Claude had been a star quarterback, a university scholar, a popular fraternity hunk, and the object of desire in nearly every young coed’s fantasies, as well as some of the faculty members’. A knee injury during an end-of-the-season play-off game had sidelined his hopes of an NFL career, but his brains and strategic planning landed him in business school and then led him straight into a lucrative career with a prestigious investment banking firm.
Initially, Claude hadn’t had a clue as to who the gorgeous brown beauty was when he’d spied Erica gracefully sipping champagne by a buffet table with an attractive woman, who he later learned was Ashley—the only woman he’d ever met who couldn’t be lulled by his charms. But Erica had known exactly who he was, and she was looking forward to becoming better acquainted.
Once Claude introduced himself, they exercised the standard Q & A etiquette that available singles in their social milieu practiced. They quickly established a connection, and despite not wanting to swoon over him, Erica was hooked at their first hello.
Claude was everything she had wanted in a man. His handsome good looks and commanding presence had ignited a smoldering flame inside her that hadn’t been sparked since she’d ended her last relationship the previous year. He was well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and toned muscles, and looking at Claude was like experiencing a dash of charming wrapped in a bundle of sexiness. And although his college athletic days were well behind him, he was still in tip-top condition.
Now, finally meeting the famed Claude Richardson face-to-face, Erica knew she’d struck gold. She could also see that Claude was still a highly sought-after commodity, as was evidenced by the women sprinkled throughout the room who leveled envious stares in her direction each time he gently touched her arm during their conversation or smiled with interest as she spoke.
Erica liked the fact that Claude’s moves were purposeful and deliberate, meant to demonstrate a point. His actions made it clear to her and everyone else at the event that she was the only woman who was getting his undivided attention. From that night forward, they were a couple. A power couple.
Claude’s hotshot corporate bravado contrasted to and yet complimented Erica’s easygoing entrepreneurial spirit. She took pleasure in the fact that her handsome boyfriend was a seasoned professional who was socially connected and well respected in the right circles. And for his part, Claude was proud to boast that his beautiful girlfriend was the accomplished owner of an upscale, ultrachic bath and body care boutique that catered to some of D.C.’s most sophisticated clientele.
The first few months of their courtship were so blissful that Erica thought she was living in a waking dream. Claude was kind, attentive, and the epitome of what a good boyfriend should be. Their sex life was strong, and their bond outside the bedroom was just as solid. Erica was in heaven!
They went to all the best restaurants, attended all the “happening” parties and social events, and held front-row seats at the most coveted performances at the Kennedy Center. They spent four out of seven nights a week together and were practically inseparable. Their relationship was quickly shaping up to resemble something that looked like it was leading toward the yellow brick road to marriage.
They had been dating for one year when Claude proposed to Erica at her favorite restaurant on the anniversary of the night they met. It was a traditional and very romantic candlelit moment. When Erica ordered her favorite dessert, a flawless two-and-a-half-carat diamond in a dazzling platinum setting accompanied the piece of cake, all served on an antique silver platter, surrounded by red rose petals. It took her only a half second to say yes, cementing their intent to walk down the aisle. Her father gave his blessings, her brother wished her luck, and her mother shed tears of joy when she told them her happy news.
But a curious thing happened shortly after Erica accepted his proposal. Slowly, very slowly, things began to change right before her eyes.
What she had initially thought was Claude’s commanding presence eventually revealed itself to be a hugely inflated ego. What she’d thought was pride in his personal appearance was really his extreme vanity in motion. And even his thoughtfulness turned out to be nothing more than skilled manipulation and calculated strategy. He had pretended to be considerate, when all along his acts of kindness and generosity had been motivated by what he could get from them in return. But it wasn’t until one of Claude’s disgruntled exes sent her an anonymous e-mail detailing his shady ways, that Erica finally learned just how dishonest he really was.
She learned that his monthly out-of-town business meetings with one of his prime accounts had really been time spent in the company of an exotic dancer named Chocolate Kiss. The twenty-five-thousand-dollar engagement ring he’d supposedly bought her was really a complimentary gift he received from one of his wealthy international clients who was connected to the blood diamond trade. And the nephew he visited every so often down in North Carolina turned out to be the child he’d fathered ten years ago—the result of a one-night stand with an old college flame during a homecoming weekend.
After that explosive e-mail, Erica came to see that everything about Claude was a big mirage. Because of many disastrous relationships, she’d wanted a prince so badly that she put up with more than she should have, losing sight of the fact that she was a queen, deserving of much more. He was all show and flash on the outside, and as hollow as a drum within. And to her great disappointment, the very things that had drawn her to Claude turned into deficits that eventually bankrupted her feelings for him.
“Bullshit mind games and straight-up triflin’!” is what Ashley had said about him.
Soon after Erica’s eyes had been opened to the real man behind the facade, her relationship with Claude died a quick death. Never having been rejected by a woman, he’d been livid when she broke up with him, prompting harsh words and high emotions that she still remembered to this day.
As Erica stirred a teaspoon of brown sugar into her coffee, she realized that Claude was another reminder of how things could start out well but end in disaster.
