“That’s the good news,” Andrea said. “The bad news is...” She took a wobbly breath. “I have to leave Prescott today to be able to meet with the man first thing tomorrow morning.”
No! Brandon’s mind thundered. Andrea was supposed to stay another week in Prescott. He was to have had seven more days—and nights—to convince her that he sincerely loved her, to show her how they could have it all, if she’d agree to be his wife.
Andrea loved him, damn it, he knew she did. Everyone who had seen the photograph in the newspaper knew that. How could she just stand there and calmly announce that she was leaving?
Because she doesn’t know that you love her, idiot, a voice in his head hollered.
He had to calm down, regain control of his raging emotions, take this slow and easy.
“I see,” he said. “Well, I guess congratulations are in order, Andrea. What kind of company does this big-shot guy own?”
“Cat food,” she said, smiling weakly. “He wants a whole new image for his—” Andrea cleared her throat and lifted her chin “—cat food.”
He was competing with cat food? Brandon thought incredulously, feeling his temper gaining force. Andrea was walking out of his life for cat food?
“Cat food is...is important,” Aunt Charity said, narrowing her eyes and staring at Brandon. “To cats...and their owners. I’m sure it’s a very competitive market, trying to please those cats. Right, Brandon?”
“Oh, yes, right,” he said, nodding. “You bet. Cats are finicky little buggers. It will take a dynamite advertising campaign to get those cats—the people who own them, that is—to try a different brand of... Hell,” he said, shaking his head. “Cat food.”
“I apologize for cutting short our Christmas celebration,” Andrea said to the aunts, “but I really must go pack. I can’t begin to thank you for making me feel so special, so welcome, all week. And this truly was the nicest Christmas I’ve ever had.”
Andrea crossed the room to kiss Aunt Pru and Aunt Charity on their cheeks.
“Goodbye,” Andrea said, struggling against her threatening tears. “Thank you.”
“It was wonderful having you with us, dear,” Aunt Pru said.
“Yep, it was,” Aunt Charity said. “Brandon, go help Andrea pack.”
“Oh, I don’t...” Andrea started.
“The quicker you pack, the sooner you can leave for Phoenix,” Aunt Charity said. “You can start thinking about cat food during the drive down to the valley,”
Brandon placed Andrea’s snow statue carefully in the box, picked it up, then scooped the large book into his other hand.
“Off we go,” he said, forcing a lightness to his voice that definitely didn’t reflect his mood. “You’re going to have a heck of a time packing, Andrea. You’re leaving with a lot more than you came with.”
Including an aching heart, Andrea thought, starting toward the door.
She didn’t want to leave. Not yet.
She didn’t want to say good-bye to Brandon. Not yet.
She didn’t want to face the fact that she’d never see him again. Not yet.
But she had no choice, she told herself firmly. Duty called. She couldn’t refuse to return to Phoenix earlier than she’d planned.
The possibility of winning over this potential client was a major step up in her career, especially since the client had personally requested that she put together his advertising package.
And her career came first.
Inside Andrea’s room, Brandon set the Christmas gifts on the top of the dresser, while Andrea retrieved her suitcase from the closet. She flung it on the bed and opened it. She stared at it for a long moment, then turned to look at Brandon where he stood across the room.
“Brandon,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. “I hope you realize that this isn’t how I wanted things to be, my leaving Prescott earlier than I had planned.”
“No?” he said, raising one eyebrow.
Andrea wrapped her hands around her elbows. “No. What we shared last night was... was beautiful, very special. I envisioned the week ahead...the days, the nights...as being so wonderful, as we created more memories to keep.”
“But you’re leaving,” he said, nothing readable in the expression on his face.
“I have no choice but to go,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “It’s no different than your not being next to me when I woke up this morning because you had an emergency to tend to in the hotel.”
“I went down to the lobby, Andrea. I didn’t leave town.”
“The principle is the same. Surely you can understand that.”
