A siren wailed its way through the city streets below as Charlotte Lancaster and her father Chip stared at the manuscript in horror.

‘Oh, and I should mention,’ Vanessa added, ‘I also have a copy of the email correspondence between myself and Amy Dunphy.’

Mike Schwartz exchanged an alarmed glance with Charlotte’s barrister, Graham Goetze. Alan McManus, the publisher at Wax, looked apoplectic. And as for Charlotte—that was the most gratifying part of all—she looked like she’d just bungee-jumped off a bridge and someone had called out after her, ‘Oops, the elastic broke.’

‘Amy! That little bitch. What are we going to do?’

‘Shut up,’ Chip barked.

‘Can we see that?’ Mike asked Vanessa.

She could tell his smile was masking panic, and she thought, I know the feeling.

She handed Mike the manuscript, and as he and the others pored over it, she took the time to rally. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she wiped her clammy palms on her best summer dress. Marianne Winton was interstate and wouldn’t be back until late tonight, so with the trial due to start at 9 am tomorrow, Vanessa had convened this meeting in Graham Goetze’s chambers solo. Glancing around his immaculate office she saw a miniature thatched hut on his desk with a plaque that read: with appreciation from efoki village. It rang a bell. Had Marcus mentioned something once? But she couldn’t ask Marcus because he wasn’t here—she hadn’t bothered calling him. He was hardly an objective negotiator and, besides, she didn’t need him. The realisation had empowered her, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t petrified. It was five against one.

‘I want a settlement,’ she demanded, cursing the quiver in her voice.

‘Let’s wait for your counsel before we discuss this,’ Graham suggested pleasantly. He was short and stumpy with ears that seemed strangely out of proportion—but he exuded an air of authority. ‘My PA’s just called Stafford, and he’s right across the road.’

‘No. You shouldn’t have made that call. I told you, I’m handling this myself.’

They all exchanged shifty glances, and then Chip gave Vanessa a dazzling smile. She could see his evil corporate negotiating skills kicking in.

‘I underestimated you, didn’t I, Ness? More fool me. You’re obviously the kind of smart operator who’d prove an asset in a high-paying executive role in my company.’

‘You can’t bribe me with a job,’ Vanessa told him disgustedly. ‘You just said you’d underestimated me, but apparently you still think I’m stupid.’

She was quite pleased with that riposte. There was a nonplussed silence, and then Alan McManus exhaled loudly. His bald head was bright red.

‘How much do you want?’

‘Alan …’ Mike Schwartz said warningly.

‘She’s got the evidence—it’s over. Well? How much do you want?’

Vanessa quailed inwardly. ‘Feel the fear and do it anyway,’ she heard her mum say.

‘I want three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.’

‘Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars!?!’

‘Yes. I want three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, plus my legal fees and a guarantee that Amy Dunphy will keep her job. Or I’ll go to Buzzfeed and Facebook and Twitter—and I’ll see you in court.’

At this, Charlotte flipped out. ‘For God’s sake, just give it to her! If this comes out, I’ll lose the TV deal.’

The TV deal? What TV deal?

‘Charlotte, shut up.’ Chip roared.

Looking mutinous, Charlotte obeyed.

Vanessa turned back to see Mike Schwartz and Graham Goetze exchanging shrewd glances.

‘Three hundred and fifty thousand seems like a reasonable starting point,’ Mike said equably.

Graham nodded. ‘I agree. I’m sure we can come to an equitable arrangement with a bit more discussion.’

‘I’m not discussing anything,’ Vanessa said firmly. ‘I’ve told you my terms.’

She was proud of how ‘badass’ she sounded, and she wished the boys were here to see it. Meanwhile, Charlotte was making panicky noises.

Alan rounded on her. ‘Be quiet,’ he snarled. ‘This is all your fault.’ He turned to Vanessa. ‘All right, you can have it: three hundred and fifty grand, and Amy keeps her job.’

‘Oh, thank God!’ Charlotte exclaimed. ‘But we need a confidentiality clause—’

‘I’m not a fool,’ Alan cut across her. ‘Of course, we’ll only pay out on the strict condition of confidentiality.’

Vanessa’s heart did a victorious little leap. ‘Done.’

‘But we’re not paying your legal fees.’

The door burst open and Marcus appeared, looking tanned and astonishingly handsome in an artfully crumpled linen suit.

‘What the fuck’s going on?’

‘I’ve just settled,’ Vanessa informed him.

She couldn’t help thinking how gratifying it was to see one of the legal profession’s most articulate practitioners gawp like a constipated goldfish. She showed him the manuscript and waved the emails.

