The reunion they’ve been dreaming of

The youngest heir to a legendary Northern California dynasty is back in the family fold, gearing up to open his own therapy practice. Life’s perfect—except for the miles that separate psychologist Julian Drake from his longtime love Nicki Long. So when the Broadway dancer makes a visit to their idyllic town, Julian is beyond thrilled. Desire reignites as he and Nicki reaffirm their commitment, ready more than ever for their happy ending.

Relocating to New York was the toughest decision of Nicki’s life—even if it meant realizing a childhood dream. Now she’s finally reunited with the man she loves, but there’s trouble in Paradise Cove. The danger that has followed Nicki west threatens everyone she cherishes most, including the seemingly untouchable Drake clan. With Julian’s career—and her own life—at risk, Nicki’s up against a deadly adversary that could end her future with the Drake of her dreams...

A half hour later, Nicki and Julian returned to their suite. Tired yet exhilarated after the whirlwind day, she hopped over to the bed and fell back on it.

“Julian!”

“Yes, baby.”

“Get over here.”

He walked over and sat on the bed, reached down and untied his shoes before crawling on the bed beside her. “Yes, my love.”

“Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“I don’t remember hearing that lately, no.”

“Well, I do. You are amazing. I don’t know how you pulled this trip together so quickly, but I can’t thank you enough. I’ve never had an experience like this in my entire life. You made me feel like a princess in a fairy tale.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled his lips toward hers. “Thank you.” The first kiss was light, wispy, cushy lips brushing against each other like a whispered promise.

Dear Reader,

This letter is bittersweet, as it’s for the last story in the Drakes of California series. As you’ve gotten to know them, you’ve gotten to know me better, as well. Many of the career choices, locations and story lines were inspired by experiences in my life. Living in Temecula sparked my love for wine country and the southern Drakes’ vineyard and spa. Having grandparents who lived on a large farm in the South made it easy for me to hear the elder Drake voices and convey their love for the land. Griff, the old codger and horse lover in Solid Gold Seduction, was patterned after my grandfather, my dear Papa Nash. All of those years spent visiting him and my grandmother Amanda—whom he affectionately called “Pot’na,” his partner for life—gave me an appreciation for country living.

I equally love bright lights, big city and New York is one of my favorites. Like London, I dabbled in the world of fashion. Like Nicki, I once had my sights set on Broadway. Like the women in this series, I dreamed of life with a man who embodied the kinds of qualities that make the Drake men so desirable. It is fitting that while bringing you Julian’s story, my dream came true. Life imitated art. I got my real-life hero and am headed for my own happily-ever-after. In a sense, it all feels like Divine Order. I couldn’t have written a better ending.

Zuri Day

Decadent Desire

Zuri Day

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ZURI DAY is the national bestselling author of almost two dozen novels, including the popular Drakes of California series. Her books have earned her a coveted Publishers Weekly starred review and a Top Ten Pick out of all the romances featured in PW Spring 2014. Day is a winner of EMMA and AALAS (African American Literary Awards Show) Best Romance Awards, among others, and a multiple RT Book Reviews Best Multicultural Fiction finalist. Drakes of California book six, Crystal Caress, was voted Book of the Year and garnered her yet another EMMA Award in 2016. Her work has been featured in several national publications including RT Book Reviews, Publishers Weekly, Sheen, Juicy and USA TODAY. She loves interacting with her fans, the DayDreamers, and when she sees them in person gives out free hugs! Contact her and find out more at zuriday.com.

For Gabriel Ken Robinson, my real-life hero.

Acknowledgments

I am blessed to work with Glenda Howard, who has made bringing the Drakes of California to life a total joy. Love you! The ever-supportive, classy Shannon Criss. You rock! Keyla Hernandez, amid a slew of story lines and schedules, you help keep me organized. Thanks bunches! The devil is in the details and copy editors edit the hell out of a manuscript. LOL. Thanks for being great at what you do. To the Kimani family, especially Nicki Night, Sheryl Lister, Wayne Jordan, A.C. Arthur, Deborah Mello, Cheris Hodges, Patricia Sargeant, Sherelle Green and Martha Kennerson. Y’all make my heart happy. Write on! To the romance queens, the BJs: Brenda Jackson and Beverly Jenkins. Thank you...for everything. To the DayDreamers, my wonderful readers, who have grown to love the Drake family as much as I do. I’ll love you forever and appreciate your support. Remember...don’t quit your daydream!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

Anyone passing by Walter and Claire Drake’s vast farm property in the Louisiana countryside just east of New Orleans would have thought a public festival was in full swing. Or maybe that a mini carnival had been set up for the Fourth of July holiday. A few excited would-be patrons had, in fact, been turned away from the private event by security manning the gated entrance.

Only those related to or invited by a Drake family member could attend the family’s twenty-fifth biennial reunion, where descendants of former slaves and the owners who held them came together to honor their shared heritage and the enduring legacy of friendship between the slave Nicodemus Drake and his owner, Pierre. The story that forever bonded them had been passed down for generations.

The two men had grown up together, more like brothers than anything else. While making the journey to relocate from New Orleans to California, Pierre had fallen ill. Nicodemus’s knowledge of herbal remedies and holistic healing had saved his life. Pierre was forever indebted to Nicodemus. In his will, Pierre deeded over to his lifelong friend more than a hundred acres of pristine land in tony Temecula, California—Southern California’s wine country. He’d also stipulated that upon his death, Nicodemus and his immediate family would be given their freedom. This indeed occurred, and while the families dispersed across the United States—including Nicodemus’s son who settled in Northern California—the ties that bound them, black and white alike, remained strong. In 1967, amid social unrest and war protests, Walter’s grandparents had joined with Pierre’s side of the family and held the first Drake reunion. Fifty years later, they still reunited every two years—bigger and stronger than ever.

Julian Drake, the youngest son of the fourth-generation Northern California clan, sat among a group of his relatives in the large, cool tent that was centered among colorful bounce houses, carnival rides and games. They were being entertained by a group of brothers and cousins going up against wives and girlfriends in a friendly yet competitive game of Family Feud. As often was the case, Julian sat quiet, contemplative, taking in everything going on around him. He’d been this way since childhood—his brothers loud and boisterous, Julian observant. Saying nothing, and missing nothing, either. So much so that during a visit to Louisiana his mother, Jennifer, had voiced her concern to his grandmother Claire.

“Almost eighteen months and still not talking,” Jennifer had whispered, afraid to say the words out loud.

Claire had given Jennifer’s hand a reassuring pat. “Don’t worry none about that child. He’s a special one. Not in that way,” she’d quickly added when Jennifer’s eyes grew wide. “Not that we would love him any less if that’s the case. But I mean special as in gifted, maybe even like Nicodemus, as I am told, able to see into the future. Don’t worry. He’ll talk when he’s ready, and when he does, he’ll have something meaningful to say.”

Claire had been right. Two months later Julian uttered his first words, a complete sentence, to his next-oldest brother, Terrell. Julian had been reading a book. Terrell wanted to play a game. Julian had looked up and pointedly demanded, “Leave me alone.”

Jennifer had breathed a sigh of relief. His interactions with siblings and friends gradually increased. But to this day, he was still mostly a man of few words. Although when spoken, his statements usually had value.

Terrell was the exact opposite. He was a talkative extrovert who commanded attention everywhere he went and was the perfect host for these rounds of family fun.

“Next question,” Terrell said, holding up a card while standing between his cousin Diamond and her husband, Jackson, whose hands were poised below bright red cowbells that served as buzzers.

“Name a side—”

Jackson clanged his bell. “Patricia!”

Men groaned. Women laughed. Julian smiled.

Terrell placed a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “The question is about a side dish, dude, not a side piece.”

Jackson feigned shock. “What kind of man do you think I am? I thought you were going to say sidekick.” He winked at Julian.

“Who’s Patricia?” Diamond crossed her arms in mock anger.

“Who cares?” Faye, the wife of Julian’s cousin Dexter, asked. “Finish the question so Diamond can answer and we can win the game!”

Julian studied Faye’s serious expression. She looked as if she were preparing to treat a patient rather than watch the ladies take a round of Family Feud. He hadn’t gotten the chance to know her well but felt a shared camaraderie with the doctor, even though her title was MD instead of PsyD. In their last conversation, he’d discovered her heart for the less fortunate and had promised that once his internship ended and he started up his private practice, he’d offer monthly free counseling sessions at her clinic in San Diego. Since then he’d talked with his mother and decided to do the same on a more regular basis at the community center his family had built in their hometown. Every member of the family contributed in some way, including Terrell’s twin sister, Teresa, who along with Faye and two women from Pierre’s side of the family were now laughing and high-fiving at the women having beaten the men.