“Up to a point,” he said, nodding. “However, there is something that you don’t understand.”
Brandon closed the distance between them and gripped Andrea’s shoulders. She dropped her arms to her sides.
“Andrea Cunningham,” Brandon said, looking directly into her eyes. “I love you. I have fallen deeply and forever in love with you. I also believe that you’re in love with me. I’m asking you to marry me, to be my wife, to stay with me here in Prescott.”
Andrea couldn’t breathe.
A strange buzzing noise echoed in her ears and funny little dots danced before her eyes. She took a sharp breath, shook her head and stared at Brandon.
“Pardon me?” she whispered.
“You heard me,” he said, smiling at her warmly. “I love you. Ah, Andrea, don’t you see? We can have it all. We can. A life together, children, a home. You can still have your career, too, only it will be on a smaller scale, that’s all. Say yes. Agree to be my wife. Tell me you love me as much as I love you.”
Voices began to hum in Andrea’s mind, then gained volume, shouting at her in a jumble of words, messages, that tumbled one into the next, none of them discernible.
A chill coursed through her, followed by icy fear. Close behind came the dark sense of déjà vu that she’d registered before and didn’t understand then, or now.
“No,” she said, stepping back and forcing Brandon to release her. “No, don’t say that. Don’t say that you love me.”
Brandon frowned. “Why not? It’s true. It took me a while to figure it out, because I’ve never been in love before, but I am most definitely in love with you.” He paused. “And you love me.”
“No.” Andrea shook her head as tears filled her eyes.
“Andrea, come on,” Brandon said. “Everyone who saw the photograph in the newspaper knows that you love me. It was there, in your eyes, on your face, for all to see.”
Andrea pressed trembling fingertips to her lips to stifle a sob.
“And there’s also the matter of the butterflies,” Brandon went on. “You chose butterflies dancing as gifts for the aunts. I thought at first that the butterfly business was just two dear old ladies’ blathering nonsense. But now? I believe every word.”
“I don’t understand,” Andrea said shifting her fingertips to her throbbing temples. “What about the butterflies?”
“When someone is in love, the butterflies dance,” Brandon said, looking at her intently. “They truly do. You picked those crystal butterflies over all the other choices you had because they were calling to you. You’re a woman in love. With me.”
“No, I’m not,” she said, a frantic edge to her voice as tears spilled onto her pale cheeks. “I can’t be. I won’t be. I’m not. You’re reading far too much into a picture in the paper and Christmas presents I just happened to give to the aunts. I care for you very much, Brandon, but I am not in love with you.”
The sudden twisting pain in Brandon’s gut traveled upward to encircle his heart. He wanted to rage in anger, demand that Andrea acknowledge her love for him. He wanted to beg, plead, with her to look deep within herself and embrace her true feelings for him.
Because, damn it, Andrea Cunningham was in love with him.
The evidence was all there, including their lovemaking that was beyond description in its beauty and intimacy.
“I’m sorr
y if I hurt you, Brandon,” Andrea said, dashing the tears from her cheeks. “I thought we both realized we had a measured number of days to be together, then I would leave and it would all be over. Like...like Cinderella at the ball.”
“You can’t be serious,” he said, his jaw tightening. “That’s all this was to you? A fling? An affair? A hop in the hay?” Brandon dragged one hand through his hair. “No, I don’t buy it. That’s not how you truly feel.”
“Damn it, Brandon,” she said, fresh tears filling her eyes. “Quit telling me how I feel. I’m a woman, not a machine you can program to suit you. I’m being as honest with you as I can possibly be.”
Brandon stared at her, trying to push past the excruciating pain of hearing Andrea declare so adamantly that she didn’t love him. He struggled to clear his mind.
His future—their future—was at stake.
“What you should do, Andrea,” he said, his voice not quite steady, “is ask if you’re being honest with yourself.” He narrowed his eyes. “What are you afraid of? Tell me. What is it?”
