Unforgettable
Unforgettable
ADRIANNE BYRD
Dear Reader,
I hope that you enjoy the re-release of Unforgettable, the first book in a series that introduced best friends Marcel Taylor, Ophelia Missler and Solomon Bassett and also provided the first glimpse of those wonderful Hinton brothers. The story was never meant to become a series, but then I fell in love with the characters and so have the fans. And voilà—the series continues to this day.
I hope you enjoy this little trip down memory lane to Atlanta, Georgia, where a shy office assistant named Diana Guy has a major crush on T&B’s company president Marcel Taylor. With a little help from her friends and an eccentric grandmother, she just might manage to win the heart of this elusive Casanova.
In the months to come, I hope you’ll look for the rest of the books in the series that are being re-released: Comfort of a Man, The Beautiful Ones, Feel the Fire and Love Takes Time. This coming summer, the Hintons’ cousins—the King brothers—will debut in the House of Kings series. Stay tuned and visit me on my website www.adriannebyrd.com and sign up for the newsletter so that you can be informed of all my latest releases.
Until then, I wish you the best of love,
Adrianne Byrd
Acknowledgments
I truly want to thank everyone who stood by me even as my schedule grew crazier. Much love to you all. To the fans who keep me going with their encouraging letters and emails. And of course, to my ever patient editor Evette. Thanks for always knowing how to push me to do my best.
Contents
Prologue
In need of a change
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
Avoiding regret
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
A heart can’t be fooled
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
The glass slipper
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Prologue
“Casanova Brown is getting married?” Astonishment widened Ophelia Missler’s beautiful eyes. “It’s a miracle. Did anyone call the Seven Hundred Club?”
“No one’s more surprised than I am.” Solomon chuckled and reached for his coffee.
Silence fell between the two friends nestled around a small table in the corner of Joe Mugg’s, their favorite coffee shop in downtown Atlanta.
Finally, Ophelia’s gaze narrowed as her full lips twitched at the corners. “Is this woman pregnant or something?”
A small smile lingered on Solomon Bassett’s lips. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Is she blackmailing him?”
His smile broadened. “No.” He sipped his coffee.
Another silence lapsed before a question tumbled forth. “Has anyone given him a drug test?”
Solomon nearly spewed out his coffee, but managed to swallow and shake his head. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
She rolled her eyes as if to say Well, there you go.
“I’m fairly positive he hasn’t been drugged. He’s way too happy about all of this.” Solomon leaned back in his chair as his gaze surveyed the coffee shop and caught a few male stares cast in their direction. That wasn’t unusual. Ophelia was a beautiful woman with a perfect honey-coated complexion and eyes the color of topaz. Her thick, sandy brown hair held streaks of blond and hung in tight ringlets past her shoulders.
To stare at her was to be mesmerized and Solomon had been under her spell for twenty-one years and counting.
“Well, I don’t believe it,” Ophelia said, shaking her head. “Drugs give people the illusion of being happy. I’ve worked in a rehabilitation center for ten years. I ought to know.”
Solomon laughed as his long fingers reached for his cup again. “You’re in shock.”
“Damn right. I’m surprised that you’re not.”
“Trust me, I was—the moment he walked into my office with stars in his eyes claiming to have found his match.”
Ophelia’s delicate brows arched. “His match?”
He nodded. “A challenge—or maybe I should say a mystery.”
She frowned and set her mug down. “Okay. You’ve piqued my curiosity. Who’s the lucky woman? And how come I wasn’t told sooner about this great love of Casanova’s life?”
He hesitated. It was hard for Solomon to discern if he detected jealousy in her voice. Growing up, Solomon, Ophelia and Marcel, nicknamed Casanova Brown by close friends, were like the three musketeers. They were the best friends, yet still had a few secrets weaved between them.
Solomon first met Marcel when his family moved in next door to him in the summer of ’78. Their love of sports was all it took to seal their lifelong friendship. It was the year when Reggie Jackson, O.J. Simpson, Muhammad Ali and Kareem Abdul Jabbar ruled their world. Solomon and Marcel vowed to be the first athletes to win the Super Bowl, the NBA finals and World Series. Life was good.
In the winter of ’81, a scrawny girl, who they originally suspected had cooties, wormed her way into their private club. It was hard to ignore her. She could sail a fastball past the best players in the neighborhood and could run like the wind. Life was better.
By the time puberty hit, Ophelia’s long, thin legs suddenly had shape to them and her round bottom was a nice distraction in Gloria Vanderbilt jeans. And, Lord, her breasts. Solomon, to this day, didn’t know where they came from, but suddenly she had them and they were the best pair in their junior high school. His brotherly affection toward her changed overnight and life had never been the same.
