Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
The perfect mix of sex and affection.
Until we wake up the day of our meeting with his boss.
A party where we prove we're the perfect married couple. Because that's who Jackson is supposed to be. The stable lawyer with a wife and kids. The man who makes partner.
But the more time I spend with him, the more I wonder, is this who he actually wants to be?
Or just who he thought he was?
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jackson
Iknew my boss, the firm's managing partner, Alexander Newport the Third, was rich, but I didn't know he was this rich. His house is far into Malibu Canyon, nestled on top of a hill with a view of the valley, the ocean, and most of Los Angeles and Ventura County.
No. It's not a house. It's a mansion. An estate. Formerly property of his grandfather, the original Alexander Newport, and the original owner of the firm.
I park in the massive driveway, open the door for Daphne, attempt to rein in my nerves. Sure, he has the wrong impression of our wedding. Sure, he thinks Daphne is my long-term girlfriend, not my sister's best friend. Sure, he thinks we eloped romantically instead of drinking enough to say I dare you to marry me, but we are married.
And I do care about her.
As lawyers, we respect those sorts of technicalities.
Some counselors would appreciate me more for using the facts to my advantage. They'd say that makes me a great litigator.
Others would consider such acts unscrupulous.
But which sort of guy is Alexander?
He always seems upstanding. Plain. Boring, actually. The sort of guy who follows the rules, does the best for the company, goes home.
That makes him a great managing partner.
But it also makes him less likely to see my quickie wedding as a blessing.
Daphne wraps her arm around my waist and nestles into my chest. "Are you okay?"
I pull her closer. I nod into the crook of her neck. She's wearing wedge sandals. She's taller than I am in them.
There's something about the angle—
It's right.
"I will be." I'm not sure how. Or how I know. But I do. As long as I'm with her, I'll be okay.
Another two weeks.
Almost.
She squeezes me and then releases me. "Ready?" She looks up at me with wide eyes. She's nervous too.
I nod. "You look great."
"I know." She smiles and brushes a long hair behind her ear. "You too."
We look like opposites—she's in a pink cotton sundress and matching shoes; I'm in my usual linen neutrals—but we fit better because of it. We complement each other in a strange way.
The same.
And complete opposites.
She takes my hand and leads me up the stone pathway.
Alexander answers the door. After quick introductions, he gives us a tour of the house. It's as neutral and understated as he is. White walls. Bamboo furniture. Bookshelves filled with fresh paperbacks.
"You two match." Daphne laughs as she draws a line in the air between our almost identical white linen shirts.
"No, Ms. Steele." He laughs. "Or is it—"
"Ms. Webb, thanks," she says.
"Doctor Webb," I correct.
She blushes.
He beams, but I can't tell if he's proud of me or her or himself. "Doctor Webb, you need to call a colleague to check your eyes. This is natural. That's off-white."
"Of course. How could I be so foolish?" She points to the white walls. "And I imagine that's ecru. And the other is eggshell."
"No. Never. All ecru," he says.
"Who would mix shades of white?" I ask.
She motions to my off-white pants. "How does he not stain them?"
"Your husband is a man of many talents," my boss says.
This time, she beams. This time, there's no doubt why. She's proud of me. She's proud she's married me.
I don't remind myself it's not forever. I let the feeling sink into my skin. After all, we're not here to explain the situation to Mr. Newport.
We're here to seal the deal on my partnership.
The thing I've been working for my entire life.
"But you can call me Daphne, Mr. Newport," Daphne says. "And these are different shades of pink. The dress is fuchsia. The shoes are magenta."
"Of course," Alexander says. "I have two daughters. I know shades of pink."
"Are they here?" she asks.
"No, no." Alexander shakes his head. "They hate this place. One is in San Diego. The other is in New York."
"Oh." Daphne swallows hard. "How lovely."
"It's a wonderful city." There's something in his voice, but I can't place it.
What the hell does New York City have to do with anything?
"Well. What are we waiting for? Let's drink." He leads us through the living room, out to a massive backyard with a view of the canyon and the endless blue sky.
Pacific paradise.
There's no other way to describe it.
"My brother and his wife," Alexander motions to an older couple in matching orange sweaters. They're both standing at the bar, fixing cocktails that match their clothes. "They live in France, but they stay here when they visit. If they visit. They hate California."