Shine Your Love on Me (4 page)

When she hit the street, the cool, spring air
chilled her. She zipped up her jacket and headed for Central Park
West. Her studio apartment was on 74
^th
Street, in a
brownstone a few blocks south of Ruth. Brooke lived two flights up.
Once inside, she put the kettle on to make a soothing cup of tea.
Her two big windows faced the courtyard. While there was no view,
it was quiet, something she enjoyed.

Waiting for the water to boil, she thought
about her situation. Fear of losing her job combined with fear of
losing Lloyd. Her insides knotted, and her appetite went south. For
the first time in four years, Brooke didn’t know what to do.

It was Monday. The Dinner Club was meeting at
Bess’s house as usual. Brooke smiled.
Perfect timing.

The kettle whistled. She made a large mug of
chamomile and took off her work clothes. She slipped on workout
pants and a T-shirt, before picking up her e-reader. Whenever life
got difficult, she’d escape into a book. The habit had begun after
her parents died and continued to this day. Books took her away for
a while, allowing her to calm down.

Throwing an afghan her mother had crocheted
around her legs, she curled up on the sofa and opened to the latest
romance she was reading. After an hour, she closed her eyes and let
sleep take over her worried mind.

* * * *

The first thing Brooke did when she arrived
at Bess’s house was uncork the bottle of Moscato she had brought.
Bess poured big glasses for both of them. Brooke had taken Ruth’s
pugs with her because they had such a good time playing with the
others. Dumpling, Bess’s dog, greeted Freddy and Ginger with a
bark.

Brooke had arrived early so she could talk to
her friend. She took a gulp of wine, hoping to relax.

“What happened?” Bess leaned back against the
kitchen counter.

“So much. My job is in jeopardy.”

“Really? After that big win? I’m
shocked.”

Brooke helped Bess make a salad and mashed
potatoes to go with the meatloaf for dinner. Working with her hands
calmed her down. Next to reading, it was her favorite thing to do.
She had never attempted sewing or crocheting. Her mother had been
so talented, Brooke thought her work could never compare.

When everyone was seated at the table, Brooke
spilled her story. Miranda, Rory, and Bess sat quietly, listening.
The pugs were peacefully snoring, piled on top of each other on the
sofa. Repeating the sad tale made her pulse kick up and her stomach
knot. She pushed her plate away, unable to finish the tasty
food.

“That’s awful,” Miranda said, taking a
forkful of potato.

“What are you going to do?” Rory asked.

“Don’t think there’s anything I
can
do. Wait and see what other job Lloyd finds for me.”

“What about dating him?” Bess asked.

“Well, he won’t be my boss, so I guess that’s
good. But if he’s sleeping with this Evelyn chick, then I’m
gone.”

The only sound at the table for a moment was
the clatter of knives and forks. Brooke took another sip of her
fourth glass of wine.

“If he’s that kind of guy, you don’t need
him,” Rory piped up.

“Right,” the others said.

“I know. I’ll have to end it. But I’ll miss
him. I’ll be alone.”

“Better to be alone than with a creep,”
Miranda said, under her breath.

“A woman like you? You won’t be alone for
long,” Bess added.

Through the alcohol haze in her brain, Brooke
remembered Preston Carpenter. She smiled. “Actually, there’s
another guy who wants to ask me out.”

“Who?” Bess asked.

“The guy who walks these two, Freddy and
Ginger.”

“Another dog walker! I love it!” Rory
laughed.

“He’s a writer, too, like you and
Miranda.”

“He’s got my stamp of approval already,” Rory
said.

“He’s nice, but not for me.”

“Is he good looking?”

“Yeah. Tall, broad shouldered.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Miranda asked.

“I want a corporate kind of guy. Someone
who’s going to be successful.”

“You’re in love with power and money.”

“Maybe. Pres is nice. He’s one of the good
guys. Maybe too good.”

“Grab him. Those types are an endangered
species,” Rory said.

Brooke laughed. “You might be right. Too soon
to tell. Besides, Lloyd is still in the picture.”

Dinner finished with an amazing chocolate
bread pudding. A little dizzy, she stumbled when she stood up. The
women sat her down and cleaned up, excusing her from helping.

