Love Is a Breeze

by Purcell, Sarah

  “You’re not going to deny it?” Kaitlyn snarled.

  Brianna halted and slowly turned to face her.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I did.” Brianna pushed her hair from her face and raised her chin. “But quite frankly, Ms. Schuster, whether I am or not is none of your business.” Green eyes matched the frigid tone of the blue ones. The blue ones lowered and Brianna pivoted toward the door. At the sound of ripping paper, she squared her shoulders.

  “Ms. Ryan!” Kaitlyn’s menacing shout stopped Brianna but she refused to turn choosing instead to raise her eyes to the ceiling. “You’re fired.”

  The words nearly ruptured her eardrums. The knot in her stomach twisted. Whirling to face the enemy, Brianna prepared for battle. She marched across the room, stopping in the face of evil. At this point, surrender– or at least retreat– seemed a better option.

  Brianna took a deep breath. “I doubt you have the authority to fire me, Kaitlyn but I am going to leave.” She grabbed her empty folder from the desktop. “You have a nice day.”

  “Why you insolent little–”

  Brianna didn’t wait to hear the end of that sentence.

  CHAPTER Sixteen

  John’s flight landed at O’Hare one day and fifteen minutes early. He glanced at his watch. Seven-fifteen - with any luck he‘d be home by eight. Hitching his bag up on his shoulder he walked quickly down the concourse, thankful he didn’t have to wait at the baggage carousel. Several pairs of admiring eyes followed as long strides carried him to the entrance but his thoughts were focused on a pair of green eyes. Side-stepping a baby carriage he increased his pace to a waiting taxi.

  * * * *

  Brianna woke with a start when someone knocked on the front door. Who could that be? It was almost dark. She got up from the chaise on the terrace, picked up the book that had slid off her lap and walked through the living room to the entry. The large clock above the fireplace read eight-fifteen. She peeked through the peephole. Oh, my God! In an effort to gather her jumbled thoughts and control her temper, she leaned against the door for a moment.

  Brianna jerked the door open.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing here?” So much for temper control.

  “Nice to see you, too, Breeze.”

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “Whoa, Breeze, is that anyway to greet an old friend?

  “You’re not a friend. You’re a rotten liar and a thief!”

  Eric brushed past her and entered the condo looking around appreciatively. He whistled.

  “Livin’ with the boss has its advantages, I see.”

  “I‘m not ‘livin’ with the boss.’ He’s letting me stay here until I have enough money for a place of my own. You moved out and stole all my money. Remember?”

  “I didn’t steal your money. It was a joint account.” His grin was pure evil. “I followed you home yesterday. Left work a little early, didn’t you? I guess when the boss is away the mistress can play.”

  Brianna’s hand itched to slap the smirk off his face. “How did…? Mr. Sharp will be home any minute.”

  “Now who‘s lying? I overheard you tell Carly he wouldn‘t be home until tomorrow night?”

  Crap. Brianna glanced around for a weapon. Too bad John never left anything—like a nine-iron or machete—lying around. She kicked herself for leaving her cell phone on the terrace. A well-placed knee could bring him down—or just make him angry.

  “Leave, Eric.” Before I kill you.

  “Something tells me you’re not all that happy to see me.”

  “Go.” Brianna glared at him, and gestured to the door.

  “I’m really sorry, Breezy. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I just got scared of the commitment.” He flashed his most charming grin at her. “If you could forgive me maybe we could try again.”

  “You’re crazy.” The rein on her temper slipped a little more. “It’s been a month and you haven’t even tried to contact me. If I never see you again, it will be too soon. You left me homeless and penniless. Why on earth would I want you back?”

  “Yeah, I guess it’d be hard to give all this up but I’ve got some things in the works. I’ll be living like this soon. We had some good times, Breeze. Besides this,” he swept his arm around the room, “what’s he got that I haven’t?”

  “You haven’t got time for me to make a list. You’re leaving.” Brianna held the door open.

