ONE
DELANEY
Present Day
My phone rings as I’m rushing out the door to my car and I groan in defeat. I know the ringtone and I‘m well aware of the consequences for not answering—I’ve experienced them enough to know what my night holds—anniversary be damned.
The song starts again just as I make it to the car, hastily digging through my unorganized purse for my keys, mashing the stubborn unlock button with my thumb as I juggle everything in my arms. As the most recently appointed junior partner at Tyson, Stillwater, & Burke, I often work long hours at the office, and, more nights than not, I take home rolls of blueprints.
After graduation, with a collection of majors and minors, I moved from job to job, never quite fitting in. When my parents remodeled their house, they asked for my help since I was between jobs. One of my mom’s friends stopped by and was impressed. After a long discussion, she offered me an entry-level position with her interior design firm, providing I pursued a formal education in the field.
I graduated summa cum laude with a masters in interior design three years ago and I haven’t looked back. During college and grad school, I was too busy to bother with relationships. As far as I was concerned, guys only wanted one thing, and it was one of the things I wasn’t willing to give them.
The tubes spill out of my arms as I reach for the door handle, and I curse as they bounce and roll across the wet parking lot. Opening the door, I dump my purse out, quickly locating my ringing phone. I scoop it up and answer.
“Hi, honey,” I say placatingly, hearing the frustrated sigh through the line. “Sorry, my phone was at the bottom of my purse and my arms were full.” I wince. Myles doesn’t like it when I bring work home with me—he says it takes my attention away from him, where it should be, even though I never glance at work until he’s fast asleep.
“Get home now,” he demands, forgoing any greeting. “Jonas and his wife are coming over for dinner. You’ve got less than an hour to throw somethingpresentabletogether,” he sneers, hanging up with no further discussion.
Great.Jonas and Sarah—such a hard name to remember, Myles—are the last thing I need to deal with tonight. The firm just got hired for a new construction, hence the blueprints, and I’ve been assigned to head one of the teams working on it.
I pick up the rolls from the ground, glad I took the time to put them back into the plastic sleeves, and toss them gently into the back seat of my car. Slamming the door in frustration, hard enough to rock the car on its tires, I open the driver’s door and sit behind the wheel, laying my head on it and trying to figure out where my life took a wrong turn.
Most days with Myles are great, but when he has a rough day, his mood swings are more noticeable. His law firm hired my firm for a remodel a year ago and I was his point of contact, and the connection was undeniable. The day we finished, he whisked me away for a date in New York City. I’d never dated a sophisticated man—or any man, really—and I was immediately swept off my feet and under his spell.
My parents loved him, of course. Everyone loves Myles Drake. He’s got that easy charm that reduces women between the ages of eighteen and ninety-nine to giggling schoolgirls. He won me over, made me feel like I was the only one in the room, no matter where we were. I let myself get swept up in the magic of an older, successful man who wanted nothing but to spoil me.
Before we’d been together for three months I was moved into his penthouse, wanting nothing more than his happiness. He takes good care of me—I want for nothing, and he ensures I have the latest top-of-the-line everything. Which would be great…if I gave a shit about material things.
Putting the car in drive, I head home, not looking forward to an exhausting evening of entertaining Sarah while Myles and Jonas talk business in hisman cave.
When I arrive, the elevator carries me quickly to the top floor. The door opens as I step out and Myles stands there, watching me wrestle with the tubes.At least I won’t have to figure out how to unlock the door without dropping everything again.
“They’ll be here in thirty-seven minutes.”
I wait to roll my eyes until I’ve walked past him, because Myles doesn’t tolerate disrespect.
“I wasn’t sure when you’d get here, so I went ahead and ordered in.”
“Thank you, honey,” I say meekly, already trying to figure out what this gesture of his will cost me. “How was your day?” I move the blueprints onto my desk in the corner, making sure they’re out of the way. “You had to go to court, right?”
“Yes,” he grits out. “Fucking mistrial. Judge Franklin said something about jury tampering.” He walks over to the bar, pouring himself a glass of scotch before continuing. “I have it on good authority my guy would’ve walked. So this just fucked up my case and we’ll have to do it all over again.”
I nod. Honestly, I couldn't care less about his cases. There’s a reason I didn’t go to law school. I move into the kitchen, grabbing plates and flatware, moving them to the table. Myles follows me, telling me all about his case, winding himself up for a fight.
A knock on the door distracts him and he strides over to answer it, throwing cash at the timid delivery boy and slamming the door in his face.
“What did you order?” I ask, opening the bags he sets on the table, pulling the dishes out to serve when company arrives.
“Montoya’s,” he says distractedly, moving to pour himself another drink. He knows it’s my favorite restaurant, and we always go there for special occasions.Maybe he’s got something planned?“I got you the shrimp fajitas, as usual.”
“Sounds delicious. Thank you.” I feel his presence behind me, the warm press of him against my back. He leans into me, drawing my dark hair over one shoulder, his nose running up the column of my neck as he kisses me gently in the spot that always makes me wild for him. “Do we have time?” I ask, turning and winding my arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.
Just as he pulls me against him, there’s another knock at the door and it opens. “Get a room, you two!” Jonas is a loud, obnoxious meathead who would be more at home on frat row than the downtown Miami law office he and Myles own, but despite his appearance and attitude, he’s one of the top lawyers in the city.
“Hey, guys,” I greet, pulling away from Myles, yelping when he slaps my ass playfully. Sarah and I sit across from each other, eating silently, exchanging a few silent smiles, as the guys bicker good-naturedly across the table until everything is gone.
“Dominican Republic?” Jonas whistles. “Those beaches are top notch, man. Enjoy.”