All of the couples were well matched, he reasoned, observing their effortless interactions. Even those with opposite personalities, like Faye and Dexter, who was as easygoing and extroverted as she was serious and subdued. Their dynamics reminded him of his own relationship. Nicki Long, his on-again, off-again girlfriend since college, was a private but sociable butterfly and professional dancer who fluttered seamlessly and graciously throughout life both on and off the stage. Watching the other couples made him miss her even more than he had since moving back to Paradise Cove three months ago.

Dexter walked by Julian and bopped him on the head. “Thanks a lot, genius!”

A nickname, but also the truth. Julian’s IQ was near genius level—part of the being special his grandmother Claire had alluded to when he was a babe.

“For what? I wasn’t even playing.”

“That’s his point,” Terrell deadpanned, taking a seat beside Julian. “We needed that sharp mind of yours to best those conniving women. Now we’re going to have to endure their endless ribbing for the next two years. All because of you!”

“No, because of Jackson and his sidekicks.”

“Don’t put all the blame on me.” Jackson was more than ready to defend himself. He looked pointedly at Terrell. “I’m not the one who named sparrow as a bird that people eat.”

“Hey.” Terrell shrugged. “Chicken, turkey and duck had already been mentioned. Those are the only ones I...” His voice trailed off as he looked beyond Julian. “Is that who I think it is?”

Jackson looked up. “Who do you think it is?”

“Julian, isn’t that your girl?”

Julian turned his head in the direction Terrell and Jackson were focused.

Nicki? He slowly rose from the chair as a tall, fit woman wearing a bright yellow maxi and a devilish smile walked toward him. She was with his youngest sister, London, who, given the look on her face, had obviously been in on the surprise.

He held out his arms to wrap her in a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Milo decided to let us enjoy the holiday after all.”

“The same director who works y’all for twelve hours a day, the one you questioned had a heart?”

“Yep. Guess there’s something beating in there besides a drum after all. I texted London to surprise you and caught the first plane out.”

“Surprised?” London asked, her smile widening.

“Delighted.” His eyes drank in Nicki like a parched man guzzling water. “Let me take you around to meet everybody. Are you hungry? Can I get you a drink?”

Nicki laughed. “Okay, yes and yes.”

“Hey, Nicki!”

“Hello, Terrell.” She accepted his hug.

“You remember Atka, Teresa’s husband.”

“Of course. My mom still raves about your company’s salmon that I had shipped to her house.”

“And my cousin Jackson.”

Nicki waved. “Hello.”

Both were actually in-laws, but the Drakes disregarded that fact. Family was family. After going around to those nearby, Julian reached for Nicki’s hand and headed toward the food tent. “We’ll say hi to my parents and then get something to eat. You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“You feel good, too. In fact—” he pulled her closer “—why don’t we make our plates to go and find a more private place to...enjoy the meal?”

“Are we still talking about food?” she teased.

“Definitely not.”

“Ha!”

Exactly thirty-nine minutes later, Julian and Nicki had successfully and surreptitiously left the farm, driven to a four-star hotel and checked in. Here, within the confines of a single room with a king bed, the quiet, studious doctor showed the wilder, passionate side that few would imagine. The door had barely closed when he reached for the hem of Nicki’s maxi and backed her up to the bed.

“Julian, wait!”

“Shh. No talking.”

They collapsed on the bed. Julian planted several kisses across Nicki’s face before plunging his tongue into her mouth, his hungry, scalding kiss outmatched only by an ever-hardening shaft grinding against her thigh for proof of his ardent desire. He broke the kiss and tugged at her dress. She lifted her hips enough to free the unwanted material from beneath her body, then pulled the dress up and over her head and tossed it to the floor. His shirt quickly followed. Then pants, bra and undies. Julian groaned and delivered another hot kiss before his mouth left hers and went on a journey along the skin he’d missed immensely since Nicki’s last visit to Paradise Cove over a month ago. He nibbled the sensitive area by her collarbone before inching down to modest breasts, pulling a hardened nipple into his mouth even as his hand traveled lower to Nicki’s shaved treasure. He slid a finger along lips already creamy and teased her pearl with his fingertip even as his tongue caressed her other nipple.

“Ah!”

Her cry of pleasure made him smile as he continued to cherish every inch of her body with the same focus and attention to detail that he applied in professional life. Positioning himself between her legs, he scooted farther down, planted kisses on her pelvis, down her inner thighs, his tongue on a languid journey down the length of a leg solid and defined from years of lessons in tap, modern and jazz. She pulled her legs up and away from him, parted them in a perfect inverted split in the air. Her exposed, rock-hard pearl sent a clear message of what she wanted next.

He got the memo and without hesitation drew the nub into his mouth and then plunged his tongue inside her. Swirling, tickling, licking her joy trail as though it were chocolate ice cream. She ground herself against him. Short bursts of breath hinting of her impending climax. Just as she erupted, he replaced his tongue with several inches of hard passion and continued loving her.

Julian wasn’t a dancer, but one couldn’t tell. A disciplined workout regimen and martial arts training kept his six-foot-one-inch frame in shape, ready for several rounds of lovemaking. Finally, after Nicki’s third orgasm, he gave in to his own shuddering release. A thin sheen of perspiration covered them both as he folded back the flowered spread, pulled away the cool white top sheet and covered them.

“See how much I missed you?” he asked, using his finger to smooth strands of dampened hair behind Nicki’s ear.

“I felt how much.” Her face was turned away from him, but Julian heard the smile in her voice.

“You sure I can’t talk you into leaving New York, moving to the West Coast and ending this notion of a long-distance relationship? I can’t see not having you, not having this—” he caressed her booty “—on a regular basis. Can you?”

Nicki turned to face him. “I almost died this month without having you around to do what you do, and very well, I might add. Of course I want to be with you. But you know I can’t. I’m not the lead in this show, but it is Broadway. When are you coming to see the show?”

“I don’t know, but I’d love to be there opening night. When does it start?”

“Next month.”

“August? Isn’t that unusual?”

“It’s rare. Most shows open during the fall. We’re hoping that being one of the few new shows next month will translate into a strong box office showing. What about you? Ready to open for business?”

“I already have a few clients. The office will open in two to three weeks, depending on how quickly I can hire an assistant. Mom worked with an interior designer friend to create the type of environment I want—professional and relaxing at the same time. It’ll be finished by the time I get back in town.”

“From here?”

“No, from Chicago. I fly there for a conference that begins on Wednesday.”

“Office up and running, clients on the schedule. Sounds like the transition from intern to private practice was easy.”

“There were challenges.”

“Obviously none you couldn’t handle.”

He smiled, swiped the tip of her nose. “What’s your point?”

“The point is that you can make opening night, maybe even bring some of your family along. It’s going to be a great show. The Rapunzel fairy tale has been done before, but never like this.”

“With Rapunzel rapping her lines? I think not. Bet those DJs in the ’70s talking over beats had no idea what a revolution in music they were creating, a style that would end up on Broadway and take over the music world.”

“The genre has definitely outlasted its critics. The show involves hip-hop, jazz, even country. It will appeal to a wide audience, which is why I think the chances of A Hair’s Tale succeeding on Broadway are very good. It’s a limited run right now. Only sixteen weeks. But if it remains as popular as it is now, the show can get extended indefinitely. Have an unbelievable run, like The Lion King, Phantom and Cats. As long as it’s on Broadway, I want to be playing my role!”

“You’re dramatic.” A caress suggested it was a part of her that he enjoyed. “I’ll tell them about it, see if they want to join me.”

Nicki turned, her gaze loving as she took a finger and outlined Julian’s thick brows, his aquiline nose and Cupid’s bow lips. “Thank you, Doctor,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome, my private dancer,” he cooed, brushing his hand across her long, silky tresses before pulling her into his arms, kissing her deeply and silently vowing to find a way to permanently shorten the distance between them.

Chapter 2

Julian Drake, PsyD. A bit pretentious, Julian thought as he stopped and observed the gold-and-platinum name plaque on the door of his practice. His mother had purchased and mounted it as a welcome-home surprise, along with the office suite they’d given him for earning his psychology doctorate earlier than most and breezing through an eighteen-month internship with ease.

He appreciated the gesture, even though the nameplate wasn’t his style at all. A plain black plastic slider with white lettering would have been fine with him, and the office suite had a few more rooms than he needed. Especially now while just getting started. His parents, Ike and Jennifer, were understandably proud, and ecstatic that he’d decided to open his practice in Paradise Cove instead of on the East Coast as Nicki had wanted. That she hadn’t joined him was a disappointment for his family and devastating for him. His family loved Nicki. Her tomboyish ways with his brothers helped her fit right in, and her knack for style with a bohemian edge, along with being a professional dancer, made for a lot in common with his sisters. Jennifer had even approached Nicki with the idea of periodic dance workshops at the Drake Community Center. As much as he’d wanted it, Julian knew the chances of Nicki relocating with him was a long shot. After she got a major role in a Broadway show, he knew there was no shot at all. The entertainment world was all abuzz about the talented young writer who’d created the show and the composer who’d scored the work. His sister had even heard about it. When Julian told London about Nicki’s invitation, she’d excitedly asked to join him, but the preview shows were sold out.