“I think our star executive needs help
getting home,” Miranda said.

“I’m fine. Besides, I’m only going to Nan’s.
I’m going to stay over there in her guest room.”

Bess cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Watch.” She zigzagged her way across the
room. “See. I’m okay. Only four glasses of wine.” Her cell rang.
“It’s Lloyd. Probably a booty call. Stick it.” She closed her phone
and plucked her jacket off the arm of the chair.

Her friends fastened Freddy and Ginger to
their leashes and walked her downstairs.

“It’s only two blocks. I’ll be okay. Go home,
ladies.” Brooke shooed them on their way and headed uptown. She
proceeded slowly, deliberately, knowing she wasn’t sober enough to
be making her way home alone, but too embarrassed to admit it to
her friends.

The pugs began to bark. Brooke tried to shush
them, but they refused to quiet down. Another noisy dog drew her
attention. It was Buddy. Her eyes drifted up the tall, powerful
frame of Preston Carpenter.
Serendipity?

“Well, well, we meet again.” He strolled over
to her, grinning.

He looked good, very good. His shoulders and
chest strained his T-shirt. Tight jeans outlined muscular thighs.
How does a writer have such a good body? He must work
out.

“Do you work out?” she blurted, then covered
her mouth with her hand and giggled.

“How’d you guess?”

She widened her eyes and continued to
laugh.

“Been drinking, have we?”

She nodded. “A bit. A couple glasses of wine
with friends. No biggie.”

“Where’s your other half?”

His words stung like a dozen bees. Her chest
constricted. “He’s not my other half,” she said, wobbling a
little.

Pres caught her elbow in his large hand.
“Oh?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“A little unsteady here. Where’re you
going?”

“To Nan’s to return the dogs.”

“And then?”

“I’m spending the night.”

“That’s good. You’re not in any shape to go
home alone.”

She raised her chin. “Says you.”

“Come on, I’ll take you there.”

She ripped from his grasp. “Don’t do me any
favors. I’m okay. I can make it on my own. I have been for a long
time. I don’t need Lloyd, and I don’t need you.” She stumbled,
starting to fall as the dogs pulled her toward the corner.

Pres caught her. “You need help.”

She looked up into his concerned eyes, and
her control went south. “I do. I do need help. I do,” she said, as
tears flooded her eyes and cascaded down her cheeks. She fisted his
shirt, burying her face in his chest, and sobbed.

Pres folded his arms around her, holding her
steady against him. “Damn. Honey,” he whispered, as he kissed her
hair.

Brooke fastened hers around him in a
vise-like grip. Unable to catch her breath, she hiccupped
instead.

“Easy, easy, sweetheart.” Pres spoke, as if
to a panicked horse. “Slow down.”

She fought to control her emotions. Gulping
air, she turned her head, resting her cheek on his pecs. He stroked
her back. Her erratic breathing slowed.

“What’s the matter, Brooke?” He didn’t
move.

She took one shuddering breath. “My world is
collapsing.”

“Ruth’s all right?”

“Yes. But my working world, my love life,
it’s all going to hell.”

“You’ll recover. You’re smart. You’ll pull it
together.”

She shook her head. “Not this time.” She
pushed away from him. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket
and handed it to her. She wiped her face. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean
to cry all over you.”

“Anytime.”

She gave a feeble smile. “I’ve had a rotten
day.”

“I figured,” he said. “You can fix things
tomorrow. Except with that boss guy. Give him up. Make room for
someone new.”

“You?”

“Why not?”

“My feelings aren’t faucets with on/off
switches.”

“Sorry if I’m rushing you.”

“Can we be friends?” She watched his brow
furrow and a frown form on his perfect lips.

“Ouch. Kiss of death,” he muttered.

“Please?”

“I suppose.”

She cupped his cheek. “Thanks. A friend is
what I need right now.”

Pres slung his arm around her waist and
escorted her to the apartment. Brooke leaned against him. His solid
body comforted her. A deep breath brought his pleasant scent of
maleness and
Ivory
soap to her. The dogs trotted along
behind.

