Unlocking Love

way.

And the walls kept tumbling down…

—Bastille, Pompeii

Chapter One

Erynne

I’m drowning in nothing. There is no air. No breath. A fine layer of dull dust fills my lungs, pulling me down into…nothing. I’m simply here. Existing in a lifeless, dim glow which neither brightens nor warms. No tears or joy. No relief to the ache in my soul. Everything meaningful fades away.

My eyes flutter open, and I’m awake. In my bed. The same as every morning. Except the other side has not been slept in for days. Without bothering to look I know there isn’t a dent or crease in the pillow or linens. They remain pulled taut and undisturbed by the slumber of another body. The familiar spicy scent of deodorant on the clean sheets is absent.

I wish I would wake up from this disturbing nightmare, but it’s not a dream. It’s a reality in which my life was torn to shreds without my consent. The earth-shattering changes I’m facing hurt like hell. I’m certain the knife-sharp pain is going to live in my chest for the next fifty or sixty years, and wonder why I should bother to get up again today.

The phone alarm buzzes, forcing a heavy sigh from me as I swing my legs to the floor like an automaton. Bare feet land on a soft carpet. All sensations in my mind and body are dead. I might as well be standing on broken glass.

Pale light slides into the room, poking me to life. Hah. Such a life. I’ll move through the daily paces—smiling, talking, working, moving—while dying inside. Nothing will change, while everything has changed.

Without thinking, I step into the steady stream of raging hot water, letting it cascade over me like a thermonuclear waterfall, burning my skin to a bright pink.

I feel nothing.

****

Three months ago…

The new guy starts today. He’s primo eye-candy according to the rumor mill. Maya breaks off a piece of my apple-cinnamon muffin and pops it into her mouth. I slap her hand away, but continue typing. Maya is a close second after Sandra to be head of gossip central. The funny thing is she’s right. Several women were whispering about his attributes in the break room. Several may have swooned. I shake my head. Thank goodness I’m married.

You’d better get in line, then. I bet Lucy and Sandra are setting up stake-outs by his office.

Pfft. They can have him. Hey, pretty bouquet. From Derrick? She leans over and sniffs a rose.

Who else? I give her the eye. They are gorgeous—a tropical arrangement filled with all of my favorites. Stargazer lilies, red ginger, brilliant heliconia and a selection of red and yellow roses with sparse greenery interspersed for balance. My husband spends a lot of time carefully selecting gifts I’ll like.

Derrick’s so sweet. She pauses and stares at me. Oh no.

What’s wrong?

Your birthday! I totally forgot. The mischievous grin on her face is a dead giveaway. Maya would never forget a birthday. We’ve been friends forever. To us, birthdays are part of the sacred girlfriend bond. You never, ever forget them. Unless you’re in a coma. Or lost at sea on a raft. We’d even make an exception for being aboard the space shuttle.

No, you didn’t.

Nah. I’ve got something for you. I’ll show you after the meeting. She laughs, shakes her head, and swipes another chunk of my muffin. Like I’d forget my best friend’s birthday. Hey, remember—lunch later. Where’s Derrick taking you tonight?

Milton’s.

Wow…swanky choice. Maya’s impressed by the five-star restaurant choice. Then again, in her eyes, Derrick can do no wrong. It’s sorta true.

Yeah. I’m excited.

I glance down at the designer watch Derrick gave me for Christmas this year. He said he had a special gift. The man has a knack for choosing the perfect presents, especially jewelry. My wedding and engagement rings are proof. The day he proposed I nearly went into cardiac arrest when he presented the ring to me. I’d never seen anything so beautiful—and huge.

We’d better go, the meeting will be starting. Scooping up the remnants of my muffin, I hand the crumbly mess to Maya. I wonder if I buy the muffins for her rather than myself. She usually ends up with it anyway.

Thanks, Erynne, she says, stuffing another bite into her mouth as we head toward the conference room.

My thoughts stray to the new guy. It will be interesting to meet Evan Giamatti. He’s supposed to be some hot-shot our boss, Roger, wooed away from Lovell Mackenzie, our rival ad agency. His background, not to mention the rumors about his hotness, are intriguing. He comes with a sterling reputation in the advertising business. Not to mention the eligible bachelor status preceding him. Not that I care. I’m head over heels in love with my husband after five years of marriage. The man does it for me.

I smile to myself as I recall this morning’s birthday wake-up call.

****

Evan is a hottie. Not that I’m looking. Okay, just a peek. A tiny one. This ought to bring the lackluster office gossip up a few notches. The tongues are already wagging around the female population on staff. We file into the conference room where he’s seated next to Roger Ridley—head of Ridley & Peters.

