Color Her Red

Acknowledgements

There is no way that I could have pursued my passion for writing

without the support of my love Shawn,

without guidance from Sameer,

or without help from the most amazing friends
and sisters

that anyone could ever ask for
:

Katelyn, Kiersten, Raechelle, and Becky.

I am forever in their debt.

Prologue

Staring out the window behind my desk with my hands in my hair, I debate how I should handle this.  It’s almost nightfall and the New York skyline is just starting to come to life.  I stretch my arms out in front of me, making my shoulders arch and my back crack, and let out a lengthy exhale; it’s been a long day.  I need to finish this deal, at least come to some resolution, before I can leave the office.  I glare down at the email, narrowing my eyes.  They want too much for their company, and I’m not going over my budget.  It would make my life easier to have it privately owned, by me, but I make up my mind.  I won’t buy them out, not at that price.  I’d rather spend the money creating a competitor.  It’ll take some time, but financially it’s the better move.  Decision made, I have to call Bowe and tell him no deal - we’re at our bottom line and we aren’t budging. 

I finally sit in the high back desk chair, somewhat satisfied with my decision, and glance down at the sterling
silver picture frame on my desk.  She looks stunning, comfortable and satisfied in my embrace; I happily accept the distraction.  My body relaxes and my lips curl up as I think about that night, the surprise she had for me under that dress.  For someone so sweet and innocent she can be quite brazen.   I rest my head in my hand, elbow on the desk, tapping my temple with my index finger and stare at the picture, at her beautiful curves.  Just looking at her makes my libido rev.

My smile fades as I remember I still haven’t told her about
yesterday.  I stiffen.  There’s a fight I don’t want to have.  A distressed moan escapes through my gritting teeth.  I breathe deep and move my eyes to the computer screen and then back to the photograph, strumming my fingers on the desk.  She doesn’t need to know and there is no point in me worrying her for no reason.   I’ll take care of it.  She worries enough as it is, always fretting.  She hasn’t changed since the first day I saw her.   The recollection makes me grin as I lean back in the chair keeping my eyes on her stunning smile.

I noticed Kate first, a tall blonde pouncing about, talking louder than she needed; she didn’t seem to have a care in the world.  Like dominoes, she haphazardly bounced off Emma, my Emma.  She tried to balance herself, but bumped into me, splashing a small bit of coffee into the air.  I should be grateful for Kate’s lack of grace, without her I wouldn’t have seen Emma.  I scowl thinking of what my life would have been like without her, without my Emma.

She was beautiful, still is,
with soft chestnut curls surrounding her pale skin and a petite frame that made her seem fragile and delicate.  It was her eyes that entrapped me though, a striking hazel.  For a moment, I forgot why she’d stopped and why I’d been able to study her features.  I don’t believe I said anything, I just observed, waiting for her eyes to meet my gaze. 

Watching her fuss over spilled coffee was amusing.  She couldn’t stop apologizing, I grin at the thought and roll my eyes.  It wasn’t her fault
, but she unknowingly took all of the blame.  I remember how soft her voice sounded,
“I shouldn’t be so clumsy.  I’m so sorry.” 
She made a desperate attempt to wipe the coffee off my shirt with the tiny square napkin in her hand, until she saw me watching.  I could tell she was intimidated and possibly embarrassed.  She stumbled back a bit, continuing to apologize.  I tried to reassure her, but she only gave a soft apologetic smile, avoiding my gaze. 

As she walked away, I began to feel irritated; now that I had to change my shirt I was going to be late for my meeting, but I couldn’t get her out of my head.  I turned behind me to see her walking, taking easy steps as her hips rocked just enough to see her provoking curves. 
Whoever it was I was going to meet with, they could wait.  I turned abruptly and briskly walked until they were easily in my sight, keeping my eyes focused only on her.  She made me want more, I wanted to see what she looked like when she was pleased, what it sounded like to hear her laugh.  I stayed back a few steps, walking slowly behind them.  Waiting for a moment to open, waiting to see her smile. 

Her soft delicate hands gripped the twine handles of the shopping bag, moving her thumb over the rough material, in a rhythmic motion.  The elusive length of her skirt cut just below her knees flowed as she walked; watching her hips sway was mesmerizing.  I admired her small waist leading to that gorgeous backside, feeling a low carnal hum deep in my throat.  I heard her gentle voice over the crowd, a small laugh.  I’d like to hear that pleasing sound again.  I could make her laugh; I could make all sorts of sounds escape those exquisite lips.  They stop
. 
Stopping for coffee?  Probably because she spilled hers a moment ago, I grinned at the thought.  As I approached, I felt my breathing quicken and my face heated.  No time for nerves, game on.  I should’ve asked her out for a cup of coffee, although that would be a bit too humorous.

Don’t deny me, Miss Gorgeous & Apologetic.

Ring.  Ring.  Ring.

The unrelenting annoyance in my office disturbs me from the pleasant remembrance.  I answer the phone annoyed by the interruption.  I snap, “What?” 

“S-Sorry to disturb you Sir.  Elizabeth from public relations is here to see you.  She apologizes for coming unannounced.  She says it’s urgent.”  My secretary’s voice is meager and her sentences are separated by quick intakes of air.  I don’t feel bad for her; I pay her well to deal with my bullshit and quite frankly she should be used to it by now. 