Julian was eager to get his practice up and running. The busier he was, the less time he’d have to think about how much he missed Nicki.

His cell phone vibrated. Had he thought her up? Retrieving it from his jacket pocket, he unlocked the door while answering the call.

“Dr. Drake.” He hit the speaker button and continued through the reception area to the spacious corner office he occupied.

“Yes, Doctor. This is Natalie Moore from Superior Staffing. You left a message with our service last night requesting a call.”

Julian immediately recognized the voice. “Natalie as in the Nat Pack?”

A short pause and then, “Do I know you?”

“Yes, you do. It’s Julian.”

“The Julian Drake I picked on all through grade school?”

“I think it lasted through junior high, and yes, it’s me.”

“No way! And you’re a doctor now? Not surprising, since you left all your classmates behind in the dust. You skipped, what, one or two years?”

“More like doubled up on some and tested out of others. They didn’t really skip me.”

“However it happened, you graduated at sixteen. You’d already been gone a couple months when I found out. I can’t believe you remember me.”

“Didn’t at first. Your married name threw me. But I’ll never forget that high-pitched voice.”

“And I’ll never forget you had no voice at all. Always so quiet. And I’m divorced, by the way. Would have reverted to Johnson, but I have a son. The boy genius Julian, a doctor. That fits you. Will you be working at the urgent-care center that just opened up?”

“I’m a psychologist, not a medical doctor. I’m opening a private practice.”

Another pause, this one a bit longer. “Come to give my dad some competition, huh? He’s the go-to shrink in this town. Has treated patients here for over thirty years. So good luck with that.”

“I have no desire to compete with Dr. Johnson or anyone else. Mental illnesses and behavioral disorders have steadily increased through the years that he’s practiced and are still on the rise, which means, unfortunately, there are likely to be enough clients for both of us.”

“That’s what a couple other doctors thought. One still has an office here, though I heard she teaches at a community college to supplement her income. Guess the one or two people who slipped past my father weren’t enough for her to pay the bills.”

“Thanks for the encouragement.”

“You’re welcome.”

Julian pondered Natalie’s words as he gazed out the window. It was a beautiful day. During the festivities in Louisiana, the mercury had climbed to ninety degrees and above. Too hot for Julian, even for July. Or any other month. He much preferred the seventies experienced during Northern California summers. The office’s location on the building’s fifteenth floor offered unobstructed views of the town’s tony square and the sprawling fields and ranches of Paradise Valley beyond it. His brother Warren owned one of those ranches. He thought how good a horse ride would feel but knew that with the work ahead of him, today wouldn’t be when he got to do it.

“Where’d you graduate and do your internship?”

“Graduated from Columbia.” Julian walked back to his desk and sat. “Interned in New York.”

“Impressive, Doctor. Why’d you decide to come back here?”

Julian looked at his watch. Time to focus on the matter at hand—hiring an assistant. If she was as nosy now as she had been in high school, the Natalie he remembered could keep him on the phone all afternoon.

“Probably the same reason you did, to do business in my hometown. Speaking of which, I assume your call is regarding the information I filled out online?”

“Yes, Superior Staffing is my company, and yes, PC is still a very small town.”

They shared a laugh. “Indeed. Will you be able to assist me, considering I’m viewed as your dad’s competition?”

“Ha! Dad has probably forgotten more than you’ll learn.”

“Ouch!”

“Just calling it like I see it. You’re no competition for him. As for an assistant, I do have a couple qualified recruits in mind who, based on what I know so far, would be good matches. At least from the online questionnaire that you filled out.”

“So how do we proceed? I’d like to get someone hired as quickly as possible.”

“Normally I’d set up the first appointment and send them over at your earliest convenience. But since it’s you, a friend I’ve known since grade school, I think a follow-up interview is in order, one done in person so I can be sure to select the most appropriate candidates for the position. What about dinner tomorrow night at Acquired Taste?”

“I’m busy most evenings. How about lunch, around noon?”

“Perfect. See you then.”

“And Natalie, no practical jokes, okay? The little kid is all grown up.”

“You sure have, and quite nicely. I pulled up your profile online.”

“Good. Then I’ll be easy to recognize. See you tomorrow.”

Julian dodged Natalie’s flirty comment. He remembered her popularity in high school and had known several of the guys she’d dated. Pretty girl. Funny, too. He wanted her assistance in finding a competent assistant, but nothing more.

* * *

“Another great show, Nicki!”

“Thanks, hon.” Nicki hugged Paige, her friend and cast mate. “Had to take it to the next level to shine beside you!”

“That’s right, girl! Razzle!”

“Dazzle!” They high-fived. “If these previews are any indication, opening night is going to be huge.”

“Is Julian coming?”

“That’s the plan. What about Mike?”

“I don’t know. He’s always working.”

“Hmm, the detective sounds like someone else I know.”

The two laughed, locking arms as they walked down the dark and narrow backstage hallway to the exit just off Forty-Ninth Street. As usual, a group of theatergoers circled the exit, waiting for a chance to get a snapshot. Maybe even an autograph or a selfie. Most were there for Paige, the famous pop celebrity playing Rapunzel. But a lot of fans loved the best friend added in the modern retelling of the classic fairy tale and waited for Nicki, who played her. Though tired, Nicki obliged them. Countless times, she’d been that fan, waiting for her favorite star. Dying for an autograph. She’d dreamed of being that star since she was ten. And here she was.

Paige turned to her. “Hey, my car’s here. Want a ride?”

“Seriously? Of course!”

The driver stood next to the rear car door he’d just opened. “Good evening, ladies.” A nod and smile accompanied the formal greeting.

“Joe, this is Nicki. Nicki, Joe.”

“Hello, Joe.”

They slid into the back seat of a roomy town car. Nicki rubbed her hand across the soft leather seat. “Is this one of the perks of being the star?”

“Thanks to my agent. I wouldn’t have thought to request it on my own.”

Nicki settled against the seat and sighed. “Lifestyles of the rich and famous.”

Paige leaned forward toward a panel of buttons and raised the privacy partition.

“Ooh, fancy! Just like in the movies.”

“I thought you’d like it. But I put it up because you had something to tell me.”

The reminder sat Nicki straight up. “Oh my gosh, girl, you won’t believe it. And I’m telling you right now. This can’t be repeated. If I hear it back, I’ll know where to come.”

“Don’t you know you can trust me by now?”

Nicki did. The entertainment business was cutthroat. Jobs on Broadway were limited. Competition was fierce and few made friends, Nicki included. Paige had been the exception. The two had met while doing regional theater, ironically both having boy troubles at the time. They commiserated and eventually met each other’s boyfriends—Julian and Mike. Shortly after the play ended, Paige moved to New York. They’d been besties ever since.

“Remember a couple years ago when Julian and I broke up?”

“Like the for-real breakup, because you turned down his marriage proposal and broke the guy’s heart? Yep, I remember.”

“Dang, Paige, did you have to say it like that?”

“To clarify which off-and-on we were talking about? Yes, I did. Besides, isn’t that what happened?”

“Anyway...remember my rebound guy, the pro basketball player?” Nicki placed air quotes around his title.

“Told you that he played pro ball, left out that he hadn’t had a contract in years?”

“I still can’t believe I didn’t google his ass.”

Nicki paused and looked out the window. A mental replay of meeting Vince Edwards played in her mind.

Late-night party uptown. Private. Rooftop. Being beautiful seemed the price of admission. A stranger approached while she sipped a drink. Introduced himself as Vince Edwards, a pro basketball player. He’d sure looked the part. Tall, attractive. Muscles and dimples in all the right places, with enough raw manly swagger to bottle and sell. When they hugged she got goose bumps, but along with the excitement came a foreboding feeling. She ignored it and gave him her number.

A couple of weeks into the romantic whirlwind, behaviors began to surface that had reminded Nicki of her earlier apprehensiveness. The first was declaring his love for her a week after they met. The second was falling in love with her brownstone that—number three—he wanted to move into after the second week. Nicki saw more red flags after this request than those waved in Arrowhead Stadium at a Chiefs football game. But she’d continued to date him. Until the fourth reason—a woman named Brittany. The woman with whom he currently lived. The woman who’d threatened to kick him out for cheating, and not just with Nicki. In a calm, almost pleasant voice, the astute stranger had passed along a few pertinent details Vince had not shared. Multiple children. Gambling habit. No new sports contract or endorsement deals. Nicki thanked the woman and meant it. Got back with Julian a short time later, thankful she’d dodged a bullet.

“I thought you blocked his number.”

“I did. A call came up private. I answered it without a second thought.”

“What did he want?”

“Nothing much. Just wondered if I had twenty thousand dollars to loan him.”

Paige screeched. “WTF?”

“Oh, and he needs it by Friday. Can you believe it?”

“How’d he figure you had that kind of money?”

“I guess because I’m on a Broadway stage.”

