I had grown up seeing my parents in love and making their marriage work. I had always wanted a family, and I thought I could make one with Eva if I tried hard enough. I asked her to marry me when she was two months pregnant. We got married the next month in a small ceremony at my family’s church. For a while things were good—I won’t lie and say they were great, because they never were, but they were good. We found a routine that worked for us, mostly involving me allowing her to do whatever she wanted to do.
When Madeline was born, Eva and I were both busy—I with work, she with taking care of our home and our new daughter when I wasn’t around to help out. Over time things with Eva got more difficult. It became harder to pretend I was happy, and I found myself avoiding her. I didn’t like the way she treated Madeline. I didn’t like that she was more interested in hanging with her friends than being a mom. For a long time, I let shit go. If we divorced, I didn’t want my daughter to grow up seeing me only on weekends or whenever the courts allowed me time. When Madeline turned five, though, I couldn’t avoid the inevitable any longer. I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror without wondering who was looking back at me. I was miserable, lost, and living a lie with a woman I could hardly stand to be in the same room with.
When I made the decision to end our marriage, I half expected Eva to put up a fight, or to try to use Madeline against me to get whatever she wanted in the divorce. I soon found out that she already had a backup plan. She had been having an affair with a man who—lucky for me—didn’t want to raise another man’s child. Eva gave me full custody and moved in with the guy. She hasn’t been around much since Madeline and I moved from Connecticut to the city for a fresh start almost two years ago. I hate that my baby is growing up without a mom, but part of me is thankful that she is growing up without her mom, a woman who chose a man over her child. Madeline does miss her mom—or the idea of her mom. I see it in her eyes when she talks about her friends’ mothers or when something comes up that she should be sharing with a mom. Luckily, there are some really great women in our lives. My mother and my brothers’ wives have stepped up to the plate and attempted to fill the void left by Eva.
“I love you, honey.” I place one more kiss against her forehead before carefully scooting her off my chest. I get out of bed and tuck the blankets around her, then set down the book and shut off her lamp. I turn on her nightlight, which casts tiny stars on the ceiling, and leave her room. Tomorrow I have work and Maddi has school, so it’s going to be an early morning of getting myself ready before getting her up, which is a process all its own.
Rubbing my eyes, I walk across the apartment to turn off the lights before shutting off the television and heading for bed. I strip out of my clothes, get in bed, pick up my cell, and make sure my alarm is set. I notice a message from my secretary, Sam, about a potential new client. I was worried about moving to New York City. The cost of an apartment alone was enough to give me heart palpitations, but it was the best thing I ever could have done. Impeccable Designs is one of the best architectural firms in the city, and word of mouth has brought me more business than I know what to do with. If things keep going like they have been, I should be able to get a bigger place for Madeline and me in the next year or so. I moved into Fawn’s old place—my brother’s wife—and although it’s nice, it’s small. Madeline’s room isn’t even really a room. I think it might have been a storage closet at one point. Still, I’m lucky that she has her own space. Honestly, I can’t complain about our living situation, since Levi and Fawn live right across the hall and are always willing to help out with Madeline anytime I need it, like when I have to work late or when she gets sick at school and I’m unable to get away from the office to pick her up.
I plug in my cell, then drop it on the side table. I shut my eyes. Just like every night since I left Eva, I sleep easily and soundly—something I wasn’t able to do for years.
Chapter 3
TROLLS
COURTNEY
Rushing across the street with the crowd before the light turns red, I stumble when one of my heels catches on a crack in the asphalt. Luckily, I right myself just before I do a face-plant. Unluckily, I hear a loud snap and feel my ankle wobble as the heel of my shoe breaks off.
“Crap.” I don’t stop, because the honking cars won’t let me. Instead I hobble across the street to the sidewalk. Only then do I stop to look at the damage. Leaning with one hand against a light pole, I pull off my shoe and inspect it. For a shoe that cost close to a grand, the thing sure did break like it was cheap plastic. Then again, Tom did surprise me with them, so I shouldn’t be shocked they are falling apart. With a sigh I look around, praying that there is a store nearby where I can run in for a new pair of shoes. Hell, I’d even take a pair of plastic flip-flops right now. Not seeing a place, I glance at my watch. I have about ten minutes to get to my meeting with the interior architect who’s been working on the plans for my house. I haven’t met Mr. Fremont yet. Until today I’ve mainly dealt with his secretary. He came so highly recommended that my hopes are high that he’ll have something amazing for me. Especially since, in all honesty, I don’t have the imagination to muster up even one idea of what I want.
Having no other choice, I put my shoe back on. There is no way in hell I’m walking on a dirty New York City street without it. More than a few strange looks are directed my way as I walk awkwardly down the sidewalk, but I try to ignore them and focus on not killing myself. As soon as I reach the office building where Impeccable Designs is located, I head through security and take the elevator up. When I make it to the forty-ninth floor, I take in the dark-gray walls hung with framed blueprints. I wobble past a small sitting area with two low leather chairs, a glass coffee table, and a black leather couch, and make my way up to the front desk, where a beautiful blonde woman is watching me with a look of concern on her pretty face.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
I carefully put all my weight on the heel that isn’t broken.
“I have a meeting with Mr. Fremont.”
She turns her head toward the computer and begins to type.
“Courtney Williams?” Her eyes come back to me, and I nod. “I’ll let him know you’re here. You can take a seat over there and wait. Do you need anything? A coffee or water?”
“Do you happen to have an extra pair of shoes?” I half joke, and she smiles sympathetically.
“I actually do.” She fishes around under her desk, pulls out a small drawstring bag, and holds it out to me. “You can have these. I have an extra pair in the drawer.”
“Are you serious?” I ask in disbelief, taking the pouch and opening it to find a pair of black, soft cotton flats with rubber soles.
“We girls gotta help each other out.” She shrugs, but I want to jump across the desk and hug her.
“Thank you. I’ll pay you back.”
“Pay it forward,” she says.
I blink at her. She looks like a model, and most of my experience with women who look like her has been that they only ever think of themselves. They just don’t do things like help another woman out when she needs a pair of shoes or tell that woman to pay it forward instead of asking for her firstborn child. Okay, I should say most of the wives of Tom’s colleagues were like that.
“Thank you.” I make a mental note to send her the biggest bouquet of flowers I can order as I take off my heels and put on the flats, then tuck my broken shoes away in my purse.
“You’re welcome.” We exchange smiles, then I lift my head when my name is rumbled through the sparse but elegantly decorated space. When my gaze locks on the owner of the voice, my whole world tips. Exquisite is the word that comes to mind as I take in Mr. Lucas Fremont. He’s wearing a black tie, stark-white dress shirt, and black slacks. His clothing fits his lean, muscular frame like a second skin. Moving my eyes to the rest of him, I can tell he’s a man who knows he looks good but doesn’t put a lot of effort into his appearance. His hair is a tad too long, dark blond with natural highlights. His skin is tan—but tanned by the sun, not a tanning bed, which seems to be popular with men nowadays. His jaw is square and not completely clean of scruff, like he might have forgotten to shave this morning. His eyes . . . his eyes are a light blue, and they seem to glow more for being framed by his dark lashes.