Sleek. It’s the first word that comes to mind as I assess Evan Giametti from across the wide table. The impeccable charcoal suit is well-tailored, without a single crease. His jacket stretches across a broad chest and arms hinting at a toned, muscular body underneath. One he moves with graceful, masculine gestures. Sleek gives way to visually charismatic. No doubt, all the single women at this table are longing to run their fingers through his perfectly styled dark hair, and dying to get their hands on the rough stubble of his closely cropped facial hair.

But what’s most captivating are those eyes. Clear and bright blue, they could spellbind a woman with a single blink.

Oh, hell. I’ve been staring. Fetching a tablet and pen, I shake my head. Good grief, why am I spending so long cataloguing Evan’s more alluring qualities? Silliness, especially when Derrick’s a panty-melting heart-stopper in his own right. Maya would back me up on this in a heartbeat. To this day, she gets tongue-tied whenever he comes into the office. I’ve caught her checking out his ass more than once. Because, honestly, his ass is pretty great, I can’t blame her. An involuntary grin and the heat of a blush creep onto my face. Not wanting anyone to notice, I dip my head to focus on the blank page of the writing tablet and retrain my attention to work.

As Roger introduces Evan to the staff, I recall this morning, when I discovered I’ll be working with him on a new ad campaign for one of the clients he brought in. Jonas Software is a prestigious, up-and-coming company. Other ad agencies fought to get Jonas on board, but Evan snagged them. Word on the street says he has some kind of invested interest with Jonas. I wonder if that’s true.

Therefore, Maya will concoct lots of reasons to pop in to see me the next few months. Conveniently, whenever Mr. Hot Stuff and I are working, I am sure. Maya is a wonderful friend, but she’s transparent when she’s crushing. I expect her to crush hard on Evan, despite the way she brushed off the possibility of interest earlier.

The meeting drones on for a good hour. Once we get past meeting the wunderkind, nothing new and exciting happens.

The phone rings within seconds of parking my butt in my desk chair. I’d be annoyed by the interruption, except it’s Derrick. I put him on speaker.

Hey! What’s up? I click through emails as we chat. I was thinking about you.

On the other end, Derrick’s sigh is heavy. Whatever he has to say, I doubt I’m going to like it. I stare at the phone.

Babe, I gotta cancel on tonight. Something, uh, came up.

Are you kidding?

My fingers freeze on the keyboard.

Not on my birthday, Derrick. Don’t tell me you’re canceling another date. Can’t you postpone whatever it is? I never expected this today.

"Erynne, come on. It’s just your birthday. Is it really that big of a deal?" His voice is strained and hard, with an unfamiliar edge.

I stuff down the growing lump of hurt and anger. Yes. It kind of is, Derrick. You’re the one who suggested this tonight. Do you have to cancel? You can’t give me one night?

Are you serious, Erynne? You’re turning thirty-two not twelve. Grow up. I need to take care of…a thing. I’m sorry, okay?

A thing? What kind of lame excuse is this?

He’s sharp and short with me, very unlike him. While I’m aware he’s under a lot of pressure, his defensive tone is out of character. The stress of the Martin case is wearing him down and making him grouchy. Still, I am surprised at the way he’s brushing me off. He’s always made a big deal out of birthdays and anniversaries and such, which is why his comments sting a little more sharply today.

This time, he doesn’t bother to promise he’ll make it up, which annoys me further. I want to call him on it, but the door is open. Turning off the speaker, I lift the receiver.

I can’t believe you’re ditching me again. This is the fifth time this month alone, Derrick. What’s so important anyway?

He takes a deep breath and exhales. The case I’m working on with Morgan. We’re getting ready for trial, and we’ve got boxes of evidence to sort through. The deadline for subpoenas was moved up today. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.

Fine. See you at home. Much later, I’m sure.

I slam down the phone and cover my face, hating I reacted like a spoiled child. But, the constant disappointment is wearing thin. A ball of acid is burning a hole in my stomach. I shouldn’t have skipped breakfast.

You okay, Erynne? Maya speaks softly as she enters my office. No doubt she overheard part of the conversation.

Yeah. I sigh, changing my mind. No. No, I am not okay. It’s my damned birthday. I’m holding back tears of disappointment and anger, blinking rapidly, three, four times, to clear my vision. I mean, of course this case is important, but…I’m mad and feel petty and stupid for being upset over something he has no control over. I should be more understanding.