“Even so, why’d he think you’d loan it to him?”

“That’s where it really gets crazy. He’s taking credit for the show I did in Atlanta shortly after we broke up. Says he pulled the strings that got me the job.”

“Ooh, right! And he showed up backstage claiming y’all were a couple. Wasn’t the director his sister or something?”

“Cousin, and it turned out only a distant one at that. He had nothing to do with me getting that job. I auditioned like everyone else. What a liar.”

“You guys didn’t even date that long. What was it, a month?”

“Barely.”

“Jeez. So what did you say when he asked you?”

“What do you think I said? No! Then he had the nerve to ask me out!”

“What was your answer?” Paige asked, laughing.

“Hell no!”

Nicki tried not to laugh but was soon cracking up. Paige always made her feel better.

“Do you think he’ll call again?”

“With the size of his ego? I don’t doubt it.”

They reached Paige’s apartment building in trendy SoHo. The driver dropped Paige off, headed toward the Brooklyn Bridge and twenty minutes later was at Nicki’s place, a three-story brownstone that had been converted into two apartments. Hers was the larger one and occupied the two upper floors. It was spacious and airy, with tall ceilings and big windows to let in lots of natural light. Her respite from the grind of the theater district, where she practically lived six days a week.

“Bye, Joe.” She blew a kiss to the driver, then opened the gate and hurried up the steps to the second-floor entrance. Within seconds she’d kicked off her shoes and walked to the kitchen in search of something sparkling with a kick. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but a wine spritzer after two shows helped her wind down.

“Nothing,” she mumbled, looking in the fridge. “Great.”

Bypassing the heels she’d just kicked off, Nicki grabbed a pair of sandals from the hallway shoe rack and headed to the corner store that, luckily for her, stayed open until eleven. After picking out her favorite chardonnay and a liter of sparkling water, she headed back home. The street was sparsely populated and quiet, typical for this time on a Wednesday night. As she neared her walk-up, two men got out of a car parked in front. Ever the New Yorker, she was on instant alert but didn’t pick up any negative vibes. They talked casually, even laughed as the driver tapped the key fob to lock the car. Nicki relaxed, stepped to the right to walk by them. The driver, to his left. She looked up, expecting a come-on. The man was not laughing. At all.

She took a step in the other direction. The passenger had come from the other side of the car and stood in front of her.

A frustrated sigh gave her the chance to quickly scan the areas behind and beside her. Suddenly the streets were empty. Not another person in sight. Why didn’t I buy groceries on Monday, instead of spending the day on Long Island catching up with friends? Instead of fifteen dollars and some change, her desire for a sparkling libation could cost a lot more. Her brownstone was only two doors down. If she could just get around them...

Summoning her Brooklyn-born-and-bred attitude, she raised to her full height of five foot eight and looked the man standing in front of her directly in the eye. At the same time, she positioned her house key between her index and middle fingers, ready to puncture a cheek or gouge out an eye.

“Let me by.”

“Nicki Long, right?”

Caught entirely off guard, she couldn’t hide her surprise. “Who are you?”

“Friends of Vince. Come to get the money you owe him.”

Seriously? Vince’s ego was bigger than she realized. But if he thought this Brooklyn babe could be intimated, he had another thought coming.

“You have the wrong Nicki. I don’t owe Vince a thing.” She took a step to go around the guy talking, the one on the right. He stepped, too, in front of her.

“Move,” she commanded, now truly more annoyed than angry. “Vince has obviously lied to you, just like he did to me. I hope the promise of money wasn’t one of them.”

The tall, lanky driver studied his nails, wearing dark shades at almost midnight. “Vince did promise us money, as a matter of fact. From the money you owe him. So now instead of one problem—” he looked at his partner “—you have three.”

“Look, I don’t owe Vince. And I don’t even know you, let alone owe you. You’ve got the wrong woman.” Nicki pushed past him. A steely hand clamped onto her arm. Stopped her in her tracks. She whirled around.

“Let go of me.” The driver increased the pressure. It hurt like heck. Her heart thudded erratically. But Nicki forced her features to remain relaxed. She pointedly looked at his hand on her arm and then into his eyes. “I said let. Me. Go.”

“Hey, neighbor!”

Nicki’s body almost sagged in relief. Miss Frances was an elaborative gossip and a constant snoop, but at this very moment Nicki could have kissed her on the mouth.

“Good evening!” She pushed past the men and walked toward the gate where Miss Frances stood wearing a flowered robe and a sleeping cap over pink foam rollers, her squinted eyes trained on the men now walking toward the car.

“We’ll be at the show,” the driver said, fake friendly. “Rapunzel,” he added, making sure she knew he knew which one.

“We’ll be sure to look for you.” Nicki turned and watched the passenger taunt her as he opened his car door. “Break a leg.”

A shiver ran down Nicki’s spine. She turned away. Miss Frances continued to stare at the car as it started up and eased away from the curb.

“QZZ, zero, zero, zero, four.”

“Ma’am?”

“The license plate number. Hurry up and write it down.”

Nicki repeated the number, impressed that her neighbor had thought to get it. “I’ll remember it. Thank you so much, Miss Frances. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come out when you did.”

“I saw you trying to get past them. When the second one came over and blocked the walk, I figured it was trouble.” Miss Frances turned keen eyes on Nicki. “You don’t know those men?”

Nicki shook her head. “No.”

“They obviously know you, came right to your doorstep. What did they want?”

“They had me confused with somebody else.”

“How could that be when they’re coming to your show?” Miss Frances’s gaze was unflinching. Clearly she was unconvinced.

Nicki was equally convinced that what the two men wanted from her was not only something she wouldn’t give, but also something her nosy, overly talkative neighbor didn’t need to know.

“Thanks again for coming out to check on me. You more than likely prevented a crime.”

“Watching out for each other is what neighbors do.”

Nicki gave Miss Frances a quick hug and headed toward her gate.

“Watch yourself,” Miss Frances yelled behind her. “Remember, those men said they’d see you tomorrow.”

Nicki gave a final wave as she hurried up the steps and into her apartment. There was no need for Miss Frances’s reminder. What the men had said—and even more so how they’d said it—was something that Nicki knew she’d never forget.

Once inside she opened the wine, poured a liberal amount into a goblet and took a long drink. She added some sparkling water and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. With each step her heart slowed and her hands shook less. The past several minutes replayed like a video in her mind. Even as it happened, it had felt like a movie. As if it were someone else. After recording the license number on a pad by her bed, she dialed Vince’s number. It went to voice mail.

“If what happened tonight happens again, I’m going to the police. I will not be harassed, and I certainly will not be threatened by the likes of you or those fools you sent over tonight. Their actions were recorded. So is this phone call. Leave me alone, Vince Edwards. Goodbye.”

She hung up, exhausted. Massaged her tense neck and shoulders. Despite the bravado in her message to Vince, the sinister-looking bullies had left Nicki shaken. She wondered if by chance the store’s surveillance camera had picked up those guys accosting her tonight. She made a mental note to check with the owner tomorrow. For now, she wanted to go to sleep and escape a nightmare named Vince.

Chapter 3

She’d planned to tell no one what happened last night. Especially Paige, because Nicki knew she would worry. But a few days later, while Nicki waited with Paige for the pop star’s car to arrive, the words tumbled out.

“If my neighbor hadn’t come out when she did,” she finished, “I don’t know what might have happened. A part of me wants to believe this was just a scare tactic to see if I could be frightened into sending the cash.”

Paige’s look was doubtful. “And the other part?”

“Really wishes those store cameras could have captured their images so that I’d have concrete evidence of how they harassed me.”

“But their car was on the tape?” Nicki nodded. “Then take that along with a statement from your neighbor and file a police report. You can’t ignore this, Nicki, or wish it away. I hope that night was the end of it, but if not, you’ll want to have everything that happened documented. Do you still have the messages Vince left on your phone?”

“I think so.”

“You need to keep all of that, and if he ever calls again, record it. And you need to tell Julian.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because the more people who are aware of what’s happening, the better any future case might be. And because he’s the man who loves you.”

Joe waved as he pulled the car to the curb.

Nicki waved back and turned to walk away.

Paige called after her, “Where are you going? Joe will take you home.”

“And get used to such lavish star treatment? I’m fine on the subway.”

Paige waved off the comment and walked toward her. “Marry Julian and you’ll have your own driver.” She lowered her voice. “I know your real reason for preferring the train. To get off the subject of telling Julian what’s going on. This business with Vince is out of control. He needs to know about it.”

“I’ll think about it.” Nicki started walking again. Tossed a parting line over her shoulder. “See you mañana.”

She headed to the downtown trains, jumping on the Brooklyn-bound number three. Passing a couple empty seats as the car swayed and wove its way through the underground tunnels, she placed a shoulder against a pole with the practiced ease of a native New Yorker, checking emails and reading texts. One was from Julian. He’d wished her merde, a dancer’s good luck, as he did most nights. Made her think of Paige and the proposal that had happened months before Julian began his internship.