‘How did you get all this?’ he demanded. ‘When did—’

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s over.’

‘Like hell it is.’ Marcus’s face was fuchsia with fury. ‘You can’t cut me out of the loop.’

‘I just did.’

Marcus looked to Graham and Mike. They nodded in confirmation, and it seemed to Vanessa that Graham Goetze was hiding a smirk.

‘Poor Marcus. There goes your chance to destroy me in the witness box,’ Charlotte said maliciously, and Vanessa wondered how she’d ever held such a loathsome woman in such high esteem. Chip marched over to Marcus and, even though Marcus was at least a head taller, for a second Vanessa thought that Chip was going to punch him.

‘God knows, I felt sorry for you with all of Charlotte’s goddamned shenanigans, but you’ve behaved reprehensibly,’ he bellowed at Marcus. ‘Why couldn’t you just take it like a man instead of trying to destroy all the success that Charlotte’s earned for herself?’

‘That she’s earned for herself?’ Marcus scoffed. ‘Lotts owes all her success to me.’

Vanessa was no fan of Charlotte’s anymore, but she thought that was a bit of a stretch, and Marcus must have too, because he quickly qualified: ‘What I meant to say is, ah, what I meant was, ah … I meant, obviously, as Charlotte’s spouse I offered her moral support and, ah …’

‘Will I tell them what you really meant, Marcus?’ Charlotte said with a sneer as he trailed off.

They stared at each other with such intensity that Vanessa could almost see the steam rising.

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

But Charlotte just smiled blithely. She crossed her long honey-tanned legs and Vanessa noticed for the first time that she was knock-kneed.

‘I’m moving on to greener pastures, so what do I care?’ She turned to the room at large and announced, ‘Marcus co-wrote six of my novels.’

Come again?!

Vanessa and the others gaped at Marcus as he attempted a derisive snort, but there was no stopping Charlotte now. She was clearly having the time of her life as she twisted the knife. ‘Isabelle’s nipples hardened like pink cherries at his brutish touch.’ She turned to Vanessa. ‘Sound familiar?’

‘That’s from A Healing Heart.’

‘He wrote it.’

‘You’re a fantasist!’ Marcus said, throwing his head back and roaring with unconvincing laughter. He turned to Graham. ‘Surely you’re not going to take the word of a plagiarist?’

But Graham and Mike were openly snickering now, and Alan McManus looked like someone had slapped him across the face with a wet mullet.

‘What the hell?’

‘I’m sorry, Alan,’ Charlotte said, with an apologetic expression that Vanessa thought was transparently fake, ‘but Marcus wouldn’t let me tell you. We couldn’t risk his precious reputation as a cutting-edge intellect, could we, Marcus? But it does seem a shame that you’ve never been able to take a bow for your superlative prose. Her back arched like a cat in the sunlight as she gasped in ecstasy. A personal favourite.’

Vanessa recognised that sentence from Emergency Love, Charlotte’s third novel. And Marcus had written it? This was hilarious. She found herself stifling giggles.

‘Well, Marcus, your florid turn of phrase in the courtroom’s got nothing on that,’ Graham said, when he’d stopped laughing long enough to speak.

Marcus’s head looked in danger of exploding. Mike was trying to rein in his mirth, but Chip seemed more perplexed than amused.

‘What are you talking about?’ he demanded of Charlotte. ‘How did this happen?’

Charlotte shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Dad, I know I should have told you, but I was too scared to defy Marcus.’

Yeah, right, thought Vanessa. The only thing you’d ever be scared of is a compact without a mirror.

‘I wrote Intensive Caring solo, but then I met Marcus and we wrote the next six books together. But Marcus was so obsessed with his reputation as an erudite intellectual that he insisted I take the sole credit.’

‘She’s lying,’ Marcus interjected limply, but no one was listening to him anymore.

‘The six novels we co-wrote were bestsellers, as we all know, but on a personal level I was starting to struggle with Marcus’s control issues …’

Vanessa felt a flash of solidarity. I hear you, sister, she thought, before remembering that Charlotte was no friend of hers.

‘And then I met Ned, and I tried to fight it, but we fell in love, so I left Marcus. And I thought, Well, I’ll just have to write by myself again. How hard can it be? But then I discovered that I was so cowed by Marcus’s bullying that I’d forgotten how. I had writer’s block. It was devastating. I was terrified of letting my readers down … there’s so much pressure.’ Her bottom lip wobbled ‘vulnerably’, and every man in the room except for Marcus rushed to offer her a hanky. She took them all. ‘Thank you … So in desperation …’ She dabbed at eyes that looked suspiciously dry to Vanessa. ‘Well, you all know the rest.’