With a compassionate smile, she sets a small wrapped package on my desk next to the bouquet from Derrick. I want to throw the whole vase at the wall, flowers, water and all, then sit on the floor and pitch a toddler-size temper tantrum. Perhaps I’d feel better if I did. Instead, I pick up the gift and rattle it next to my ear.

Rocks. You got me a box of rocks, didn’t you? That’s our silly joke. We make a ridiculous guess about the contents of every present. It earns me a giggle from Maya.

Yep. Got ’em from the planter in the lobby, so it’s the good stuff, too. Her big smile is contagious, untangling the knots inside for the moment.

Inside is a beautiful beaded bracelet—various hand-blown cobalt glass beads swirled with ruby reds and brilliant yellows.

Oh, Maya, this is gorgeous. I slip it on noting how it complements my royal blue wrap dress, Derrick’s favorite.

You admired it in Lola’s Boutique a few months ago. It’s so you.

I’d forgotten all about that. Thank you. You’re such a super friend. I give her a big hug—one wrapping thanks and friendship and my sadness in one embrace.

Ahem. The sound of a throat clearing at the doorway separates us. Evan, unsettlingly handsome, sports a smug grin. Am I interrupting something here? I could come back later. Terrific. He’s one of those guys.

No. I was thanking Maya for the birthday present. I hold out my wrist as proof. Maya blushes.

Evan effortlessly pushes off the door frame he was leaning against, crosses the room in a few graceful glides, and lifts my hand to inspect said bracelet. My wrist is cradled in his soft and gentle palm, but I can sense the strength in it. The intimacy of the action is unnerving. When I attempt to pull away, he presses his fingers a bit tighter so I can’t let go as he studies the bracelet.

Beautiful piece. A Favelli. He glances up at me.

Favelli? I wrinkle my brow.

The local jewelry artist.

Uh, yeah. How did you… An impressed expression is pasted on Maya’s still pink face.

I know things, he says. Glancing at her with his goddamned gorgeous smile, he releases my wrist. I’m close enough to notice he smells fantastic. Jesus. I shouldn’t be noticing anything of the sort.

Happy Birthday, Erynne. The stunning blue eyes trained directly on me are a reminder of a beach I once spent the day on in the Caribbean. Who the hell has eyes that color? I shake my head before I get sucked into them.

Uh, thanks.

Hey, a bunch of us are taking Erynne out to lunch. Wanna come? I mean, since today’s your first day, and you two will be working together…

Evan graces Maya with a brilliant, panty-melting smile. I suppress the giggle trying to escape, aware of how he’s affecting her. In all honesty, I’m a little bewitched, as well.

I’d love to, Maya. What time? His eyes glide up and down her body so swiftly, it would be easy to miss. Hmm. A player.

After she gives him the details, he turns back to me, his professional persona snapped firmly into place.

I stopped by to ask when you’ll be free to meet and go over the client roster we’ll be sharing. Is this afternoon good for you?

Clients? With an S? I thought I was joining you on Jonas account?

That’s the main one. Roger paired us up for the transition of all the accounts I’m bringing in. Didn’t he tell you?

Well, not exactly. A few. I didn’t expect it would be everything.

I wanted the best working with me. In Roger’s words, ‘Erynne Sommers is your girl for the job.’ Those sea-blue eyes pierce something deep inside. I swallow hard because it’s an uncomfortable sensation. What the hell’s wrong with me?

Uh. Oh. Um. Fine. Sure. This afternoon, then. I hate when Roger doesn’t give me the whole story.

Evan waves a swift two-fingered salute at us, and heads out the door in the expensive-looking charcoal suit I’d swear was ripped straight from celebrity fashion pages. Gotta say…the man exudes class.

Maya picks up a file folder from my desk and fans herself.

Damn, I’m glad you’re the golden girl here at Ridley & Peters. Because I sure as hell don’t think I could stand working in close quarters with that man every day. I’d need to bring spare panties to work with me.

Nailed it.

****

Derrick creeps in well after midnight. I’m pretending to be asleep and note the faint, but unmistakable scent of whiskey on his breath as he slides between the sheets and exhales. He’s never come home this late from a night at the office. Nor smelling like liquor. I roll away from him and peer at the digital clock—12:32 a.m.

Derrick’s cool arm slips around my waist, and he exhales again, relaxing. His lips place a soft kiss on my shoulder, but I continue to feign sleep.

I’m so sorry, babe. I love you. His heartbroken words are whisper soft. He mumbles something else which sounds a lot like, What the hell was I thinking? Within a minute, the steady rhythm of his breathing takes over. He’s asleep.