It had been lovely. Lit up on the marquee in the heart of Times Square. He’d gone to one knee, pulled out a telltale blue box and everything. A crowd had gathered, oohed and ahhed. He’d looked so hopeful. But she couldn’t say yes. She’d smiled and hugged him excitedly, making the crowd think she accepted so he wouldn’t be embarrassed. But later on she broke the truth. New York was her soul, Broadway her goal. That’s when he decided they needed a break.

And then Vince happened. She’d heard there’d been no shortage of women vying to claim the spot as Julian’s girlfriend that she’d vacated. A couple of them she knew. Word was he hadn’t dated, had focused on work. Once they got back together, she found out why and felt even worse about her rebound fling. Her rejection had hurt him as deeply as he loved her, a love so strong that when she reached out to him several months later, he took her back, no problem.

The train reached her stop. It was late. Only one other person got off with her. She walked to the stairs and climbed up them, trying to ignore the fearful thought that the duo she’d started calling Bert and Ernie might be waiting for her. Time for a diversion. It was either that or a panic attack. Pulling out her phone, she called Julian. Contrary to Paige’s advice, she would not tell him about what was going on. Julian didn’t know about that ill-fated tryst. She intended to keep it that way.

“Hey, babe. Thanks for the encouraging text. Didn’t read it until after, but the show was—” Nicki drew in a sharp breath as she watched a dark-colored sedan race toward her. Instinct took over. She ran against the light, chancing a look back as she crossed the street. Caught the first two letters on the license plate as the car zoomed through the intersection and continued on its way. Not after her. Just in a hurry. She remembered the license number Miss Frances had given her. The one she’d just seen wasn’t it.

She eased out of the storefront entryway, feeling silly. Paranoid much? She felt someone’s gaze and looked up to see an old man watching her intently. Could only imagine how she must have looked, running when no one was chasing her. Hiding from someone that he couldn’t see. She looked down and realized the call to Julian was still live. God, no. Had she made a sound? Nicki quickly pushed the end button, praying that somehow in the frenzy a message that would sound weird at best, maybe even frightening, wouldn’t go through. Minutes later a text came through. Her prayer had not been answered.

Babe, what’s going on? Where are you?

She continued the short distance to her house, formulating an answer on the way. Just inside her home, she dropped her bag and texted back.

Sorry about that. Just wanted to beat the light, that’s all.

Nicki continued up the stairs to her bedroom, hoping the casual answer would suffice. After several minutes had passed, she thought it had. She took a shower, washed her hair and slipped into a pair of comfy cotton pj’s. Grabbing her phone, she continued downstairs for a cup of chamomile. Julian had called. Left a message and a text. Not only did he not buy her lie, he told her he’d see her on opening night, in person, to find out the truth. Damn, damn, damn!

* * *

One week after that text exchange and ten minutes before curtain, the Drake entourage entered the theater and were ushered to the third row in the orchestra’s center section. They’d flown in for opening night on a company plane. A limo service met them at the private airstrip, with premium champagne and appetizers for the thirty-minute ride into the theater district. The men debonair, the women beautiful, they commanded the attention of the entire audience. Julian took the center seat. To his right was his oldest brother, Ike Jr., with his wife, Quinn. No question whose decision it was to accept his invitation. Ike, ten years older than his pretty wife, detested hip-hop or any similar sounding music. Or he had, until Quinn came into the picture. Of all Julian’s brothers, Ike’s temperament most closely matched his own. That the conservative executive who almost slept in a business suit tonight sported a matching shirt and slacks set from their fashion designer brother-in-law Ace Montgomery’s collection was proof of how Quinn had relaxed him.

Julian loved observing the laid-back Ike, almost as much as the fact that California’s next senator sat on his other side. After serving as mayor of Paradise Cove for several years, another brother, Niko, two years younger than Ike, was on a tireless campaign to represent the Golden State in the next election. He and attorney wife Monique crisscrossed the state tirelessly, so much so that the family staged a mock intervention to force a weekend of rest. The bribe? Tickets to Nicki’s sold-out show. A Monday morning meeting with a political think tank had been thrown in also, but Julian chose not to focus on that. His brother was here, relaxed, laughing with Terrell, Julian’s next oldest brother, in town with his wife, Aliyah. All in attendance to support his girl.

Their gesture was much appreciated. For almost a decade, his focus had been on getting his PsyD and completing his internship. Everything else had taken a back seat, including Nicki and his family. He blamed that fact on why Nicki turned down his marriage proposal. As for the people around him who shared his name? He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed them until just now.

He nudged Ike. “Ready to get the party started?”

“What I’d start would more likely be a mass exit.”

“Honey!” Quinn smacked his forearm. “That didn’t sound very supportive.”

“Hey, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes, with a pair of earplugs in your pocket.”

Julian leaned forward toward Quinn. “You’re kidding, right?” She shook her head. “Bro, really?”

“Guilty as charged.”

Julian and Quinn shared a sigh of exasperation. She watched him idly tapping the chair arm with his fingers. “Nervous?”

“Excited.”

“When’s the last time you saw her perform?”

New Orleans, Julian thought with a smile, remembering their secret family reunion getaway. “It’s been a while.”

“London’s going to hate that she missed it.”

Niko’s wife, Monique, sat next to Quinn. “All London is thinking about is fashion week. She and Ace are busy tightening up next week’s show-stopping finale.”

Julian’s youngest sister, London, was a superstar model, her husband, Ace, a model turned fashion mogul.

“Fashion week is impressive,” Quinn said, her eyes sparkling as she eyed the stage. “But this is Broadway.”

As if on cue, the lights dimmed.

The stage went completely black. A single drumbeat burst out of the darkness. Boom cha. Boom cha. Then several more percussion instruments along with a sequencer delivering an old-school scratch over syncopated beats, building with every note. Lights, like stars, began to flicker everywhere. On stage and off.

A group of dancers appeared, Nicki among them, lithe, graceful, beautiful, twirling and gyrating and skipping across the stage. Julian watched. Focused. Entranced. Her body seemed a mass of barely contained energy mixed with soulful joy and childlike timidity, personifying the young character she portrayed. A bodysuit clung to her like a second skin, the crystals covering it catching the light, mixing with the twinkling orbs around her that made her a star as well. His heart swelled with pride and, but for strong discipline, another body part would have also grown in size. She was beautiful and talented, amazing and perfect. And she was his girl.

The dance ended. For a second no one moved, then as one, the theater erupted in a round of earsplitting applause mixed with whistles and yells. The second song in the act began, a solo by Rapunzel, and ninety minutes later the audience had to catch their breaths from the wild, exhilarating ride on which they’d been taken. Shortly after the show ended, an assistant came to escort the Drake family backstage.

Behind the door was a crush of sponsors, reporters, actors and their family members, all vying for space in the close, humid quarters. Julian spotted Nicki across the room. She posed with the actor who’d played Rapunzel. Camera flashes temporarily brightened their drab surroundings. A dozen conversations happened at once, a din that made talking at length impossible. He motioned for the others to follow him. Nicki saw his gesture. She whispered to Rapunzel, who looked their way and joined Nicki as she walked over.

Nicki hugged Julian before turning to Paige. “You remember Julian.”

“Of course. Hey, handsome!”

“Hey, Paige. Excellent show.” They shared a brief hug and air-kisses.

“And this is part of the Drake family.”

“My pleasure to meet everybody.” Paige smiled as she took in the beautiful tableau. “I’ve heard so much about all of you.”

“All good, I hope,” Niko said.

“No, she told me the truth.”

Amid the laughter, Nicki introduced Paige to the rest of the family before leading the way through a narrow, dimly lit hallway to the door with a star that bore her name. Once inside, Julian allowed the others to offer their congrats before once again pulling Nicki into his arms. “You were amazing, baby.”

“You liked it?”

“I loved it.”

She pulled away to look at him. “Thanks for the flowers and the champagne. They’re wonderful.”

“So are you.”

Niko stepped up to the couple. “I hate to break up this lovefest, but it’s hot as heck in this shoe box. A star like you can’t command a larger dressing room?”

“This is a larger one,” Nicki deadpanned. “And I’m not a star yet, but thank you. Now get out of here. Give me a few minutes to change, and I’ll meet you by the side exit. Except you,” she finished, reaching for Julian’s hand as the others exited. “You can help me undress.”

“I haven’t seen you in a month, girl,” Julian whispered, running a hand down her back and cupping her butt. “Seeing all that loveliness and not getting a taste will be a pretty tall order.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. Gave him a peck on the lips. “It’ll be worth the wait.”

He kissed her back, deepened it with a swipe of his tongue to part her lips as he reached behind her and undid her zipper. Her last costume, a long, frilly number of sequins and lace, fell to the floor as Julian ran his hands along her torso, searching for and finding pert nipples ready to tweak. He lowered his mouth and pulled one in between his teeth, walked them toward the dressing table.

