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Chapter One
     
    My boss is a dick. It isn’t the normal boss dickishness that gets me. No, Ashford Barrington Bainbridge, the third, is a Grade A certified prick of the first order. The man invades my privacy, my personal space—every freaking aspect of my life as if it’s his right to do so. Most days I am hard pressed not to cuss his funky ass out. I actually fantasize about waltzing into his office and giving him the cuss-out of the century before announcing I’m quitting. But then I take a long, hard look at my bank account. There is plenty of cushion to find another job, but it is highly doubtful any other paralegal position would pay so well. Nor would I ever be offered the kind of perks I get from working for Bainbridge Law.
    One of the best perks of my job is the fantastic downtown apartment, free of charge, located on the nineteenth floor of a snazzy high-rise complete with a doorman, a little grocery downstairs, and a restaurant. And yeah, the restaurant delivers to everyone in the complex, just like a hotel. The place is huge and came fully furnished, with three bedrooms, one of which I use for an office, two full bathrooms, one half bath, and a gourmet kitchen. Of course, it’s located conveniently right under the asshole’s penthouse.
    At first, I thought I was incredibly lucky to have found a job that gave me so much. Ha! It was just so I’m easier to summon to his lordship’s palatial abode at any hour. Oh, never at three in the morning or anything truly ridiculous, but the man seems to smell when I’m determined to be social and finds some excuse to need me right away. It’s annoying to the extreme, and has become a habit. He always seems to know when I’m on a date or at least, when I bring a date home, because he never fails to call me up to his penthouse for something that just can’t wait. Whenever I dare to complain, I’m always met with a raised brow and a very calm, completely arrogant retort delivered in that snobbish British accent of his.
    “Really, Miss Parker, did you imagine you were given your apartment for your brilliant legal mind?”
    So maybe I didn’t opt to go to grad school after getting my bachelor’s, but that’s no reason to treat me like a freakin’ personal secretary. Whenever I’m summoned, I’m usually ordered to make coffee or fix him a drink before hours of boring research on whatever case he has up his ass that day. Isn’t it enough I’m forced to spend hours of the work day in his office? The jerk actually put a smaller desk in the corner of his huge space just so I can be close at hand.
    Maybe I am complaining too much, because deep down, in places I don’t even want to acknowledge, I love the fact he can’t seem to function without me. And yes, he is way sexier than any asshole has the right to be.
    But seriously, this is getting to be a bit much. I’m currently on the first date I’ve had in months. Allen Biggs is a defense attorney for a large firm that shares our office building. Moderately cute, not quite as stuck-up as most attorneys in my very limited social circle. Social circle meaning the people I run into in the hallways, riding in the elevator, or other paralegals I manage to catch a bite with on the days I’m able to grab lunch in the cafe on the ground floor of the office. When Allen asked me out, I’d jumped at the chance, even though I’m not particularly attracted to him. I just really needed to reaffirm my existence outside of work, away from Ashford Bainbridge.
    Things had gone along fairly well until we ended up here at my place. Why, oh why did I even suggest coming here? Should’ve gone to his place, but I felt better being on home turf. I could throw him out any time I felt things were getting weird. We hadn’t even made it through the first glass of wine before the phone started to ring. Not my cell, but my seldom-used landline. So now I’m sitting here, staring at the phone, debating whether or not to answer. If I