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A sudden swell of revulsion hit
him as he opened the microwave. The stench from the
half-eaten dinner he'd left there, almost scurried to
meet him. With his nose upturned, he used the tips of
his fingers to dump the brown/green furry object into
the sink. The two-shelf refrigerator tilted as he opened
the door. It was empty. He'd forgotten to buy food.
No matter. He was too tired to eat anyway.
He opened a drawer from the old
dresser, and pulled out the photo album crammed with
pictures. He flipped through the images of her at work,
jogging on the beach, leaving church, going into her
townhouse. But even though he had come here to look
at the pictures, he didn't have the energy to do it
tonight. He slammed the book shut and dropped it to
the floor.
Walking back to the cot, he counted
the steps in his mind. He always did this, though he
didn't know why. Out of habit, he supposed. He knew
how many steps it took to get to each part of this room.
Five steps to the bathroom, eleven to the clothing rack,
thirty-eight steps and he could walk around the entire
apartment.
The cot creaked under his weight
as he fell onto it. He thought about changing his clothes,
but there were no more steps in him. He lay back, making
a mental note to buy a pillow, but only if it didn't
cost more than five dollars. No need to splurge on frivolous,
unnecessary items. He wouldn't be keeping this place
much longer anyway.
He picked up the towel from the
floor, threw it over the clock and wondered if he'd
be able to sleep with the light. He'd have to - he wasn't
getting up now.
Finally, he closed his eyes. It
had been a long day. He'd spent his free time watching
her - sometimes up close, sometimes from far away. But,
that was the best part; she never knew it.
The man felt himself drifting off
to sleep, comforted by the muted, steady tick, tick,
tick of the alarm clock. A vision slowly filled his
mind. She was dressed in a suit, the burgundy one -
his favorite - the one that made her look like a real
woman.
She was looking straight at him,
unbuttoning her blouse. Her face was soft with desire.
All signs of her usual arrogance were gone. Now, she
was just a woman, doing what she was supposed to do
- preparing herself for him. He smiled in his slumber.
It would only be a matter of time. Then, Anya Mitchell
would be completely his…
Chapter 1
"Any day now," Anya shouted, as the car in
front of her remained motionless even though the other
lanes were inching forward.
Anya laid on her horn, the blaring sound startling
drivers around her, causing them to turn and stare.
The driver in front of her looked back through his rear
view mirror, held up his hands, then rolled down his
window.
"Where do you want me to go?" he yelled.
Anya almost smiled. He really didn't want her to answer.
She honked again - just a little, to annoy him, but
she felt bad the moment she did it. She couldn't help
it though - it was one of those habits that lingered
from her college days in New York. Twenty years later,
she used her horn as if she were still in Manhattan.
She bounced back in the seat of her BMW and tapped
her fingers on the steering wheel, praying for a break
in the traffic. She only had ninety minutes to get back
to the office and then to the restaurant.
"Ahhhh!" she yelled, a scream of exasperation.
She squeezed her fingers around the steering wheel and
a pinpoint of sunlight burst through the windshield,
hitting her ring at the perfect angle. Her emerald-cut
engagement ring sparkled like lightning, and the rainbow
hues danced across her slender mocha finger. Anya stared
at the flawless diamond, hypnotized for a moment by
its brilliance.
Her cell phone rang and she jumped from her trance.
She clicked the speaker button.
"Hello," she said, forcing a smile into her
voice.
"What are you wearing?"
His seductive tone put a smile on her face. "My
burgundy suit."
"The one with the short skirt? Umm, my favorite.
How's your day?"
"Don't ask. What about you?"
"I've been in front of the computer all day, but
now, I want to see you. Are you going to be on time
tonight?"
She detected a sprinkle of sarcasm in Braxton's tone
and her smile faded a bit. "I'll be on time, Braxton,
I promise," she said, running one hand through
the tight curls on her head.
"Good, 'cause I can't wait to see you. We haven't
spent enough time together lately."
"That's not true."
"Seems that way. That's why we should live together
now. Waiting for the wedding doesn't make sense."
Her smile disappeared. "Braxton." She exhaled
his name in a whine.