“Julian!”

“Just a little bit...”

He lifted her with the finesse of a dancing partner, set her on the table and positioned himself between her legs. The belt buckle was unfastened. Pants came unzipped. He reached for his ever-hardening shaft, rubbed the tip along her leg as he eased it toward her quivering folds and...

Knock! “Nicki? You in there?”

“Don’t answer it,” Julian whispered.

“It’s not locked.” Nicki shimmied off the table and reached for her robe. “Yeah, I’m in here.” She cracked the door.

An assistant peeked her head in. “A reporter from Variety is here for you. A bunch of fans, too.”

“Out in five minutes.”

Shortly afterward, Nicki emerged from the dressing room looking fresh and effervescent, as though she’d emerged from a nap, not just performed a nonstop, high-energy show. Hair pulled into a topknot, face nearly devoid of makeup and eyes glowing, she wore a long, loose maxi with bold geometric prints, clunky jewelry and sandals. One could have easily mistaken her for a model instead of a dancer, and many had. Julian walked beside her, a strong but quiet presence amid the crowd.

“Nicki! Nicki!” Fans and the press clamored for her attention. She spent a moment with the reporters, then walked over to where dozens of fans held out programs and other memorabilia for her to sign. While she posed for a couple selfies, Julian texted Niko and requested the limo be brought around to the side entrance. When he turned back, she was rushing toward him.

“Let’s go,” she muttered, not stopping. “Where’s the car?”

Julian quickly spotted Niko standing beside a white stretch limo and waving. He reached for her hand. “Come on.”

He helped her into the limo. She fell back against the seat, clearly relieved.

“Looks like they didn’t want to let you go back there,” Niko teased.

“Yeah.” Nicki glanced out the window, then turned to Julian. “Where are we eating? I’m starved.”

“I’ve handled that,” Terrell said. “Driver, we’re ready.”

The limo pulled away from the curb. Julian put an arm around Nicki. “What was that about?”

“What?”

“You left as though you were running away from someone.”

Quinn overheard him. “What, someone freaked her out?”

All other conversation halted. Eyes turned toward her. “Julian is overexamining my hasty exit. I was simply ready to go.”

He leaned over and spoke softly in her ear. “Ready to go, or trying to beat another light?”

She laughed off the remark, and in the familiar surroundings of New York City interacted more confidently with Julian’s powerful family. She regaled them with stories of life in the city that never slept, including some memorable college moments with Julian before she’d dropped out to pursue dancing. Anyone looking on would see a beautiful, carefree woman out on the town. But Julian wasn’t fooled. He was not only a doctor of behavioral study who’d graduated with honors, but a highly observant man who’d seen every side of Nicki. Something was going on with her. Something she obviously didn’t want to share. They were in the city to celebrate her opening night, so he wouldn’t push. But he wouldn’t forget, either. It looked like he now had two problems—how to get Nicki to leave New York and move to California, and how to find out what was behind the urgency in his gut that made him want to hasten that move.

Chapter 4

“Are you sure it was him?”

Though she hadn’t gotten much sleep due to the Drakes’ late departure from New York City, Nicki was up before seven o’clock. It was either that or keep lying in bed thinking through a continuous replay of what happened last night. Instead, she’d been shimmying into a pair of running shorts when Paige called with the critics’ glowing reviews. The conversation had quickly shifted to less optimistic news.

“Paige, I’m positive. It was Vince. I don’t think he saw the show, but he was there waiting on the sidewalk by the stage door. I saw him as soon as we walked outside.”

“Maybe he did see it and came back there to congratulate you.”

“Then why didn’t he? Why is it that he started toward me, but when he saw Julian he quickly turned around and went the other way? I swear I don’t know what’s up with that guy, but his stalker-like ways are starting to freak me out.”

“Did he call you?”

“Nope. But I tried calling him. Went to voice mail again.”

“Did you leave a message?”

“Same as last time. Said I didn’t have money to lend him and to leave me alone or I’d call the police.” Nicki rubbed away the goose bumps that had suddenly popped up on her arms. “I want to believe he’ll do as I asked, but there was something about him when I saw him last night. A desperate kind of look in his eyes...”

“I think you should go to the police.”

“And say what? That a guy asked me for a loan and then came to my show?”

“That’s not how you told it to me.”

“It’s how the police will see it.”

“What about the black sedan?”

“What about it? Other than the license plate number, I don’t have anything to prove that story. Even that isn’t concrete proof those guys threatened me or were even by my house. They could deny it and the police would deduce that I could have written that number down from anywhere.” Nicki’s phone beeped. “Oh my God, Paige. I think this is him. See you tonight.”

“Be careful. Record the call!”

Nicki clicked over. “Hello?” She opened her settings, looking for a record button.

“Hey, Nicki.”

“Vince. What’s going on? Why are you stalking me?”

“Stalking you? What are you talking about?”

She scrolled through her settings, pushed the call icon. Scrolled. Where was the record feature and why hadn’t she tried finding it before now?

“The other night at the show.”

“Yeah, I was there. So were hundreds of other people.”

“You saw the show?”

“Of course. Why else would I be there?”

“Um, let’s see, I can think of about twenty thousand reasons, unless you found someone else to give you the loan.”

“Oh, that. No, I haven’t found anyone, and the guys I owe are stepping up the pressure.”

“Like you did to me by sending over your thuggish friends?”

She heard an anguished sigh. “I didn’t send them over, Nicki. Not how you’re thinking, anyway. I told them you owed me money. I didn’t tell them to go over and collect it.”

“Then how’d they know where I live?” Silence. “Exactly.” Nicki gave up trying to find the record button. It was too hard to search, think and talk at the same time. “What you’re doing is not cool, Vince. And while I’m sorry you’ve gotten yourself into a predicament, there’s nothing I can do to help you.”

“Not even with some of it—say, five thousand, or ten?”

“Why do you think I have that kind of money to loan out, or that I’d give it to you even if I did?”

“Because at one time you cared about me.”

That much was true, Nicki secretly admitted. She’d fallen hard and fast for the tall charmer. Theirs had been a brief romance, but it also had been a whirlwind of intense fun and loving. Before it wasn’t.

“Because even though I was a dog in the time that we hung out, my feelings for you were real. I wish I’d understood what a gift it was to have you in my life, but it took you leaving for me to find that out.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t hate you, and I can’t loan you money.”

“Is that guy the reason you won’t go out, the one with you at the show last night?”

“Look, Vince, I’ve got to go.”

“Just tell me. Is that your boyfriend? If so, I’ll leave you alone, for real this time.”

“You promise you won’t call again?”

“Not even as friends? I like you, okay?”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know what I like.”

“Yes. That was my boyfriend. He and I have been together a very long time.”

“How long?”

“More than five years.” Nicki realized her mistake at once.

“So I’m not the only cheater on the phone.”

“I didn’t cheat. We’d broken up when you and I got together, and you and I only dated a month. New York is full of good women. Find one of them and treat her the way you should have treated me and all of the women who’ve been hurt by your actions. Okay?”

“Okay. Bye, Nicki.”

Nicki hung up the phone, exhausted, depleted. Getting through that conversation without losing it had probably taken years off her life. What was that about? Declarations of love and sincere-sounding compliments?

She walked into her closet, mumbling, “Probably running the same kind of game that got me with him in the first place.”

Minutes later, earbuds firmly in place, Nicki pushed past the gate to her brownstone and hit the sidewalk running. She’d done way too little of it lately, none since what happened the other night. The conversation with Vince had been taxing, but in a way it had also freed her. He’d said he would leave her alone. She believed it.

Running in place, she looked around her. How she loved the borough called Brooklyn. Bright, bustling, colorful, diverse. Nicki knew Julian wanted her to move west. He hadn’t mentioned it on this trip but that didn’t matter. California was beautiful, true enough. But who would ever want to leave all this energy and feel like they were on vacation forever?

The light turned. Nicki jogged across the street, down the block and around the corner. She saw the bike, heard a scream and felt a pain sharper than she’d ever experienced. One more step and she was on the ground. As she fell she screamed again, realizing that the first guttural wail had been wrenched from her own throat.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop. Are you all right?” Nicki couldn’t speak past a jaw clenched against the pain shooting up from her right ankle. On her mind was a single thought—there’d be no dancing tonight.

* * *

Julian shook hands with his colleagues, tired but glad he’d agreed to the last-minute invite to join a San Francisco symposium on holistic alternatives to traditional remedies for mental illness. Most doctoral students couldn’t wait until school was over. But Julian relished the classroom and missed the sometimes passionate discussions around another’s point of view. He reached his car, slid inside and fired up the phone. After trying unsuccessfully to use it from several different locations inside during the day, he’d turned it off and placed it inside his briefcase. No hesitation in doing that. Julian lived a life that was consciously predictable. Which was why he was surprised to hear several pings as soon as his phone turned on that indicated missed calls.