The men nodded fawningly and Chip patted her back. Vanessa was suddenly overcome with revulsion. She’d had enough of this venal self-serving lot to last her a lifetime.

‘I’m leaving. I need a shower.’ She stood and walked to the door.

‘I’ll get the settlement drafted today and send it to Marianne,’ Mike said.

‘Oh, and you can also expect my invoice, Vanessa,’ Marcus added coldly. ‘For one hundred thousand dollars.’

A hundred grand?! Vanessa felt the blood drain from her face, but before she could say anything, Graham stepped in.

‘Aren’t you forgetting something, Marcus? Vanessa negotiated this settlement, not you. And it might elicit some interesting reactions if our fellow members of the bar were to find out about your tumescent prose.’

Marcus’s humiliation was complete. It was like he was literally deflating in front of Vanessa’s eyes.

‘All right,’ he spat ungraciously. ‘I’ll forgo my fee.’

‘Thank you,’ Vanessa replied, and then she turned to Graham. ‘And thank you too.’ It seemed only polite, even though blind Freddy could see that Graham had only intervened to spite Marcus.

Head high, Vanessa took her leave of the nest of vipers and walked out to the marble-lined foyer. She stopped at the lift and pressed the down button.

‘Wait!’

She turned to see Alan McManus behind her. Oh, great. What now?

‘Just for the record, I didn’t know about Charlotte’s plagiarism until after Love Transplant was published.’

Vanessa believed him, but so what? ‘You still perpetuated the lie.’

‘I was in an invidious position.’

Weren’t we all, mate, she thought.

Alan scratched at his fulsome beard that seemed at odds with his bald head. ‘But I’d like to talk about something else,’ he transitioned smoothly. ‘I want to offer you a contract with Wax.’

A contract? Really?

‘Love Transplant’s sales were modest by Charlotte’s standards, but for a novice author they warrant a second book. And we’d give you an advance—a generous one, obviously, because of this bloody mess. Are you interested?’

Was she interested?! Adrenaline coursed through Vanessa’s veins, but she feigned nonchalance. ‘Actually, I’m already working on my new romance.’

‘Terrific! Fortuitous timing, then.’

‘Yeah. It’s about a veterinary nurse who falls in love with a suburban solicitor who catches her bus and—’

‘Stop right there,’ Alan interrupted. ‘No suburban solicitors.’

Vanessa frowned. ‘Why not?’

‘Women read romance because they’re married to suburban solicitors. The brief’s simple—an obscenely rich bloke with an attitude to match. And for Christ’s sake, forget the bus, Wax’s heroes have got their own helicopters.’

‘But I don’t want to write about that kind of man,’ Vanessa protested.

‘Of course you do—you’re a romance writer.’

‘But who says that ordinary men like suburban solicitors can’t be romantic heroes?’

‘I do. The offer of a contract is still open, but the hero has to be an alpha male with a bulging wallet. Take it or leave it.’

Vanessa weighed this up for a millisecond. ‘Thanks very much, but I’ll leave it.’

Ping!

The lift arrived. Vanessa stepped inside and saw Alan McManus’s astounded face reflected in the mirror. The lift doors closed and her heart thumped against her ribs all the way down to the ground floor.

Ping!

As she stepped out of the lift, she was overcome by an urge to ring Dave and share her news. After all, he’d been her lawyer until four months ago—he’d laid all the groundwork, surely he had a right to know? She rehearsed a casual tone in her mind. ‘Oh, Dave, hey, just thought I’d give you a quick call to let you know that I’ve negotiated a settlement solo. Three hundred and fifty thousand. Not bad, eh?’ She pictured Dave’s smile and heard his warm voice glowing with pride. ‘Good for you, Vanessa! Why don’t I go and get some bubbles and we’ll celebrate?’

She was so lost in the fantasy that she accidentally did two loops of the revolving door at the entrance, and it brought her back to reality. She couldn’t call Dave. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want to be involved in the case and, besides, he and Heather were probably engaged by now. She wondered if they’d have a church wedding. Unlikely; Dave was an atheist and Heather was the unsentimental type. Did that mean she wouldn’t go too bridal? Maybe they’d toss convention aside and elope? Vanessa pictured Dave and Heather hand in hand under a palm tree, exchanging funny but heartfelt vows against a burnished sunset. It was torture. She had to stop doing this to herself.

She took out her phone and, before she could change her mind, she deleted Dave from her address book. She told herself she should feel relieved but, of course, she just felt like crap. To distract herself, she left a message for Marianne Winton, and then she headed home to share the good news.