Solomon never found the words to tell Ophelia about his feelings mainly because she always seemed more attracted to Marcel. How could he blame her? Most women were drawn to Casanova and a lot of men wanted to be him…including Solomon.
Who wouldn’t want to be a six-four brick house with enough smoothness to melt the thickest iceberg around any woman’s heart?
Ophelia waved a hand in front of him. “Earth to Solomon.”
He laughed. “Oh, sorry.”
“Maybe I should be asking whether you’re on drugs. You keep zoning out on me.”
“Hardly.”
“Well?” Her brows arched high. “Who’s the lucky woman?”
“If Marcel hasn’t told you, then maybe I should wait until you get the invitation. Let it be a surprise.”
“A surprise?” She leaned back in her chair. “It’s too late for that. Why don’t you just tell me the story?”
“I think Marcel should tell this one.”
“Marcel isn’t here. So spill it.”
Solomon hesitated.
Ophelia placed her arms on the table and leaned forward and locked gazes with her magnetic golden orbs. “We’re supposed to be able to tell each other everything, remember?”
He was nodding before he realized it and in the next second he told the story of how Casanova Brown found his true love.…
In need of a change
Chapter 1
Nine months ago
Marcel Taylor believed there was no better way to start the day than surrounded by gorgeous women, which was why the fairer sex made up ninety-two percent of the employees at T&B Entertainment. And not just model types, though they worked there
too, but all types of women. Tall, short, thick, or full-figured; Marcel loved them all.
At thirty-five, he’d spent three-quarters of his life probing, discovering, enjoying and reveling in what he’d termed “the essence of a woman.” Anyone who laughed at the expression truly didn’t know or understand them.
Now as he sat poised at the head of the conference table, a pair of long, shapely caramel-colored legs caught and held his attention. As they slowly crossed, a languid smile caressed his lips. His brows hiked as a beautifully manicured hand glided up her calf to midthigh.
“Mr. Taylor?”
Solomon wrangled Marcel’s runaway thoughts. “Yes?” He straightened in his chair and turned toward his colleague and best friend.
Solomon Bassett’s face twisted into a frown. “And on that note, I think we’re done.”
Having been caught daydreaming, Marcel managed a lopsided grin. “No argument here.”
Nora Gibson’s eyes twinkled with amusement as she slowly uncrossed her legs—the source of Marcel’s distraction.
The rest of the associates, one man and seven women, huddled around the long conference table quickly closed their briefcases and collected their things.
Solomon’s lips hung on to their frown as he shook his head. “My presentation bored you?” he asked just low enough for Marcel’s ears.
“I heard every word,” Marcel affirmed with honesty.
“Except my joke at the end.”
“It was a bad joke.”
Solomon’s mouth wrestled into a balmy smile. “I screwed up the punch line, didn’t I?”
“As always.” Marcel chuckled and slapped his hand against his friend’s back. “But don’t worry. I haven’t given up on you. One day, you’ll get it right.”
Solomon shook his head. “That’s good to know.”
One on one, Solomon was an easygoing and funny guy, but put him in front of a crowd or small group and he was transformed into this awkward, almost geeky persona.
“What did you think about that new girl group Selena wants to sign?”
Marcel shook his head. “What kind of name is 2Juicy?”
“They’ll definitely have to get rid of that name. And put on a little more clothing.”
“Now let’s not be too hasty,” Marcel deadpanned. “They do have incredible bodies.”
Solomon rolled his eyes. “I know that skin is in, but they need a little more than thongs and breast pasties, don’t you think?”
Nora’s syrupy voice dripped into their conversation. “I know my two cents might not count for much, but I like them.”
The men turned and focused their attention on the approaching caramel beauty.
Marcel met her eyes. “Is that right? What do you like about them?”
“Well,” she said, crossing her arms, “they have good stage presence and they write all their own material.”
“Being naked on the stage isn’t good stage presence,” Solomon said, cocking his head.
“They grab the audience’s attention, which is what’s important.”
“She has a good point,” Marcel intoned. “But,” he added, “I also have to agree with Solomon. They might be a little too over the top. If they rework their image and come up with some better material—something that makes them stand out from the other underdressed groups—I’ll take another look at them.”
Her eyes twinkled. “You’re the boss.”
Solomon groaned from beside them and then moved toward the door.
Marcel looked up. “Wait. I’ll come with you. I need to talk to you about next weekend.”
“Mr. Taylor.” Nora stopped him before he could walk away. “Are we still crunching numbers over lunch?”