He tapped and scrolled. Natalie? Couldn’t imagine what she wanted. He’d hired a capable assistant, a forty-seven-year-old single mother named Katie. At their luncheon he’d made it clear to Natalie that he was not in competition with her father, and that she’d provided the only assistance he would ever need from her. There was a call from Katie and one from his mother. The other was from Nicki. He clicked on her number and was surprised to see she’d called multiple times. As he started his car and rolled out of the parking lot, he tapped the steering wheel to engage her number. Ready to leave a message, surprised when she answered the phone.

Confused, he glanced at the dashboard and then at his watch. “Babe, why are you answering the phone? You should be...what’s wrong?”

It was after eight on the East Coast. She should be on stage. Something was definitely not right.

“Babe...”

Sniffles and then, “I’m hurt.”

“What happened?”

In halting, pain-filled detail, she told him. “Tomorrow I’ll see a specialist who’ll determine exactly how long I’ll be down. I pray that it’s only a couple weeks. But it could be longer. Julian, I’m scared. If my ankle is broken, they’ll replace me. What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to be okay,” he replied quickly, his voice calm and firm. “No matter what happens. And you’ll come here, to Paradise Cove, so that I can make sure you get the very best care available. So that I can take care of you.”

Chapter 5

Julian had factored a good six months into getting his practice up and running with a stream of regular patients. Until that happened, he felt he’d have time on his hands. He’d hired an agent to book college talks and professional speaking engagements. Had set up a schedule with the Drake Community Center’s director to offer free counseling to the troubled youth it served. The first month was understandably slow. In August, following an article featuring him in a national medical magazine, he began getting referrals from medical doctors in neighboring towns. Some from as far away as Sacramento and San Jose.

Last week, a former patient of Dr. Johnson had walked into his office. He’d been treated for ten years and felt it wasn’t working. At first Julian refused outright, but after a thorough interview, he’d decided to treat the man. People regularly changed therapists. For the patient, the change proved beneficial. For Julian, it had been fateful. The satisfied patient had obviously been talking. Barely into September and a stream of Johnson’s patients had called for appointments. He turned most of them down, but agreed to see the ones he felt would benefit from his counsel. One was in his office now, engaging in a pattern most likely developed in childhood and perfected throughout her adult life.

He stole a glance at the clock on the wall behind where his patient Vanessa sat. Nicki’s plane would arrive in just over ninety minutes. To leave right now would be cutting it close, and Vanessa’s time would be up in sixty seconds. But she was in crisis. He could not in good conscience end the session before her emotions stabilized.

He watched her twist a tissue to shreds as she recounted an incident from her abusive childhood. Tears for moments she’d probably relived thousands of times. It was neither healthy nor productive, but he knew why she did it. Why millions of people relived the very situations they’d most like to forget. How one could at first hate and then—after depression became the new normal and sadness felt sane—relish the pain.

In psychology it was called destiny neurosis, a form of repetition compulsion. The term was coined by Sigmund Freud in 1914 and expanded after further research. As she had during each previous session, Vanessa lamented over the beatings endured at the hands of her parents, and later a foster mom after the parents lost custody, yet was despondent that a physically abusive third marriage was ending. In the past, a cocktail of antianxiety and antidepressant medication had been prescribed as the cure for her chronic depression. Masking the pain, not fixing the problem. Prescription drug abuse was an epidemic in America. Seventy percent of the country was on some type of prescribed drug. A quarter of them were like Vanessa—depressed, abused, hurting. It’s one of the reasons Julian had chosen psychology over psychiatry, to push himself toward holistic, drug-free healing and make prescribed medicine the absolute last resort.

“I just want to be loved without being beaten. You know?” She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Not at all, Vanessa. Being beaten is not love. It is what you have come to associate with love, because the abuse you suffered was done by people who said they loved you, those who professed to care about you. Do you understand that?”

“What am I doing wrong, Doctor? How do I keep attracting the same type of man into my life?”

“By repeating the same thought patterns and the same actions that brought you to my office. But that’s why I’m here. To help you replace toxic thoughts and actions with positive, productive ones.” Julian looked at his watch and stood. “I have a couple things I’d like to give you.” He continued talking as he walked over to a wall unit. He pulled a card from a drawer beneath the shelving and a blank journal from a stack on one of the shelves. On the front was a message in large, bold letters: Focus on Good Thoughts and Good Things Will Happen.

He walked back to Vanessa, who had stood as well. “I want you to begin keeping a journal. Every day, write at least one page of what you are thinking. It can be anything, any thought that comes to mind. How you’re feeling. How you slept the night before. What you watched on TV or ate for dinner. Doesn’t matter. The point is to get in touch with yourself and become conscious of the storyline that’s playing in your head.”

He held up the five-by-seven card. “Here is a list of questions to help get you started. Your first journal entry can be answering these questions. There are no wrong answers. Just write how you feel.”

“But, Doctor—”

“No buts.” He took her arm and gently guided her toward the door. “You can do this, Vanessa. It’ll help you get better, okay? See you next week.”

Traffic was light, and the gods were kind. Forty-five minutes at mostly ninety miles an hour helped him reach the airport within minutes of Nicki’s arrival. Jennifer had suggested he send a car service. Much too impersonal for his queen, and for someone who’d experienced a career-threatening injury less than a week ago. He wanted to get her himself.

He parked the car and went inside, hoping she’d take his advice and use a wheelchair instead of trying to navigate the busy airport on crutches. So independent, his private dancer. A trait that over the years had often put them at odds. It had taken less coaxing than expected for her agreement to recuperate in Paradise Cove. And while he’d not promised that the specialist he’d lined up could cut her recovery from six weeks to four, it was a carrot he’d gladly dangled to bring her home.

Once inside he looked at the monitor for her flight number. The plane had landed. Most likely, she was on her way down. He checked his phone. There was a text from his mom.

Dinner with Nicki? Private room @ the club?

He quickly responded. Thanks, Mom. Not tonight.

Sunday brunch?

We’ll see.

He looked up just as a set of elevator doors opened. A heavily wrapped ankle supported by an Aircast was the first body part through the doors. It was Nicki, busily texting while the wheelchair assistant pushed her toward baggage claim. Just as she looked up, his phone dinged.

He walked to her, smiling. “Is that a message telling me you’ve arrived?”

“Yep.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a wad of bills, peeled off a twenty and tipped the assistant. “Thanks, buddy. I’ll take it from here.”

“It’s okay,” Nicki protested. “I can walk.”

“Perhaps. But what you will do is accept the generous offer to be ferried in your silver chariot from this building to my car.” He leaned down and kissed her scowling lips. “You’re welcome. How was the flight?”

“Fine, since I slept through most of it. Doctor gave me pain meds. Can’t feel the throbbing ache in my ankle, which is great. But I end up not feeling much of anything else, either.” She pointed out a large piece of hard plastic luggage with a colorful strip of material wrapped around the handle. “That’s mine.”

Julian retrieved it. “How many more?”

“That’s it.”

“You packed clothes for a four-to six-week stay in one suitcase?”

“You said I’d be treated by the best...what did you call him?”

“An orthopedic specialist.”

“Yeah, him.”

“Even the most gifted doctor cannot make the body heal faster. Here, you roll the suitcase and I’ll roll you.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

Julian quickly got Nicki settled into the front seat, and less than an hour from when he’d arrived at Oakland International Airport, they were headed back to PC. With rush-hour traffic waning, he set the cruise control to a law-abiding seventy miles per hour.

“You were supposed to call me last night.”

Nicki spoke through a yawn. “Forgot.”

“That was disobedient. When we get home, I’m going to have to spank you.”

“Lucky me.”

Said so sincerely and with such deadpan disinterest that Julian burst out laughing.

“So...what’s the official verdict? Broken?”

“Technically, no, and did you know that an actual break or full tear of the ligament and tendons would have been better than the partial tears that I have?”

“I’d heard that before.”

“I hadn’t. Doesn’t make sense that a more serious break would heal faster.”

“Life doesn’t always make sense.”

Nicki fell silent. When they were together, she was usually the more talkative of the two. It was one of her traits that made them such a perfect couple. People didn’t recognize how quiet Julian was when he and Nicki were together. The rare occasions when she was quieter than Julian were very obvious. Like now, when the only sound was the neo-soul on Julian’s playlist.

He looked over. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer right away. While staring out the window she finally replied, “Not really.”

“I understand.”

Nicki made a skeptical snort. “Please.”

“I do, babe.”

“You have no idea what I’m going through.” Nicki’s piercing look was only matched by the ever-increasing volume of her delivery. “How could you? You’re not a dancer! You haven’t been working toward a dream for well over ten years and then right when you are just about there, so close you can throw a rock and hit it, and thirty years old, something happens that takes it all away. Unless that exact thing has happened to you, there is no way you can relate.”

