cut-and-dried case of …’ He fumbled around in his briefcase. ‘Sorry. I dropped my briefcase and everything got out of order.’

‘It was my fault,’ Vanessa felt compelled to confess. ‘I poked him.’ Why should Dave be the only one with egg on his face?

‘Vanessa, why don’t you tell me exactly what happened?’

Marcus sounded genuinely interested, and Vanessa felt her pounding heart settle. She told him everything—from the day she first started writing Lost and Found Heart right up to Charlotte and Chip Lancaster’s attempt to pay her off.

Marcus listened intently and, when she’d concluded, Dave showed him a few passages from Charlotte’s novel and Vanessa’s manuscript, which he’d managed to scramble back into order. As Marcus flicked through the two stories, Vanessa was struck by a gleam in his eyes. Was it anger on her behalf or glee at his ex-wife’s expense? Either way, who could blame him? A small tic pulsed in his left cheek as he tossed both stories down on the desk.

‘This is egregious,’ he declared masterfully. His voice had the timbre of Russell Crowe’s but came in an infinitely sexier package. ‘You’re a dental assistant on a modest wage.’

‘Anthony would pay me more if he could.’

‘But you’re trying to raise two kids on your own.’

‘My ex-husband gives me child support, but—’

‘But your finances aren’t what they could have been, are they? That book should have been a ticket to a better life for you and your kids.’

He was right. He’d just articulated what she’d been thinking but hadn’t dared to say aloud. They were so in sync! Vanessa couldn’t help noticing that, even furrowed with indignation, Marcus’ eyebrows were perfectly aligned.

‘I’m glad you agree,’ Dave chimed in. ‘I’ve advised Vanessa that we can seek orders for Charlotte’s novel to be withdrawn from publication and all the remaining copies destroyed.’

‘We can do a lot better than that. Vanessa, in my view you’re entitled to an account of the profits the defendants have made from the copyright infringement—meaning that, if we’re successful, the court will award you all the profits that both Charl—I mean Ms Lancaster and Wax have made from Love Transplant. I’ve done some cursory research and, while it hasn’t sold as well as some of her other books, that would still be a sizeable sum—at least a couple of hundred thousand dollars.’

Vanessa nearly flipped out. ‘A couple of hundred thousand dollars?’

‘Better than a poke in the eye with a blunt stick, eh?’ Dave grinned.

‘Indeed. That’s if the court accepts our argument, of course—but I believe it will.’

‘Excellent! So you’ll take the brief?’ Dave asked, or something like that. It was hard to focus on Dave right now, because Marcus was focused on her again. For the first time, Vanessa noticed purple smudges under his eyes, and she wondered if he’d been lying awake, grieving for Charlotte. She imagined the moonlight glowing through his bedroom window, casting silver light on his broad, bare chest—but she forced herself back to the present.

‘You deserve to be compensated for the year you spent writing this book and the several decades you would have spent enjoying the fruits of that labour, and I think I can make that happen. If we win, you pay me. If we lose, you don’t. Fair?’

‘You mean, you will do it for no win, no fee?’

Marcus nodded and Vanessa felt a ridiculous urge to reach out and touch his stubble. She imagined Charlotte running her fingers over that manly jaw … but Charlotte had broken Marcus’s heart. Would pursuing this case take too great a personal toll on him?

‘I’m not saying it won’t be awkward,’ Marcus conceded, as though he’d read her mind, ‘but regardless of my ex-wife’s involvement, this is the most outrageous case of breach of copyright I’ve ever encountered.’

Wow.

‘You’ll need to keep the back-up drive stored safely in your office,’ he instructed Dave. ‘The document’s dated, so it’s our only evidence that Vanessa wrote her novel before Charlotte published Love Transplant. At this point we don’t have proof of the email trail between Vanessa and Wax, so obviously you’ll need to issue interlocutory applications for Wax’s records.’

‘Uh, yeah, obviously.’ Dave made a note with a chewed biro.

‘And, Vanessa, I’d like you to keep a USB copy at home.’

Vanessa nodded. She was glad that she was sitting down because she thought her knees might just have melted. Marcus was so commanding.

Dave pulled Joy’s photo out of his briefcase. ‘We do have this dated photo of Vanessa sending her manuscript to Wax.’

Marcus glanced at it for a millisecond then tossed it down. ‘It’s taken from behind the laptop. She could be sending anything to anyone.’

‘Yeah, I know, but I thought I should mention it. And you don’t think our witness accounts will fly?’

‘Vanessa’s mother and friends? Charlotte’s legal team will eat them alive.’

‘Of course.’ Dave looked embarrassed. He pulled out the small triangular piece of the contract that Vanessa had wrested from Chip. ‘And I guess this … No, of course not,’ he said—or something similar; Vanessa found that Dave was growing a bit blurry in the face of Marcus’s magnetism.

‘Obviously your first step is to issue a writ in the Federal Court. I’ll draft the statement of claim for you. Charlotte’s a celebrity, so the media will be all over this—we’ll use the twenty-four-hour news cycle to our advantage.’

Oh God. The twenty-four-hour news cycle.

Vanessa felt all her panic return and squeeze her in its sickly clutches. Surely there must be another way.

‘Couldn’t we try to keep things under the radar?’ she suggested.

Marcus stood and walked around to lean against her side of the desk. He was so close that their legs were almost touching.

‘It’s a strategic advantage. The media glare will reflect so negatively on Charlotte and Wax that they’ll just want to make it go away.’

They won’t be the only ones, thought Vanessa.

‘Could we use the name Mia Fontaine, so nobody knows it’s me?’ Marcus shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. All the court documents will have to be lodged in your real name.’

Oh. For a second Vanessa wondered if she might actually vomit on his carpet. She steeled herself to ask another question that she’d rather not know the answer to. ‘And do you think it could get ugly?’ ‘Yes. There’s a strong chance that things will be quite unpleasant for a while, but I don’t want you to worry—I think we can pressure them into settling quickly. Will you trust me, Vanessa?’

Up close he smelled like cinnamon and the sea. Their eyes locked and Vanessa realised that she’d never felt so safe. She nodded.

‘Thank you. I won’t let you down.’

Marcus put his hand lightly on her shoulder and a bolt of electricity shot straight from her clavicle to her groin. Meanwhile Dave’s lips seemed to be moving. Vanessa assumed he must be saying something, but she couldn’t hear a word.

Late that night she lay in bed, bathing in memories of Marcus. His heart-stopping smile, the thrill of his touch, his self-assurance and certainty. Maybe she could actually win the case? The whole thing still terrified her, but now there was another feeling—a secret joy she hugged to her chest. She’d been too quick to dismiss poor Mrs Flannery; after all, one of Australia’s leading intellectual property authorities had just confirmed that her novel was good enough to be stolen!

All evening her mind had been racing with ideas for her next book, Child’s Play, the story of a spirited nanny who clashes with a brooding widower with a dark secret. She knew that Child’s Play owed a lot to Jane Eyre but, from what Vanessa could gather, you were allowed to copy a famous story as long as you called it a ‘reimagining’. But, then, did that mean Charlotte Lancaster had ‘reimagined’ Lost and Found Heart? The thought changed everything. Vanessa decided to come up with another story, something one hundred per cent original. She’d already done it once, hadn’t she?