“Send her in.”  I hang up the phone, still annoyed. 
God damn it!  What the hell happened now?

The power suit of a bitch that is my public relations consultant sashays through my office doors, slamming them shut behind her.  I gesture my hand for her to take a seat, glaring at her audacity.  The blouse beneath her jacket is unbuttoned to
such an extreme that I find it hard to take her seriously.  Elizabeth has worked for me for years.  Each year my agitation grows larger, as does her insolence.  She is damn lucky that she’s good at her job.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”  Her lips are pursed and her eyes are narrowed at me.

Deciding not to hide my irritation I reply in a low monotone, “That depends, what exactly can I tell you that will make you leave my office?” 

Her gaze doesn’t leave me as she hisses, “You can start with how many women you are currently
fucking
.”  My eyes widen at her response, first with shock and then rage, unforgiving rage. 

Chapter 1

I hear my mother’s voice,
Emma dear; a little wine goes a long way. 
I shake the thought,
not now Mom
. One more glass down and finally I don’t care anymore.  Or, at least for a moment, I don’t want to care. 
Should I grab another?
  That’s the only question on my mind.  And if I am able to ask the question, then I already know the answer.  I’m vaguely aware that I will feel the stingy throbbing ache that is a hangover tomorrow morning but that physical pain is worth the emotional numbness that I desperately seek tonight. 

Maybe I should try to pull myself together; I might find relief with a pool of cool water on my face.  No, I should look like a wreck and I should feel like a wreck.  That’s what I am right now, a seven-car pileup on the interstate with an over turned tractor-trailer. 
You’re a wreck; deal with it.
I come to terms with this fairly easily, maybe because of the wine, or maybe I’m just not ready to look at myself in the mirror.  I imagine the cars wrecking, as though that’s what actually happened.  My eyes wince and my body sinks deeper into the sofa.

Kate is with me.  Her eyes are red-rimmed and her face is tear-stained.  Even with the pained look and ill-kept appearance she still looks stunning. 
How the hell is that even possible?
I bet she’s wearing waterproof mascara. 
For a second I consider asking her.  It would be a nice change in conversation.  Knowing Kate, it might make her laugh a bit.  My eyes brighten for a moment at the thought of a happy exchange of words, and then they dim again with disappointment.  Not tonight, maybe another time.

We’ve been curled up on her sofa draped in a chenille blanket
, drowning ourselves, our thoughts really, in Cabernet Sauvignon.  I think that we’ve been like this for hours now, even though it feels as though it’s been days. I look at the clock, 8:43 PM.  Almost four hours of her desperately and hopelessly trying to console me.  No resolve has been found.  Not that I know what I want the resolve to be. 
It doesn’t really matter what you want any way.  He’s going to get what he wants, he always does. 

I don’t know how many times she has told me “it’s alright” and “everything's going to be fine.”  It’s not what I want to hear. 

What do you want to hear? 

I don’t know.   The thought makes my heart dig deeper into my chest and the hollowness fills my insides.  I don’t know what I want.

We haven’t really been speaking in the eternity that has passed, just crying.  Whenever I start to talk, I can’t, words fail to escape my lips.  I am unable to utter a sentence without morphing into a sobbing lunatic, my words cut off by hysteric gasps for air.  She has been so patient.  Trying to talk me through it, trying to get me passed this desolate stage.  She’s been unsuccessful, but I appreciate her efforts.  I don’t think anything or anyone in the world could help me right now.  I have to face the inevitable.  I shudder. 
Good God, what will I feel like then? 
I imagine a bridge crumbling to pieces in the center causing dozens of cars to plummet thousands of feet before crashing into the water, slowly sinking, being consumed by the dark unforgiving water. 

I
thought we would be chatting over a combination of bridal shows and catty reality television.  That’s what these nights usually deliver.  We escape to her sofa with Chinese food and a bottle of wine, confiding in each other about the details of her latest beau or family drama.  It’s our usual routine, ever since we graduated from college and moved to the big city, at least once a month for the last four years.  But tonight is so much different, so much darker and so quiet.  The room is full of silence; the only exception is the antique clock on her wall, keeping track of my tragedy with simple
tick, tick, ticks
.  The ticks are getting louder, mocking me. 

I see Kate move, adjusting the small throw pillow under her arm, she is staring at the ceiling with her knotted fingers resting on her chest.  Watching her, I can see she is exhausted.  She closes her eyes and breaths in deep.  I’m sure her eyes are burning too.  She has cried just as much as me.  She
’s been stronger than me, but she cried every time with me.  Unfortunately for her, she saw the seven-car pile up happen in slow motion.  She shouldn’t have to deal with this catastrophe.  I wish I could rewind.  I wish I could have prevented her from experiencing this heartbreak.   I probably would have called her though, as soon as I saw the photos.  My body braces at the thought.  I know I would have called her.  I wouldn’t have known whom else to call or what else to do.

She has always been there for me, making everything better when my world starts falling to pieces.  We’ve been best friends attached at the hip since before I can remember.  I admire her large green eyes, tanned skin and perfectly blonde hair.  Kate is absolutely gorgeous and poised, with the world at her feet.  She goes through men like I go through wine.  Maybe that’s why I was so shocked that Thomas wanted me and not her.  How could he be interested in just a simple, average brunette, not the hot blonde bombshell standing next to me?