Chapter 4
Grace
There was no doubt Mr. Richards—or Jaxson, as I was now allowed to call him—knew what he liked and also that he liked to be in charge. When we entered the mostly empty little restaurant, he pointed out a table in the corner, told me to go sit, then went to the counter and ordered. He came to the table carrying two Tsingtao beers and a bottle of water. He set them down, indicating the icy cold bottles. “Wasn’t sure if you liked Tsingtao.”
“I do.”
He pushed a bottle my way and lifted his, waiting until I had done the same. We clinked necks, and he lifted the bottle to his mouth, taking a long swallow. I had to look away. How did he make taking a sip of beer look so sexy?
I took a sip from my bottle, the cold liquid hitting my throat. I hummed in appreciation.
“I ordered a large special soup and some crispy spring rolls.”
“The special?”
He grinned. “It’s awesome. They make their own ramen, and the broth is to die for. Then they add all sorts of vegetables and top it with crispy chicken and pork.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“It is.”
We were quiet, sipping our beer and relaxing. A few moments later, the soup arrived, steaming and fragrant. A plate of spring rolls was set beside it, and smaller bowls placed in front of us.
I inhaled deeply, suddenly starving. Jaxson picked up my bowl, lading in a large portion, adding meat and vegetables. “Eat,” he instructed.
I didn’t argue. The broth was rich and flavorful, and the spring rolls with the spicy dipping sauce tasty and crisp. The chicken on the top crunched with every bite, and I moaned low in my throat at the deliciousness of the simple fare. I opened my eyes to see Jaxson staring at me, his chopsticks frozen in midair.
“What?”
“I take it you’re enjoying it.”
“Yes.”
“Am I going to get a When Harry Met Sally moment?”
For a second, I was confused, then I recalled the moment in the movie when Meg Ryan pretended to have an orgasm in the middle of the restaurant. I began to laugh, and with a wink, Jaxson joined in.
“Not quite that good. Close, but not quite.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “I see.”
I changed the subject. “How was your meeting?”
He shrugged, slurping some noodles. He chewed and swallowed, wiping his mouth.
“Boring. Once a month, we have these team-building things. I go because it’s expected.”
“You don’t enjoy them?”
He took a long swallow of his beer and studied me. “Frankly, as a rule, Grace, I’m not much of a people person.”
I tried to hide my grin and failed. “All people, or lawyer people?”
“All of them.”
“Even your friends?”
He shrugged. “My friends think I’m a dick.”
“Ah.”
He laughed darkly. “Just kidding.” His voice dropped. “I don’t have many real friends.”
I could only blink. From the tone of his voice, I knew he was serious.
“Your family?”
His expression darkened. “I have none.”
“Oh.”
The silence was uncomfortable, and I knew I had touched on a very personal subject.
“And you don’t even like to hang with other lawyers? You don’t enjoy the trust-building aspect?”
He snorted. “I wouldn’t trust any of them as far as I could throw them. I have zero desire to ‘hang’ with any of them, as you put it.”
“Is it because of your position? I imagine you’re hoping for partner?”
He shook his head. “I was offered partner at my last two firms. This offer came with immediate partnership. I turned them all down.”
I blinked. “You don’t want to be a partner?”
“No. Partnership comes with more responsibilities. It implies a lasting bond. I don’t believe in that. Nothing lasts. And the thought of having the hassle of dissolving that partnership when I leave or they want me gone doesn’t appeal.”
“Maybe that wouldn’t happen.”
He met my gaze, his eyes serious. “Nothing lasts, Grace. Everything in life shifts. That’s why divorce attorneys are in such high demand. Custody cases fill the courts. Business partners are constantly suing one another. Love dies. Friendships end. People move on. It’s inevitable.”
I was shocked by his words. “I disagree. My family is proof that love lives and thrives. That friendship can be a lifelong bond.”
“Then you’re one of the lucky few.”
“Pardon my bluntness, but that sounds like a lonely life.”
“I like your bluntness. But in my opinion, it’s a good one. I expect nothing. I want nothing. I owe no one. I rely on no one. I don’t have to conform to anyone or worry about anyone’s feelings. I live to please myself. I know nothing lasts, so there is no surprise when it ends.” He drained his beer. “And everything always ends.”
“I have no idea what to say to that statement.”
He shook his head. “I’ve shocked you, little Grace.”
“Not shocked, just saddened.”
“No need to be sad. That’s life.” He wiped his mouth. “You finished?”
“Um, yes.”
He stood. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
In the car, we were silent. His words affected me somehow. He truly believed them. I could see it in his eyes, hear the conviction in his voice.
“Grace?”
I glanced toward the sound of Jaxson’s voice.
“We’re here.”
“Oh.” I undid my seat belt. “Thank you for dinner, Jaxson.”
“Grace—” He stopped and drew in a long breath.
“Yes?”
“I’m glad your world is different from mine.”
Our eyes met in the dimness of the car. Slowly, the air changed. His expression shifted, and his eyes—his brilliant, intense ice-blue eyes melted. They warmed, no longer distant and remote, but gentle. The longer we stared, the more they changed. Ice became fire. Cold became heat. It flared and burned, making my breath catch. I felt the intensity of the moment bearing down on us. Nothing existed outside the car. Nothing mattered except now. Jaxson. His head began to lower just as mine inched forward. I shivered, knowing what was about to happen.
Then a car went by, honking the horn loudly, and the moment exploded, shattering into jagged shards of reality.
Jaxson reared back as if burned. He gripped his steering wheel.
“Thank you for your efforts this week.”
It took great determination to get out of the car without tripping. “Thank you for dinner,” I repeated, at a loss for any other words.
I shut the door and began to walk away when he lowered the window and leaned over the seat. “Wait.”
I bent down. “Yes?”
He shut his eyes, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just—have a good weekend, Gracie.”
He drove away.
I watched him go, suddenly realizing what he had called me.
Not Ms. VanRyan. Not Grace. Gracie.
Had he even realized it?