“Nothing,” she said, nearly shrieking. “I’m not afraid of anything. Why can’t you just accept the truth as it is? Brandon, please go. Leave me alone. I didn’t want things to end this way, but you’re not allowing me any other choice. Go. Just go.”
Brandon’s hands curled into fists at his sides as he fought the urge to haul Andrea into his arms and kiss her to disprove the words she was speaking. Words he could not—would not—believe.
Don’t do it, Hamilton, he ordered himself. He had to get a grip. He had to give Andrea some time to digest what he’d told her.
He had to turn around and walk out of that room.
Brandon took a deep, shuddering breath.
“All right,” he said quietly. “I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone.”
He strode to the door, then turned to look at Andrea.
“But, Andrea? Nothing can erase what I’ve said to you, how I feel about you. I love you with all my heart. Remember that. Think about it.
“Square off against your fears and find the truth within you. Please. Do that, Andrea, please, for us, for what we can have together for the rest of our lives. I love you, Andrea Cunningham, and I always will.”
Brandon left the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
Andrea stumbled to the bed, covered her face with her hands and wept.
Eleven
What are you afraid of?
I love you, Andrea Cunningham, and I always will... What are you afraid of? I’m asking you to marry me, to be my wife, to stay with me here in Prescott... What are you afraid of? We can have it all. A life together, children, a home. What are you afraid of?
What are you afraid of?
“Oh, stop,” Andrea said aloud, pressing her fingertips to her aching forehead.
“Pardon me?” a young man said, looking over at where Andrea sat at the head of a long, gleaming table.
“What?” Andrea said. “Oh, I’m sorry, Richard. I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud. I was talking to...my headache. Yes, that’s what I was doing. Silly, huh?”
“Tell me if it works,” Richard said, smiling. “My head is killing me. Too much coffee and too little sleep, I guess.”
“No joke,” a pretty young woman said. “We’ve been going at this full steam since the day after Christmas.”
“You’re a great team,” Andrea said, smiling at the group, comprised of two men and two women. “I picked you for this project because I know we’ll come up with the perfect package for this prospective client. When we land this account, it will look very good in your personnel files.”
“That’s what I keep saying to myself,” Richard said. “But, cripe, it’s New Year’s Eve. We’re supposed to be out partying, lifting a glass of champagne to celebrate the arrival of a new year.
“But where are we? Sitting here at eight o’clock at night, trying to come up with idea number three for cat food. I hate cats. I really do.”
“So do I,” one of the women said. “At this point, I don’t give a rip what the dumb things eat. The owner of that company rejected our first two proposals without even hearing them all the way through. This is hopeless.”
“No, it’s not,” Andrea said, leaning forward. “We’ll hit the mark, I know we will.” She paused. “I intended to give you all tonight off, but Jack vetoed that. He’s taking the prospective client out for a late dinner, then stopping by here afterward to see what we have.”
“Oh, great, super,” Richard said. “What we have is zip, zero, nada.”
Andrea sank back in her chair and sighed.
What a hideous week this had been, she thought. The hours at work had been long and grueling, the stress and pressure building with each passing day as she and her team attempted to please the cat food man.
And the nights? She’d spent those tossing and turning in her bed, reliving the final scene with Brandon over and over.
What are you afraid of?
And now, she thought dismally, the haunting echo of Brandon’s words were following her to the office, creeping into her exhausted mind like insidious creatures determined to torment her.
I love you, Andrea Cunningham, and I always will.
Incredible. Brandon Hamilton was in love with her, had asked her to be his wife, to spend the remainder of her days by his side.
Yes, it was incredible. Incredibly wonderful and...
Terrifying.
What are you afraid of?
Of all the things that were said on that final day in Prescott, why, why, why, did that question continue to beat unmercifully against her mind, her heart, her very soul?
Why, when she focused on it, even for a moment, did she register that chilling, dark sense of déjà vu? Dear heaven, what did that mean?
“Falling leaves,” a woman said.