  “I don’t think so. I like it here.”

  “We have nothing more to discuss.” Bile bubbled in her throat as panic crept in.

  “I think there is and we have plenty of time.” Eric reached behind her and shoved the door closed. Smelling the whiskey on his breath, panic stopped creeping and raced through her body. She reached for the intercom button to call security but Eric grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the sofa.

  He sat, dragging her down beside him. Stretching his free arm along the back, he propped his booted feet on the glass coffee table. Brianna fought to free her wrist from his vice-like grip. Eric grabbed her other wrist and twisted her arms behind her, forcing her across his lap. Grasping both her arms in one hand, he grabbed a handful of hair with his other hand holding her still as his mouth descended toward hers. Brianna struggled but each movement caused sharp pains to move up her arms to her twisted shoulders. Eric jerked on her hair until she cried out in pain. He rolled her onto her back, pinning her arms beneath her and sprawled on top of her.

  “That’s it, you little spit-fire. Tell me you want me. You know you do.” He claimed her mouth before she could scream. Brianna continued to resist, turning her head painfully from side to side in a futile effort to avoid his consuming mouth. She had never seen Eric like this. He had been controlling and demanding but never violent. It must be the whiskey. Biting down hard on his lower lip, she tasted blood. Eric yelled and raised his head but did not release his grip on her arms or hair. He tugged hard on her hair causing a burning sensation in her scalp. She cried out.

  Brianna heard the front door click shut. Eric slowly raised his head to peer over the back of the sofa. He released her and she sat up, disheveled, and looked into a pair of smoldering gray eyes.

  “Hey, we weren’t expecting you back until tomorrow,” Eric said.

  “Obviously,” John said, his eyes leaving Brianna’s and landing on Eric. “Out.”

  As he walked back to the door he caught a glimpse of the unmade bed in her room and turned his eyes, now icy, back to Brianna.

  “Get out, now!” he said to Eric as he opened the door.

  “See ya’, Babe.” Eric planted a kiss on her lips. She noticed his lip was swollen where she had bit it. Good. Thankfully he had enough sense to leave without a fight, one he certainly would have lost. Running a shaky hand through her tousled hair, she looked at John. He shoved the door shut barely giving Eric time to get through. He looked at her with a odd mixture of contempt and pain before turning toward his room without saying a word.

  “John, I—” Brianna began but John slammed his door before she could finish.

  * * * *

  Brianna stared at the offending portal a second before charging down the hall. Hearing a thud, she hesitated. Maybe I should let him calm down a bit. She withdrew her hand before it touched the knob. Angry muttering filtered through the door. He has no right—her hand shot out again but retreated as footsteps approached the door. She turned and stalked to her room.

  John threw his bag in the corner and walked to the window. “I trusted her. How could I have been so blind?” he said to his reflection.

  He rubbed the back of his neck as he stared toward the lake. I should talk to her. He walked to the door and reached for the knob. No, whatever she has to say can wait until morning. Jamming his hand in his pocket so it couldn’t reach for the door knob again, he paced back to the window. How could she do this? And in my home! He smacked the window frame. He turned and stared at the bed. Only 5 days ago—he swiped a hand down his face. His hear
t leapt at the memory. Shaking his head, he strode to the closet and pitched his clothes onto the bench, took a cold shower and got into bed. He was assaulted by the scent of strawberries as soon as his head hit the pillow. Damn! He flung the pillow across the room. It didn’t matter—her essence surrounded him.

  Tears flowed freely as Brianna shut her door. She leaned against it, struggling to breathe. Sliding to the floor, she wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her face. Licking a tear from the corner of her mouth, she got up and grabbed a pillow from the bed hugging it to her chest in an effort to stop the pain. Slow motion footsteps carried her to the window. Her eyes moved from the traffic still bustling below to the moon glistening overhead. Life hadn’t stopped. She closed the drapes. Anger and pain battled in her stomach. Turning, she threw the pillow at the bed.

