“Since this is my room, you’re the one in my bed.”
I looked around, seeing he was right.
“What the hell happened?”
“I would think that was obvious.” He indicated the torn condom wrappers. “We had sex.”
I gaped at him. “Why did I have sex with you? I don’t like you!”
He leaned forward, his blue eyes bright in the dim light. His smile was wicked, and I wanted to wipe it off his face with my fist. “You really liked me last night. At least three times.”
We’d had sex three times?
“At least,” he confirmed. “I’m not counting the orgasm in the car, and I think I missed one other fuck. Against the wall, I think.”
I was stunned. I stared at him, horrified. I had slept with my boss. Again.
“I can’t believe I did that,” I mumbled, gripping the blanket.
“That’s not the only thing you did, darling.”
“What could be worse?”
He studied me closely. He indicated my hand gripping the blanket.
“You married me.”
A thin, too-tight band encircled my ring finger. He held up his hand, showing me a matching ring.
“How about that for clichéd, Mrs. Richards?” He smirked.
The room spun, and my stomach heaved.
The last thing I remembered was his shout before the floor rushed toward me.
Unconsciousness had never been so welcome.
Chapter 1
Early Fall - Grace
I woke early, already eager for the day to begin. My first day as an articling student. It felt as if years had passed since my interview at Smith and Hodges, leading up to my starting with them, although it had just been a matter of months. I had been keen to reach that stage of my career and looked forward to putting into practice what I had learned. At my interview, they explained I would work with two lawyers over the course of my year in order to learn more during my time with them. I knew law students were often hired at the end of their stint, but I planned on working with the lawyer at BAM and cutting my teeth there before moving to ABC. Bill held a wealth of knowledge, and I wanted to soak it up before he retired and someone younger took his place.
When Jaxson Richards’s name was mentioned at the interview, I was excited.
And after meeting him, I had been doubly anxious.
Jaxson Richards was larger-than-life, and much to my dismay, I couldn’t stop thinking about him since our meeting. He was incredibly handsome and confident, and his blue eyes radiated intelligence. Unable to resist, I had checked him out on the internet, my eyes widening at the vast array of articles about him. He was thirty-eight, single, and had been with two other law firms in his career. Each change had moved him to a more prestigious firm, and he had been with Smith and Hodges for five years. Aside from the legal articles and the professional information the company’s website held, I came across a lot of pictures of him with women. Beautiful women. When I focused on the dates, I noticed none of them lasted long. I had shaken my head, closing the laptop. He would be my boss, and his personal life was none of my business. I was going to Smith and Hodges to learn everything I could for the next year so I could move ahead with my life. Nothing more.
If only I could convince my head to stop remembering how my hand felt within his.
And now the day I had been waiting for had arrived. The next step in my journey.
I slipped from bed, pushing my feet into my ever-present slippers, and shuffled to the kitchen. I switched on the coffee then headed to the shower. Half an hour later, I sat at my small table, sipping a cup of the hot, fragrant brew. I glanced around my apartment, the space never failing to make me happy.
I lived in a small building, nestled in the downtown core of Toronto. A five-minute walk brought me into the hustle and bustle of the city, but the street I lived on was relatively quiet. It was a two-bedroom place, filled with charm and character. Hardwood floors that squeaked underfoot, plaster walls, tall ceilings, and windows set with leaded glass trim that sparkled in the sunlight and took all my effort to open. The kitchen had real wooden cupboards, and the claw-foot tub in the bathroom was ideal for a long soak. I loved every inch of it.
My father had been horrified by my choice.
“Your uncles own some of the most luxurious apartment complexes in Toronto,” he had argued. “You have your pick. What on earth are you thinking, Gracie-girl?” he asked as he looked around, askance.
I ran my finger over the chair rail, the wood like silk under my touch. “I like this place.”
“Their buildings have security, air conditioning, and modern appliances. There is a high-rise of theirs five blocks that way if you insist on this neighborhood. I’ll call Mad Dog right now and arrange it.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “You can’t live here.”
I laid my hand on his arm. “I like this place, Dad. The neighborhood is great. The building is safe. There’s a new air conditioner in the bedroom window, and I’ll get one of those portable ones in here. I can walk up the three flights of stairs easily.” I met his eyes, lifting my eyebrows in silent reminder.
“I’m sure they have places with walk-ups,” he huffed.
“No. I like this one. The rent is reasonable, and I can walk to the bus or streetcar. There’re lots of little shops around. It’s close to school.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Money isn’t a problem, Gracie.”
My mom, who had been quiet until this point, tugged on his arm. “Richard darling, leave Gracie alone. She’s an adult, and this is her decision. I agree, this place is charming.”
She and I shared a knowing glance between us. My dad was overprotective and hated my independent streak. I had earned a scholarship to go to law school, and he had insisted I concentrate on school and not work, which hadn’t sat well with me. I had gotten a part-time job at one of the small coffee shops anyway. The pay wasn’t great, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. It gave me a chance simply to be Grace, and I met some amazing people who became friends and made a little money that was mine. My mother understood the importance of that, having had a different upbringing from my dad. He had been displeased, but as usual, supported me in my decision.
I had wavered when it was time to choose my career. I knew how much my father secretly hoped I would join him in the world of marketing. I went to school for two years before I finally admitted the truth. Marketing wasn’t my passion. I didn’t have the drive or talent my father had. The flair for design Heather possessed. The day I told my parents, they had both been shocked, but my father had insisted I stop following what I thought was his dream and concentrate on my own. He was horrified I had done something I thought would make him happy rather than pursuing my own desires. I took a little time off, did a lot of soul-searching, then registered for the next available opening in the law program in Toronto and never looked back.
I didn’t want to live on campus, and I had fallen in love with this place. My dad loved modern, sleek buildings. I preferred old, Victorian ones with character. He loved luxury and all the trappings his wealth brought him. I had been lucky growing up and always appreciated the ease I lived with, never worrying about money, but I never took it for granted. I valued how hard he worked to give us a good life. His ethics helped mold mine, and even though he grumbled over my independent streak, I knew he was proud of me.