Chapter One
Chase Cooper sat at the local bar, beer at hand. From Grace McBride's point of view, he appeared to mull over the fight that had finally ended his relationship with Libby Duncan. Finally, after Chase spent two years trying to please the wicked witch of the west, the selfish socialite called it quits on him and the poor guy was heartbroken.
She watched him tip the beer to his lips before calling the bartender over and changing his beverage of choice. He needed something stronger, she assumed, something to drown his sorrows in. What he ever saw in Libby Duncan, Grace would never know.
The stupid bitch could have broken it off better. Grace sighed, recalling the event just moments ago. Libby screamed at him. She told him his job kept him away from her too much. She told him she had needs, needs he couldn't satisfy being away all the time. When he tried to offer a solution she went haywire yelling at him to get his stuff out of the house—their house—the home they shared together.
Grace knew he gave the spoiled snob everything she ever dreamed. All so she could live a decent life is what he told her. Grace snorted. Libby bought whatever she wanted and still wasn't happy. She had money to spend how she saw fit and she tried her damndest to empty Chase's bank account. He thought he gave her what she needed but what did she give him in return? Love?
"Hey, Mac. Vodka straight up."
"Whoa. Take it easy, stud.” Grace took a seat next to her boss, assessing the damage his former girlfriend caused. “Mind if I join you?"
With his shrug of approval, Grace requested a glass of wine with the bartender. She knew it wasn't in her job description to coddle her boss with his heart broken, but seeing him miserable didn't stand well with her.
She sat to the side not saying anything, figuring if he wanted to talk, he would. Lucky for her, she was right.
"I don't want to talk about it."
She kept her grin to herself. “Good. I really don't want to talk about another woman screwing you over either."
"Don't talk about Libby like that. She didn't screw me over. I screwed myself over.” His head came up, his eyes glazed and out of focus—almost as if he were ready to cry.
Oh, please don't cry. “Fine. Sorry. She didn't screw you over. Got it.” Grace sipped at the wine Mac placed before her, noticing how Chase kept his fists balled and the shot of vodka sitting before him untouched. “If your plan was to get drunk, you're doing a lousy job of it."
"What do you want, Grace?” he hissed.
"To make sure you don't do anything stupid."
"What? Like kill myself?” Chase narrowed his eyes at her and she shrugged.
"Possibly. Libby is so not worth taking your life over, in my humble opinion, of course.” She sipped her wine as if they talked about the weather. “Besides, with you dead, I wouldn't have a job. Therefore I need you to live if I expect to make rent."
"Funny.” Chase tipped the vodka back, downing the entire shot. “Another, Mac."
He slammed the glass on the bar, sliding it to the bartender. Grace smirked. “Glad to know I'm the one that will get you drunk."
"Ha. You should be a comedian instead of a personal assistant. Lord knows you've got the mouth for it."
She wanted to take offence to that but gave him reprieve. He was hurting, even if it was only his macho male pride. Two minutes after Libby dumped him—in front of the entire office, no less— everyone in the building knew about it. The bitch even went into detail about how she had to use her vibrator to keep her satisfied, because he wasn't home enough to fuck her properly.
Grace saw red with that. The bitch just did it to stroke her own ego. Chase worked his ass off for that woman, and for what reason? She got whatever the hell she wanted, when she wanted it. He bent over backwards to answer her every beck and call. And for her thanks, she whipped him like a battered dog.
"Yeah? If I have potential, then that's a back-up career. That means I
Jessica Conant-Park, Susan Conant