  She was hurt by John’s reaction and angry at herself for caring so much. She paced back to the window. She understood why he’d gotten the wrong idea from the way Eric acted. Her bed was unmade. That definitely did not look good but it could have been worse. I could have slept in John’s bed like I had a few nights while he was gone and he’d have thought we’d been in there. Brianna bit her bottom lip.

  How could he even think—Eric nearly raped me, probably would have if he hadn’t shown up when he did. She’d be thankful for that tomorrow.

  She marched back to the door. She’d been convicted by circumstantial evidence, no trial, no defense, just condemned. She was beyond anger - she was livid. She reached for the door knob again.

  Shoulders sagging, she stopped, turned and sank onto the edge of her bed. If he doesn’t trust me, how can he love me? She walked to the closet, opened the door and pulled out her suitcase.

  * * * *

  John left a trail of broken pencils in his wake as he paced restlessly around his office. He glanced briefly at his secretary as she entered and placed a large cup of coffee on his desk.

  “Thanks.”

  “You look like you could use it.”

  “It’s been a rough week.”

  “Will you be needing more pencils?”

  John looked at the two halves of his latest victim and tossed them on the desktop.

  “No, thanks, Sandy.” He smiled ruefully.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No.” He paused. “Yes, you can get Ms. Ryan in here.”

  “Yes, Mr. Sharp.”

  When she left, John sat down to drink his coffee and wait for Brianna. Rough week. That’s an understatement. He got up and walked to the window. It ranks right up there with…with… He could think of nothing to compare it with. It was the worst weekend of his entire life. Plagued with bad dreams, he had given up trying to sleep. He spent most of the time wearing out his carpet or running along the lakeshore trying to sort out his conflicting emotions – anger, betrayal, frustration and worry. He felt so empty, so alone, so—

  A knock on the door accelerated his heart rate. He still didn’t know what he was going to say to her. He didn’t know whether to fire her or hug her.

  “Come in,” His voice cracked. He crossed to stand behind his chair.

  Sandy opened the door and stepped into his office.

  “Ms. Ryan is not here, Mr. Sharp. Miss Davis said she left Thursday morning with no explanation and hasn’t been back.”

  John stared at her in disbelief. That certainly seemed out of character but what did he know?

  “Get me Carly Ames. If anyone knows where she is, she will.”

  “Right away, sir.” Sandy backed out of the room and closed the door.

  John smacked the back of his chair, sending it spinning, resumed his pacing and broke several more pencils while he waited for Carly. He walked around his desk as she entered.

  “Thank you for coming. Please, sit down.” He indicated one of the chairs.

  “I prefer to stand.” Carly met his eyes.

  John raised an eyebrow and leaned against the corner of his desk, folding his arms across his chest.

  “Do you know where Brianna is?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re not going to tell me.”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Do you know why she isn’t at work?”

  “Yes.”

  They locked eyes for a moment. John straightened, stepping forward.

  “I admire your loyalty but I’m worried about her. I want to know if she’s okay.”

  “She’s fi—” Carly looked up at John. “No, she’s not ‘okay.’ What makes you think she’d be okay?” Carly’s eyes blazed and she took a step forward. “You assumed the worst without even giving her a chance to explain. You hurt her. Bree is the sweetest, most caring, honest and loyal person I know and I don’t—”

  “She had her boyfriend there,” John said, backing up a step.

  Carly took another step closer to John. “She did not have her ex-boyfriend there. He showed up, unannounced and uninvited, an hour before you arrived.”

  “I saw–”

  “Well, you saw wrong.” Carly advanced. “What you should have seen were her swollen and bloody lips and her bruised wrists. He practically raped her and all you could think about was your bruised ego. She loves you and you don’t deserve it.”

  She loves me? John retreated until he backed into his desk. “That doesn’t explain why she left work early on Thursday.”

  Carly took another step forward. “Ms. Schuster fired her, that’s why.”

  Her glare condemned him. She turned and left his office, slamming the door.