Erica drank her coffee, pushing both Claude and her disappointing love life out of her mind. She knew she didn’t have time to think about either, because she had so many other challenges to juggle.
She had postponed her obligation to report for jury duty three months ago, when she’d received the notice, which had come during the time she had the formulation disaster with the Paradise body butter she planned to include in the swag bags for Fashion Week. It had been a trying and frustrating time. But she couldn’t get out of her civic responsibility this go-round, because it was mandatory by law. She had a gargantuan amount of work to do at Opulence in preparation for the boutique’s debut on the national stage, and spending her day at D.C. Superior Court was only going to put her further behind.
Erica finished her coffee and headed back upstairs so she could get going. After she showered and did her hair and makeup, she milled through the neatly lined garments in her spacious walk-in closet. As she looked at the abundance of expensive clothes, shoes, and jewelry she owned, she thought about what a blessing and a curse her life had turned out to be. She was happy, thrilled even, about her professional success. But lately, her long hours and demanding schedule made it difficult to achieve what she longed for just as much as her career accomplishments—a loving mate to come home to and share in her good fortune.
She held a candy apple red–colored wrap dress up against her body, inspecting herself in the gilded full-length mirror in front of her. It was an outfit more fitting for a hot date out on the town than a day in court. But she needed to boost her spirits, so she removed it from the silk-padded hanger and slipped it on. “I guess sometimes you’ve got to break the rules,” she whispered, pulling the dress over her hips. She stood back, admiring how nicely the dress complimented her curves. She wished that she really was getting ready to go on a date instead of to court. “Why don’t they ever tell you about this part of the fairy tale?” Erica asked out
loud. “Prince Charming my ass! It’s all a sham.”
But before she started feeling sorry for herself again, she shook off her negative thoughts and concentrated on all the great things she had to be thankful for: her loving family, fantastic friends, and good physical health. And the fact that she owned her own business and was living her professional dreams was a blessing she didn’t take for granted. Being able to do what she loved gave her purpose.
Ever since she was a small child, Erica had had a love affair with lotions, oils, and perfumes. When she was six years old, she baked her first cake in her Easy-Bake Oven, and later that evening she raided her mother’s vanity tray, spraying and rubbing every kind of perfume, powder, lotion, cream, and oil she could get her small hands on, all over her tiny body.
Although her mother had been less than thrilled, and had taken Erica straight to the bathroom to wash it all off, it was then that Erica developed her passion for body care products and fragrances. And as her love for skin care grew, she quickly realized that cooking food, like the cake she’d baked, and creating luscious body products required similar skills—the right ingredients, precise measurements, and careful attention to detail.
When she was in high school, she experimented with recipes in her mother’s kitchen, mixing creams, oils, and lotions to create ambrosia-like scents and silky textures that made her smooth, soft-to-the-touch skin the envy of her classmates. By the time she graduated from college, she was creating her own body oils, just like the African vendors at the local flea market had taught her. She’d also perfected her skills by developing scents that were so hypnotic, men often stopped her on the street to ask what she was wearing.
Armed with a degree in business and a talent for making products that could put the formulations at any department store’s beauty counter to shame, Erica knew it was time to set out on a path that would put her on the road to fulfilling her dream of starting her own boutique.
She knew that in order to be successful, she had to plan, research, and save her money before she took the leap of opening her own store. After years of studying the market as well as her competition, mastering her own original concoctions through trial and error, and squirreling away the lucrative salary she earned as a senior beauty editor at Washington Woman, a local magazine, Erica stepped out on faith and opened the doors of Opulence.
Over the past five years Opulence had grown into a premier destination for discriminating customers, offering high-end, all-natural bath and body care products that left one’s skin smelling good, looking radiant, and feeling silky to the touch.
Erica was very particular about how she wanted her boutique, as well as her employees, to look. Sophisticated, elegant, and of course, opulent—that was the brand she had built and had become known for. Opulence was all things rich and luxurious, from the super-emollient body creams customers loved to the amethyst-colored designer aprons that each employee wore over a crisp white shirt and stylish black pants. Erica had cultivated her boutique to reflect who she was and what she wanted out of life.
Erica raised her wrist, looked at her stainless-steel Patek Philippe, and let out a deep sigh when she realized the time. “I better get going,” she said as she slipped on her heels and grabbed her handbag from the upholstered sitting bench at the foot of her king-size bed.
For a split second she thought about skipping jury duty altogether, but she knew that the penalty for not showing up was a price she wasn’t willing to pay. So, like many things in her life, she swallowed her discomfort, put a smile on her face, and headed out the door to face her day.
Chapter 3
Erica scrolled through her phone as she sat at the front of the crowded room on the third floor of the D.C. Superior Court building. She was impatiently waiting in the same uncomfortable chair that she’d claimed when she first arrived several hours ago. She wanted to get up and move around, but the room was so packed, she stayed where she was for fear of losing her seat and having to stand on her three-and-a-half-inch heels.