He deposited her at the door.

Ruth raised her eyebrows when she saw them.
“Help me get her inside?”

“I can walk.”

“Right,” Pres said. He carried Brooke into
the guest bedroom and laid her down on the bed while Ruth unleashed
the dogs. He grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under her head.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, her eyes closing as
Pres turned out the light and shut the door.

Tuesday morning Brooke called in sick. Her
head was splitting. This was the worst hangover she’d ever had. Or
did she say that about every hangover? A rueful smile spread her
lips. She was relieved Lloyd hadn’t questioned her and accepted her
fake illness as her reason for not answering the phone the night
before. She took her time returning home, stopping for supplies on
the way.

She put the movie
Austenland
on the
television and indulged her passion for romance and Jane Austen
while sucking down a pint of mint chip ice cream.
Nothing cures
a hangover like mint chip.
The Dinner Club women called her to
check in and see how she was, but no word from Pres. Brooke
wondered if she had said or done something to turn him off and was
surprised that it mattered.
He’s a friend. That’s all.

On Wednesday, she dressed in her most
conservative suit and blouse.
Time to get the truth.
She
marched into Lloyd’s office. But this time, she didn’t carry in his
coffee. “Okay, I need to know what’s going on.”

“Good news! Pete Walters has agreed to move
you to another account.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. The Green Leaf account, for now. He
vowed to put you on the first new one we get. Hopefully, they’ll
only be absorbing your salary for a couple of months.”

“Green Leaf, the environmental charity
account?” “Chip Melton works on that. He doesn’t know
anything.”

“Careful. He’s your new boss.”

“What?” Brooke rose up from her chair. “I
refuse to report to that numbskull.”

“He’s the management supervisor.”

“I know more than he does. What’s he even
doing working here?”

“I think he’s Jerry Gibbon’s son-in-law.”

Brooke sank back down. “That explains it.
Isn’t anything done here based on merit?”

“I resent that. I’m here on merit.”

“You’re right, Lloyd. I’m sorry.”

“Hang in there for a couple months. I’m sure
something new will come in, and you’ll be back on top again.”

Brooke didn’t believe him.

“If you’re not happy with this, you can
always talk to Pete yourself.”

“I might just do that.” Brooke thrust out her
chin.

Lloyd’s mouth curled down. He met her gaze
with angry eyes. “Go ahead. Be a fucking asshole. I already begged
on your behalf. You could at least be grateful.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Lloyd stood up. “You should know this
business by now. You don’t need to do anything wrong. If someone
above you doesn’t like the way you part your hair, you’re gone. No
explanations. Not honest ones, anyway.”

She gripped his arm. “Please, Lloyd. I can’t
lose this job. I need to pay my rent.”

He cupped her chin, his cool, blues eyes
stared into hers. “I know, baby. I know.”

Back in her office, there was an email from
Chip Melton. He wanted to meet with her. She refreshed her lipstick
and marched into his office. He closed the door. An hour later, she
returned to hers with a pile of secretarial tasks. Brooke gritted
her teeth and got started.

Three weeks of busy work and errand running
for Chip Melton had Brooke on edge. Lloyd had been tied up every
night and weekend in strategy sessions, creative brainstorming, and
launching a new campaign. She hadn’t seen him since she’d moved
onto the Greenleaf account.

She missed him terribly. In the past, late
night and weekend work they had done together often ended up in
lovemaking at her place, Chinese food, and ice cream sundaes. She’d
been his right hand for the past six months, which included three
major new business pitches. She had loved working and being with
Lloyd.

Now, she hated what she was doing and had no
respect for Chip. She watched Lloyd and Brian, his new account
supervisor, working hard and wished with all her heart she could
join them. She knew the Lady Gray account like the back of her
hand.

Thinking back on the hours and hours of
research she had done on the brand, including visiting stores that
sold the products, her heart ached.
That should be me working
with Lloyd, brainstorming and creating, instead of cleaning up
Chip’s details.

By the end of the day in the third week of
her new assignment, she had completed all the tasks from Chip and
had a splitting headache. She popped two ibuprofen tablets and
packed up to leave when Lloyd popped his head in.