  John took a minute to absorb this information, crossed to the door, jerked it open and yelled at a startled Sandy, “Get Kaitlyn Schuster in here. Now!”

  “Yes, s–” He slammed the door.

  John had just finished picking up the numerous broken pencils when Kaitlyn entered and crossed the room.

  “Why didn’t you call me when you got back?” she pouted. “I’ve missed you.” She reached up and ran a long red fingernail down his cheek.

  John grasped her hand and removed it from his face. He turned and walked behind his desk. “This isn’t a social call, Kaitlyn.”

  “If you want to discuss business it’s time for the staff meeting. I was just heading there when Mrs. Wilson said you wanted to see me.”

  Damn! I forgot about the staff meeting. He thought briefly about having Charlie handle it but he’d been gone a week and knew he had to be there. “We’ll discuss this after the meeting.”

  “You could take me to lunch.” Kaitlyn suggested.

  “This is not a discussion I want to have in public.”

  * * * *

  After the meeting, John spoke to Charlie Meyers briefly before heading for Kaitlyn’s office, where he assumed she had gone when she left the meeting early. He walked in without knocking and closed the door firmly behind him.

  “Why did you fire Brianna?”

  “She was rude to me, and she gave me junk when I asked for drawings for the Saks account.”

  “Junk?’

  “Yes, junk. A cat could have done better sketches.”

  “Do you happen to have those drawings? I’d like to see them.”

  “She took them.”

  John motioned for her to get up. “I need to use your computer a minute.” He sat down at Kaitlyn’s desk. After a brief search of the files, he asked,. “Are these the drawings she gave you?”

  Kaitlyn leaned over John’s shoulder. “They could be.”

  “They look like perfectly good preliminary drawings to me.”

  “Hmpf. You would think so.”

  “I have a feeling you wouldn’t have liked anything she gave you.” John accused. “You did not have the authority to fire her. If you had a problem, you should have talked to Charlie. He’s in charge when I’m away. He was just as surprised as I was about this.”

  Kaitlyn retrieved a package from the credenza behind her desk. She ripped off the paper wrapping and held up a painting.

  “This look f
amiliar?” she asked. “It looks like your little friend is a phony. She copied this painting for the wildlife layout. Do you still think I was wrong to fire her?”

  “Where did you get that?” John reached for the painting and carried it to the window to examine it.

  “I found it in a little loft gallery off Halsted. The owner said the artist was Eric something. They sold several of his paintings.”

  “Mind if I borrow this?” John asked.

  “Would it matter if I did?”

  “No.”

  “Take it. Doesn’t this prove I was right about her? She’s a no-talent fake, a conniving, gold-digging little—”

  “Stop. Don’t say any more.”

  John turned to leave but Kaitlyn stepped in front of him.

  “What about us, John?” She ran her hand up his lapel. “I thought –”

  “One date does not make an ‘us,’ Kaitlyn.” He brushed her hand from his jacket.

  “But—”

  He strode out the door.

  * * * *

  John hung up the phone, shrugged into his suit jacket and tucked the painting under his arm.

  “I’m going out for a couple of hours, Sandy,” he said as he walked quickly past his secretary’s desk. He waited anxiously for the elevator, stepped into the car before the doors had fully opened and punched the button for the ground floor. By the time the elevator had stopped at the twentieth, nineteenth, fourteenth and twelfth floors he seriously considered investing in an express lift for his floor. He smiled indulgently at each new rider. He finally arrived at the ground floor, walked swiftly to his car and pulled onto the street, heading for the art district a short distance away.

  He parked at the curb in front of the building Kaitlyn had mentioned and walked up the steep flight of stairs to the loft gallery.

  The door jingled when he opened it and a tall, thin young man with a blonde ponytail and goatee greeted him.

  “Mr. Sharp?” The young man extended his hand. “I’m Andy, the manager.”

  “Has he been in yet?” John asked, shaking the young man’s hand.

  “No, sir, but I expect him soon.”