Andrea blinked, bringing herself back to the problem at hand.
“Falling leaves, Mary Ann?” she said. “What are you thinking regarding leaves?”
“Okay,” Mary Ann said. “The cat man rejected our cats dressed up like people and going grocery shopping. He also did a thumbs-down on cartoon cats.”
“He did, indeed,” Andrea said, frowning.
“So, try this,” Mary Ann said. “We go for class, subtle and quiet. We have layered, misty clips of actual cats doing their thing. You know, running through a field of wildflowers, two of them tumbling around as they play, another standing on its hind legs batting at falling leaves that float just out of its reach.”
“Don’t stop now,” Andrea said. “This is marvelous. What else?”
“There’s soft music playing,” Mary Ann went on. “Maybe we even show all the clips in slow motion. And the end, we line up the cats in front of bowls and a voice-over says, ‘At the end of a busy day, don’t settle for less than excellence... Yucky Cat Food.”’
“Dynamite,” Andrea said, getting to her feet.
Everyone started talking at once, their fatigue and discouragement forgotten.
“Let’s sketch it out,” Andrea said. “Mary Ann, you’re a genius. Except...I think that instead of falling leaves, we should have butterflies. I would...really like...there to be butterflies.” She shook her head sharply. “Yes. Well. This is the one, people, I just know it is. Don’t consider that champagne toast at midnight out of the question, Richard. I think we’re going to be celebrating, after all.”
Ben Rizzoli strolled up to the registration desk at Hamilton House, crossed his arms on the top of the counter and stared at Brandon.
“You look like hell,” Ben said.
“Thanks, pal,” Brandon said, glaring at him. “I’m so glad you stopped by to inform me of that fact. Yep, thanks a heap.”
“You’re very welcome,” Ben said. “You’re not sleeping well, are you? Aunt Pru told me that your appetite is shot, too.”
Brandon shrugged.
“You haven’t heard one word from Andrea since she left Prescott?” Ben a
sked.
Brandon sighed. “No. I’m trying to be patient, but...”
He shook his head.
“I think it’s time for some action, Ben. I’m going crazy sitting around waiting for Andrea to figure out what she wants.”
“Action it is, then,” Ben said, smacking the counter with the palm of one hand. He paused. “What kind of action?”
“Damned if I know,” Brandon said. “Flowers? A singing telegram? Candy?”
“Been there, done that,” Ben said. “That’s cliché, Brandon. You can do better than that.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?” Brandon dragged a hand through his hair. “My instincts, which probably aren’t worth squat, tell me that I should be with Andrea, to make it impossible for her to ignore me and what we mean to each other.”
“Do it.” Ben glanced at his watch. “It’s eight o’clock. You can be in Phoenix in less than two hours. Get Andrea’s home address off her registration card and go for it. I’ll cover the desk here.”
“It’s New Year’s Eve, Ben. Andrea is probably at a party.” Brandon frowned. “She sure as hell better not be at a party with some yo-yo. That woman is in love with me.”
“I know that. You know that. Everyone in Prescott who saw the photograph in the newspaper knows that. Andrea Cunningham just needs a little nudge to know that. Go nudge her. Oh, and take the address for that advertising firm she works for, too.”
“She wouldn’t be there on New Year’s Eve.”
“Don’t be so certain of that, Brandon. She left here on Christmas Day because the head honcho of that outfit told her to.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Brandon frowned. “I don’t know, Ben. I don’t want to blow this.”
“Go, Hamilton.”
“You’re right, Rizzoli. I’m outta here.” Brandon punched Ben on the arm. “Thanks, buddy.”
“You bet.”
Ben watched as Brandon strode toward the elevator.
“Good luck, my friend,” Ben said quietly.
Andrea and her team worked feverishly to create a presentation of Mary Ann’s new idea. Cats at play were sketched out roughly on large sheets of transparent paper so an overlay effect could be achieved.
Taming Tall, Dark Brandon Page 13