Monday morning, there was no sign of the man who’d insisted on driving me home and getting me soup. He was removed and cool, although he did still call me Grace and he didn’t correct me when I called him Jaxson the first time.
Michael grinned. “Earned it, did you?” he whispered.
“I guess so.”
He high-fived me. “Took me two weeks. You go, girlfriend.”
Jaxson reappeared as our hands hit, and he stopped, watching us with narrowed eyes.
Michael grinned at him. “You need something?”
“Make sure Grace’s schedule contains her allotted study time. And be sure she uses it.” His glare encompassed us both. “I don’t want to have to listen to the partners complain I’m ignoring the guidelines set out for articling students.”
He turned and went back to his office, the slam of the door echoing.
I cringed, but Michael ignored it. “You heard him,” he stated. “Wednesday and Friday, I’m slotting your hours in. For the love of god, take them.”
The hypothetical notes still appeared on my desk, although our discussions were far shorter, and a couple of times, all I got was a fast “Good work,” as he passed my desk the next morning. I missed those moments with him. Seeing his smile light up his eyes and hearing his low, rich baritone voice say the words. The logical part of me knew it shouldn’t matter. He was my boss—nothing more. I barely knew him. But somehow, in some way, it mattered a great deal.
He seemed wound tighter than usual, which made me tense and wary. I was having trouble sleeping and felt tired by the end of the day. At times, I had difficulty concentrating, which was highly unusual for me. It felt as if I were somehow connected to him and his moods were affecting me. It was all very confusing.
Thursday morning, I picked up the notepaper, reading the lesson for the day. It involved trademarks, which was one of my favorite subjects, and I was eager to start on it. Between that and the files on my desk, it was a busy day and time flew by.
In the afternoon, Jaxson’s office door was flung open, and he strode out, his face like thunder.
“With me,” he snapped, meeting my eyes. “We have to go to the courthouse.”
Jaxson had been on a tear all day. He’d argued with one of the partners, his muffled voice carrying his displeasure through the closed doors. He’d yelled at Michael about his calendar, which, when I peeked at it, was as orderly and organized as ever. Usually eating something helped calm him, but today, that didn’t work.
He stormed from his office, tossing the sandwich in the wastebasket beside Michael.
“Drowning in mayo, for fuck’s sake,” he roared. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Michael looked at him then down at the wastebasket. “No, I think you’ll do that yourself with your high blood pressure,” he stated mildly.
“Get me another one and watch how they make it.” He strode back into his office, slamming the door so hard it shook.
“I’ll go,” I offered. “I could use the fresh air.”
He shook his head. “He would freak over that. Trust me. I’ll go.” Then he grinned. “But I think I’ll do a little window-shopping while I’m out.”
“You shouldn’t push him.”
“He deserves to be pushed.”
Jaxson came out twice to check where Michael was. Luckily, I was on the phone both times, so I only heard his mutterings and threats about needing a new assistant.
Michael took him his sandwich, telling him the deli had been crazy, and walked back out, shutting the door and Jaxson’s diatribe off behind him. He threw me a wink and sat at his desk.
Jaxson hadn’t come out of his office again until now.
Michael shot me an apologetic glance, and I grabbed my purse and hurried after Jaxson.
“What is it?”
“The documents you took to the courthouse yesterday appear to be missing.”
“What? I handed them right to the clerk exactly as you instructed me.” I protested.
“She says differently.”
“Jaxson, I took them.”
“We’re going down there to sort this out. Since it’s your error, you’re coming with me.”
The elevator doors opened, and he stepped in. I realized too late he expected me to join him.
“I’ll take the stairs and meet you downstairs.”
“We don’t have time for that nonsense.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me into the elevator, the doors gliding shut behind me before I could protest.
I pushed myself back into the corner and shut my eyes. Seven floors to the basement where the garage was located. It was just seven floors. I began to recite the words in my head I had been taught. I am safe. I can breathe. I can do this.
Except the doors opened on the floor below us, and the elevator was suddenly full. Instantly, I felt the heat rise around me. My chest constricted, and I struggled to get enough oxygen to fill my lungs. It didn’t help when a child at the front of the crowd pressed every button, causing the elevator to stop every few moments, the jolt causing my stomach to lurch. People in the elevator groaned, and the child’s mother chastised him. I wanted to push through the people and escape, but I couldn’t get my feet to cooperate. I felt a sheen of moisture on the back of my neck, and I tightened my hand on the rail behind me, keeping my head down and reciting calming words to myself.
Then I felt it. Jaxson’s ever-present heat. He was close. Far closer than he had been, somehow moving in next to me. He slid his arm around my waist, drawing me tight to his side. He spoke quietly close to my ear, so only I could hear.
“Hold on to me, Grace. I have you.”
He shifted, his hand running up and down my back under my jacket in long, soothing passes. Of its own violation, my hand released itself from the rail and gripped on to his suit jacket, the texture of the fine wool soft under my fingers. I let myself feel him. His warmth. The scent of him, spicy and rich, filled my head. My panic loosened, and I inhaled deeply. Jaxson gripped my hip, guiding me from the now-empty elevator and into the parking garage. He didn’t say anything until we reached his car. He unlocked the door and gently pushed me into the passenger seat. He crouched down beside the car.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“That was embarrassing.”
He pursed his lips and shook his head. “You’re claustrophobic,” he stated.
“Yes.”
“No one but me noticed. You’re very good at hiding it.”
“I hate it.”
He shocked me when he half rose and slid his fingers around the back of my neck. He leaned in close and pressed his lips to my forehead, his mouth lingering. Then he stood and shut the door, rounding the car and sliding into the driver’s seat.
“That’s why you take the stairs.”
“Yes.”
“You can’t be in an elevator at all?”
“If I prepare myself, I can.”
He let out a humorless chuckle. “I didn’t exactly give you the chance.”
“You didn’t know.”
He regarded me for a moment then started the car. “I do now. And it won’t happen again. I’m sorry, Grace.”