She sighed when she noted that it was early afternoon and she still hadn’t heard from the graphic artist she’d hired to create a new signature design that she wanted imprinted on the container jars for her Paradise body butter. He was supposed to have sent her the final design file two weeks ago. Now she feared that even if she received it today, her container supplier wouldn’t have enough time to manufacture the product and have it back in time to meet her shipping deadline for the swag bags.
“I’m screwed,” Erica mumbled to herself. But she knew the lion’s share of the blame rested squarely on her slim shoulders. Instead of using the trusted company she had done business with for years, she’d decided to give a new start-up a try. She figured that if the organizers of Tracy Reese’s fashion show could give a virtual unknown like her a chance, it was only fitting that she return the favor for another young entrepreneur. Christopher, one of her employees, had highly recommended the graphic artist in question, and after meeting him, Erica had felt confident that the young man could do the job. But instead of her generosity being rewarded, it looked as though she was going to end up with the short end of the stick. No good deed goes unpunished, she thought.
She was half listening and half checking her e-mails as the clerk called off a long list of names, directing the selected individuals to step into the hallway outside. This was the first step in deciding which lucky public citizens would receive the honor of serving as a juror at an upcoming trial.
“Stanford one-four-five,” the diminutive woman called out in a large voice that didn’t match her small frame.
The sound of Erica’s last name jarred her from her phone, but her mouth didn’t open and her feet didn’t move.
“Stanford one-four-five, are you present?” the woman repeated, this time with slight annoyance.
“Damn,” Erica whispered under her breath, realizing that the last name and accompanying numbers belonged to her. A small twinge of angst seized her stomach. She was hoping her luck would turn around and that she would be given at least one small victory this week, even if it was just the chance to avoid being selected to serve at a trial. After listening to Ashley talk about her court cases over the years, Erica knew how time-consuming a jury trial could be, and with a mini-crisis brewing at work, she couldn’t afford to be pulled away from her business.
Reluctantly, Erica opened her mouth and said, “Um, yes, I’m here.”
Less than a minute later she walked out into the hallway, joining others as they trickled out of the room. Once everyone was assembled, Erica counted nearly sixty people, all standing in a neat, orderly row. This is gonna be fun, she thought as she planted her feet behind a cheery-looking older woman, who turned and offered her a warm smile. Erica gave the woman a cordial nod in return, a gesture that put her in a little bit of a better mood.
She was about to resume her task of responding to e-mails on her phone when her attention was snatched away without her permission. The only word and thought that came to her mind was incredible. He was simply incredible!
He was a stealth black panther, elegant and sleek. Then, on second thought, Erica decided that he was more like a Great Dane on two legs: bold, beautiful, and powerfully seductive.
At six foot two, he seemed to claim every ounce of air and space around him. His skin was smooth like crushed velvet and was the color of melted dark chocolate. His clean-shaven face and gleaming bald head only added to his intoxicating allure. As he walked toward the straight, obedient line in which Erica was standing, his eyes landed on hers, giving her a deep, penetrating stare.
She thought he had the kind of eyes that could move through your soul, learn all your secrets, and then make them his own. She couldn’t hold his direct stare for long without feeling flushed, so she lowered her eyes and watched him carefully behind her own set of baby browns, willing herself not to give away what she was feeling at that moment—intense heat that chilled her to the bone.
Erica raised her phone closer in
front of her face in an attempt to appear unaffected by his presence, but try as she might, she couldn’t ignore the fact that the man drawing near was unlike any specimen she’d ever seen.
As the Great Dane came closer, she went out on a limb and attempted what she hoped would be a quick, innocent glance. She smiled, admiring his effortless stride and strong aura. His smooth cadence bore witness to a type of swagger that made everyone around him take notice that a man was coming their way.
A bright, warm sensation tickled Erica’s skin as he walked past her. She thought he must have read her mind, because he smiled slightly as he headed toward the very back of the line. She wanted so badly to turn around and steal another glimpse of him, but she dared not make such a daring move.
Erica shifted her feet, resting her right one on the heel of her stylish crocodile stilettos. She was glad she had decided to wear a formfitting dress and sexy platform heels, which she affectionately called her Dorothy shoes. Whenever she wore them, they always led her down a road to good fortune, just like the character in the magical movie The Wizard of Oz. They brought her good luck, and on a day like today, she needed something good, maybe even great, to happen.
As she stood in line, not seeing, but feeling the Great Dane’s eyes leveled on the back of her head, she thought for the first time in a long while that her luck just might be changing for the better.
“Please follow me,” the clerk announced as she led the line into a large courtroom. “This is the beginning of the voir dire process,” she explained. “The formal set of questions that you’re about to be asked will determine whether you will be selected to serve as a juror on one of the court’s upcoming cases.”
Erica didn’t pay much attention to the clerk’s words. She knew the drill all too well because she’d heard Ashley describe the process in detail many times. The defense wanted people with a heart, the prosecution wanted people with an edge, and both sides wanted individuals who would side with their client. Erica had already made up her mind that she didn’t want any part in the entire process.
Breaking All My Rules Page 2