Maybe I’m a bitch for being angry. Silently, I forgive him and chastise myself for my selfishness.

It’s only a birthday, after all.

Chapter Two

Evan

The large conference room fills while Roger Ridley, one of two founding partners at Ridley & Peters Advertising, leans toward me to speak. I’m bringing him millions of dollars’ worth of clients, and he’s determined to make me happy here.

I jumped ship at Lovell Mackenzie because I was fed up with the politics and underhanded tactics of the CEO. In a few short years, I more than tripled their clientele list, lining their coffers with cash. I’m good. Their loss.

Ridley and Arvid Peters courted me with the promise of a future partnership. Their reputation in the advertising community is solid. Fair. With a stellar staff. One contingency Roger agreed to when I came on board was working with his best account exec.

Several women enter the conference room and take seats at the long, polished table. I’m sure she’s one of them. After sizing them up, I place my bet on the one with the soft brown hair—so light it’s almost blonde. A nice-looking woman. No. Nice is an understatement. She’s gorgeous. Yeah, not professional. But I’m also not dead.

The blue dress she’s wearing wraps around graceful curves—feminine and sexy, while totally appropriate for the office. What catches my attention most when she walks through the door are her legs. Toned, long, and ending in a pair of heels that make my heart pound just a little bit. Any guy in his right mind would be sitting here sporting a semi, day-dreaming about them wrapped around his waist, shoes digging into his ass. I’m certainly no exception.

Intrigued, I feign listening to Roger, as she sets a legal tablet on the table, clicks open a pen with her left hand (interesting—a southpaw, like me), and scribbles something on the top sheet. She glances around the room, her gaze settling on me for a minute. I get a polite smile out of her before she shakes her head and returns her attention to the pad in front of her. The dark-haired woman in a stylish, pale pink suit next to her says something in a low voice which makes her smile. The whole room brightens when she does. Nodding at whatever Pink Suit is saying, she continues writing. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was trying to avoid eye contact with me.

My gaze shifts to the rest of the people at the table.

Damn. I should have taken Roger up on his offer sooner. Not to be a dick, but the ladies at R&P are much easier on the eyes than Edith Rohan and Linda Keller at Lovell. From what I hear, more talented, too.

Roger ticks off highlights from my curriculum vitae as if they were MLB stats. I survey the room again as he speaks. Blue Dress is paying close attention to Roger, jotting something on her notepad every once in a while. Pink Suit and a few other women are giving me the once-over.

Not checking me out, checking me out…more like trying to figure out what gives. Well, maybe the blonde at the end of the table is curious about more than my place at R&P. Sadly, she won’t get anywhere. First, I don’t date from the work pool. Nothing good comes from that. Sure, I may look, but I definitely do not touch. Rule non-negotiable. Second, even though she could be the poster girl for female hotness, she’s not my type. She’s more my best friend Lance Jonas’ speed. Total fast lane.

Roger asks everyone to introduce themselves. I nod politely as we go around the table, taking in names and mentally gluing them to their faces. The first rule of advertising: Put faces and names together and never, never screw it up. I never do. It sounds smug, but I’ve always been good at that.

Pink Suit introduces herself: Maya Slaughter. Check. Next up, Blue Dress.

Erynne Sommers.

Bingo. That’s her. The top account exec here. The so-called best of the best. And now my right hand.

****

Curiously, Pink Suit—er, Maya—is halted outside Erynne’s office. All right, I’m curious. Silently, I walk down the carpeted hall. Pausing a few steps behind Maya, I overhear the conversation she’s eavesdropping on.

"…Do you have to cancel? You can’t give me one night?"

Are you serious, Erynne? You’re turning thirty-two not twelve. Grow up. I need to take care of…a thing. I’m sorry, okay?

What a dick. I noticed the block of ice on her left hand when she was writing, so I assume she’s getting the shaft from her husband. If it were me, I’d have to be a goddamned surgeon doing an emergency liver transplant to cancel a date with Erynne on her birthday. From what I’m gathering, he’s no surgeon. Not to mention he sounds like a real jerk.

The phone slams down and Maya slips into her office carrying a small box. I ease closer to the open door. Yeah, I wanna see how this plays out. Call me nosy. I slink around into the doorway as the two women hug. They’re good friends. I smile, even though I don’t know why I care.

After a few moments, I clear my throat. Don’t want them thinking I’m a creeper.

****

Later, Erynne and I are hip-deep reviewing client files. We’ve been hard at it for several hours. The woman is impressive. Smart with a good