Julian became silent, subconsciously and without thought interpreting the behavior from a professional perspective. Hurt. Fear. Disappointment. Misplaced anger. Nicki had lashed out at him, but her anger was actually toward the situation and the man on the bike who’d instigated it. Fear of the unknown and the unproductive projecting of a worst-case scenario upon an unpredictable situation. Understandable, considering the fickle nature of entertainment. In one day and out the next. That’s why he knew better than to comment. There was no right answer for this type of reaction.

The silence lasted through two more songs.

Nicki repositioned her leg. “I hate when you do that.”

“What?”

“Psychoanalyze me—and don’t deny it. Over there all calm and quiet. I know what you’re doing.”

“Okay.” Said low and drawn out, as if testing the word to see if any repercussions would come along with it.

“Stop!” Nicki punched his arm, but she was smiling. “Is there ever a moment when you’re not trying to figure someone out?”

“I can’t help being who I am, love.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. This is a tough time. What did the director say?”

“I was supposed to call him after meeting with the specialist. I decided to wait until I see the doctor that was recommended to you. Do I have an appointment?”

“The earliest I could get you in was this Friday.”

“Today is Tuesday.” Nicki did a slow exhale. “I’ll call tomorrow and ask Milo to wait until Friday to make any...permanent changes. Dammit!” Nicki used her good foot to stomp the floor.

They continued to talk intermittently between Nicki’s quiet spells. Knowing she was in no mood to socialize, Julian waited until they were ten minutes outside Paradise Cove and then called in an order to Acquired Taste for Nicki’s favorite meal.

“I have some news that will make you feel a little better.”

“What?”

“A place for us to stay.”

“You bought a house?”

“I just closed on it. I hope you like it.”

“What matters is if you like it. I’m only going to be here for a couple weeks.”

“I know, but...you’ve always been uncomfortable staying at my parents’. So I had Terrell bring me a couple listings. I chose a town house that resembles a brownstone on the inside.”

She gave him a look.

“On the inside, I said!” He reached over and took her hand. “I know that no place will ever come close to your beloved Brooklyn or Manhattan. But I want to make you as comfortable and happy as I can while you’re here.”

“Ah, that’s sweet, babe.”

“I do have to warn you about something.”

“What?”

“I just got it, so it’s pretty empty.”

“I’m sure I can make it work.”

“Just letting you know.”

They arrived at the echoing town house a short time later. A sectional sofa was the living room’s lone furniture. The master suite was also sparsely furnished, its major feature a king-size bed. Julian helped Nicki shower, tucked her in bed, then joined her there with two tray tables. They watched TV while enjoying burgers and fries. Once the trays were removed and they’d finished their drinks, Julian pulled back the covers and raised the short nightie that covered the shaved lips that he so adored. The good food, hot shower and crisp clean sheets had been arranged with the intention to make Nicki more comfortable. Now it was time to make both of them happy.

Chapter 6

A steady throb served as her alarm clock. The ache forced her eyes open as she slowly floated up from a pain medication–induced fog. Her eyes flickered against bright sunlight and over to the digital clock on a nightstand. Ten o’clock? No way. She fell back against the pillows, but the cry for relief from the ache that went from the tear in her ankle to her shin would not be denied.

She threw back the covers and hobbled into the en suite bath. Her toiletry bag was set next to one of two brass-and-glass vessel sinks that contrasted beautifully against light-colored granite and ebony cabinets. A note was stuck on the mirror above it. Had he emptied her suitcase? What else had she slept through?

She read the extensive note, written in his neat, slanted penmanship.

Morning, beautiful. You slept so peacefully as I prepared to leave I hadn’t the heart to wake you. Breakfast is in the fridge, a credit card on the table. Please go online and order whatever you feel will make the town house a home. For ideas, call Mom. For company, call Quinn. Both cannot wait to see you. Or not—your choice. The main thing is to feel better. Restaurant choices don’t compare to Times Square but all deliver. Call when you read this. Loving you...

She looked down and noticed that beside her toiletry bag was a bottle of water. So naturally thoughtful. Innately kind. Julian had always treated her wonderfully, with the sweetest adoration and the deepest respect. Hard to admit, but sometimes she took it for granted. It had taken a break and a few dates with Vince to remind her how good she had it, how special Julian was. And here he was showing her again.

She took a pain pill. After a quick shower during which she more than appreciated the double shower’s built-in bench, Nicki wrapped a fresh bandage around her ankle, slipped on a loose mini and the Aircast and after a last-minute hop back to grab her cell, made her way downstairs with the aid of one crutch. She hadn’t felt hungry, but a growling stomach let her know that nourishment was needed.

She opened the fridge and pulled out the lone white sack that sat next to bottles of water, orange and cranberry juices, and a variety of flavored coffees. She opened one of the coffees and drank almost half of it with the first swig. Inside the bag were pastries, a bagel and a breakfast sandwich. Forgetting Julian’s warning, she opened a cabinet door to grab a plate. The cupboard was literally bare. She improvised a plate from the top of the paper container, scooped out the sandwich’s insides and nuked them in the microwave.

While reassembling the sandwich it came to her. The reason she’d tossed and turned last night. The feeling of isolation she’d felt that morning. She slowly looked around the room and wondered if she’d ever before experienced life quite this way. No noise. Total silence. So quiet she felt she could hear herself think.

For a woman who’d grown up in the hustle and bustle of Prospect Heights, with traffic and trains, the conversation of close neighbors floating through her window, and a dozen other sounds, the quiet was strange, almost eerie. She rapped a line from the musical. Her voice bounced against the walls, evaporated into the eighteen-foot vaulted ceiling.

Last night she’d barely noticed, but against the bright morning, the beauty of the home’s architecture stood out. Tan-colored ceilings and Tasmanian oak floors were a nice and different accent against ivory walls and complemented an ultramodern, dual-stone fireplace that served both the living and dining rooms. Chandeliers, modern fixtures and recessed lighting all added to the home’s warm yet sophisticated style.

Nice, she thought. Who was she kidding? The place was beyond nice. It was stunning. Like those she viewed in magazines and fantasized about owning. What was its value, she wondered. In Brooklyn such a home would go for two or three million. In Manhattan, five at least.

She reached the sofa, settled against the soft cashmere cushion and looked around her, thinking she could get used to a luxury lifestyle. Then she remembered why she was here. Not in New York. What the freak bicycle accident might cost her. The bright mood quickly faded.

Just as she was about to head to a pity party, her phone rang. She answered and put the call on speaker.

“Hey, babe.”

“Good morning, love. How are you?”

“I’m okay.”

“Did you get my note?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then why haven’t you called me, as the note instructed?”

“Listen, Doctor...”

The sound of Julian’s chuckle made her smile. “I knew that would rile you. My next appointment is due any minute, but I wanted to let you know that Quinn might be calling you. She asked and I gave her your number. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, that’s fine. I hadn’t planned to get out, but after coming downstairs and seeing how empty this place really is, I might not have a choice. At the very least we need dishes and silverware.”

“And towels. The two hanging in the bathroom are the only two in the house.”

“Oh my God.”

“Hey, I tried. It was either an empty house for just us or a fully furnished wing at my parents’ house.”

“I appreciate what you did for me, babe. This place is beautiful.”

“Katie’s calling. Appointment’s here. Love you.”

Nicki eased off the couch and took her now-empty containers into the kitchen to throw away. Not used to having downtime, she felt strangely out of sorts with so much of it now on her hands. A plan, that’s it. A plan and a few projects. That’s what she thought could help the time go quickly until her foot healed and she was back on stage in New York, where she belonged.

Back on the couch, she pressed the note icon on her phone and began to make a list. First: find a yoga studio. Nicki couldn’t dance or put pressure on her ankle, but a yoga class, especially hot yoga, would help her stay limber and maybe even help her ankle heal, too. What else? Furnish Julian’s house. That project alone could take four weeks. Four bedrooms—three unfurnished—three bathrooms, combined living/dining space and a patio, too? She’d keep it clean and simple, safe earth colors, Julian’s style. But on what kind of budget? Sure, the black card on the table had no monetary limits, but did Julian? Did she? It had taken her almost a year to personalize her two-bedroom walkup. Just as a sense of anxiety began to creep in, her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Nicki! It’s Quinn. I’m so sorry for what happened to you!”

“Thanks, Quinn. I’m pretty bummed about it.”

“I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling. You were so great in the show. Several scenes with the lead. Sold-out crowds.”

“Hey, I don’t need reminding.”

“You’re right. I’m...stupid and inconsiderate is what I am. Would you believe I was calling to cheer you up?”

“Ha! You meant well.”

“How’s the ankle?”

“Still swollen. Still throbbing.”

“Is it broken?”

“Worse, the ligaments are torn and the tendons are ruptured. The doctor said a clean break would have healed faster.”

“Tell you what. Why don’t I come grab you, show you around our cosmopolitan...uh, town.”

“I’m glad you didn’t say city.”

“I started to, but the lie wouldn’t come out of my mouth. I don’t know if you’re up for it, but I knew you were here and wanted to offer.”

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