He hesitated before answering. “Not today. I have some other pressing matters I have to attend to. Just leave the numbers with Diane and I’ll go over them later.”
For a millisecond, disappointment, irritation and annoyance rippled across her face before she forced a smile. “Certainly.” A strange and awkward moment passed before she turned and walked away.
“Are you feeling all right?” Solomon asked, staring at him.
Marcel opened his mouth ready to confess that everything wasn’t okay. Though as close as they were and despite the many things they’d shared together, he wasn’t ready to burden Solomon with his troubles. “I’m fine.”
His friend’s frown deepened.
“Really,” Marcel assured him.
“Then excuse my shock,” Solomon said, leading the way out of the conference room. “But I’ve never known Casanova Brown to brush off the attention of a beautiful woman, especially one who wants to ‘crunch numbers’ over lunch.”
Marcel shrugged. “One should never mix business with pleasure.”
“So you keep saying.”
Breezing into Solomon’s office, Marcel closed the door behind them. “About the ball next month—”
Solomon clapped and rubbed his hands together as his eyes became as wide as silver dollars with excitement. “We’re going to have a blast. Our first masquerade ball—a singles party at that.”
Marcel’s excitement didn’t match his friend’s. “It’s just a costume party.”
“Hey, no one throws a party like my uncle Willy,” Solomon continued. “According to him, the women will outnumber the men four to one. We’ll be like kids in a candy shop. Did you get a chance to read the rules?” Solomon dropped into his chair.
“I glanced at them. Why aren’t we allowed to remove our masks or give out our real names?”
“To heighten the excitement and to give everything a mysterious flare. I personally like it. I’m going to be either Don Juan de Marco or Zorro. What do you think?”
“Please, don’t ask me.” Marcel lowered onto the plush sofa across from the bar and tilted his head back. “I’m not sure I’m going to make it.”
“You’re joking.” Solomon’s voice held a note of alarm. “You have to come. I’ve already promised Uncle Willy.”
Marcel exhaled in an attempt to ward off the anxiety of others’ expectations. “The last thing I need in my life is another party where I meet the same type of women: gorgeous on the outside but empty on the inside.”
When a rush of silence followed his statement, he peeked over at Solomon’s desk to make sure he was still in the room.
His friend stared as though he’d never seen Marcel before.
“All right. Out with it. What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing.” He shifted uncomfortably and then stared up at the ceiling. “I think I need a vacation.”
“From work?”
“From everything,” he confessed, feeling a ripple of relief after finally telling someone. “I need a change. I’m tired of dealing with shady industry people, artists’ attitudes, traveling around the globe and then having nothing to show for it.”
Solomon shared a half laugh. “Nothing to show for it? What are you talking about? We run one of the top labels in the music industry. We accomplished everything we set out to do. We have several homes, cars—”
Marcel interrupted him. “Everything that doesn’t mean a damn thing. At least nothing that’s going to matter in the end.”
Solomon gaped.
“Come on.” Marcel turned to catch his gaze. “What would you give up to win Ophelia’s heart—marry her even?”
“I, uh…”
Marcel laughed at the instant darkening of his friend’s complexion. “Relax. It’s not like she just walked into the room.”
Solomon swallowed and then got up from his desk. “What’s your point?” he asked, as he headed over to the bar.
“My point is I want what you have.”
“What—to be considered nothing more than a brother to a woman you’re in love with?” Solomon reached for the bottle of scotch. “If so, then you’re more screwed up in the head than I thought. Drink?”
Marcel waved off the offer, but stood up to join him. “Okay. Maybe not exactly what you ha
ve. But, at least you know who you want. Not to mention, Ophelia is a fine woman. She’s beautiful, smart, independent—”
“You’re not about to tell me you’re in love with her, too, are you?” Solomon tossed back a shot and then frowned through the burn.
“No.” Marcel shook his head, ignoring the memory of once having a crush on the golden-eyed beauty. “I would never do you like that.”
Relief shrank Solomon’s shoulders. “Well, that’s good to know.” He capped the bottle. “So where does this leave us?”
“Restless,” Marcel mumbled. “Bored.”
“I can’t believe my ears. Casa—”
“Please, stop calling me that.”
Solomon held up his hands in surrender. “O-okay.”
Marcel shrugged. “Don’t you ever get tired of it all?”
“With the job or with women?”
“Both.”
Solomon laughed. “The job…sometimes. Women…can’t say that I have. Course, I don’t pull in the numbers you do.”
“I need time off to myself.” Marcel gazed at an amber bottle of alcohol while his thoughts ambled restlessly. “If I told you something, would you laugh?”
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