"Never mind. I'll see you in an hour. I love you."
She clicked off the phone and tightened her grip on
the steering wheel. She shook her head to clear it of
thoughts of her fiancé. There were more pressing
issues in front of her.
Cars were beginning to creep forward and as her speed
increased, she looked across the freeway's lanes. No
three-car wreck, no stalled big wheeler. Nothing to
cause the hour-long backup. She put her foot down on
the accelerator and zipped her sports car across the
lanes and around snail-paced cars. Maybe she could salvage
the rest of the day. But the twisting in the pit of
her stomach made her seriously doubt it.
~~~
"Hi, Anya. I have a couple of…"
Anya raised her hand, stopping her assistant in mid-sentence.
She skimmed through the pink slips Dianna handed her
and sighed deeply. "Just take messages for the
rest of the afternoon."
Without saying another word, Dianna nodded knowingly.
The entire office had been tense as the date approached
for the final pitch to Linden Communications.
Anya threw her briefcase on her desk and flopped into
her leather chair. She swiveled and turned to face the
large floor-to-ceiling glass windows that extended over
two walls of her corner office.
It was a sparkling clear Southern California day. The
day after one of those El Nino storms that washed all
the smog and dirt from the air and removed much of the
shoreline from the southern Pacific coast as well.
Anya stood, pulled her silk suit jacket over her hips,
and strolled to the windows. This was why she had chosen
this space. When she'd needed to expand her office,
she'd been determined to find one with a breath-taking
view of the city. These windows removed her from the
present and took her to a faraway place when she needed
to escape.
What is wrong with me? Anya wondered, as she looked
down at her ring. She wanted to feel it - all of the
blessedness that had been there at the beginning. But
all she felt was what she'd been feeling the last few
weeks - that she was falling headfirst into an abyss.
She did remember the happiness that consumed her the
day Braxton proposed. They were in church and, in the
middle of the service, right after the offering, Pastor
Ford had called his name.
"Braxton Vance, can you come up to the altar?"
Anya had frowned and pulled Braxton's hand. "What's
going on?" she whispered with narrowed eyes.
He stood, looked down on her and smiled, but wordlessly
slipped away. Her eyes focused on him, as he trotted
down the green carpeted aisle.
Braxton moved up the two steps to the altar and took
Pastor Ford's outstretched hand. She led him to the
podium.
Clearing his throat, he pushed his thin gold-rimmed
glasses up the bridge of his nose, then ran his hand
across his almost-bald head before he spoke. "Good
morning, family." He paused for a short moment
as the congregation responded. "As many of you
know, I'm a writer and this isn't the easiest career.
In the beginning it was a struggle, but I am blessed
that it is no longer. And now that the trial has passed,
people everywhere remember me when and want to befriend
me now. But most important to me are the people who
were with me when times were thin - people who never
cared about what I did for a living, where I lived,
or what I drove." He looked directly at Anya. "Anya
Mitchell, would you please come up here?"
It took the nudging of the woman next to her, to make
Anya stand. She moved haltingly through the silent congregation
until she was by Braxton's side. Her trembling hands
were hidden behind her back. What is he doing? she thought
to herself, as possibilities ran through her mind.
Braxton took her left hand. "Anya, you've always
been there for me and our friendship has turned to love.
So now…," He slowly lowered himself until
he was balanced on one knee. Then, he removed a glinting
object from his sports jacket.
Anya was frozen in place. Her glazed eyes fixed on
the image in front of her. But she could hear the soft,
growing rumble that moved through the six hundred or
so parishioners sharing this moment with her.
"Anya Mitchell. In front of God, Pastor Ford and
our church family, would you make me the happiest man
on earth and agree to become my wife?"
While the congregation cheered, Anya just stared. Pastor
Ford's voice brought her back to consciousness.
"Anya, you haven't said anything," Pastor
Ford said, as she joined the two at the altar.
Anya allowed herself to smile, but didn't trust herself
to speak. She nodded.
"Braxton, I think you can take that as a yes!"
Pastor Ford laughed.
The congregation roared when Braxton slipped the ring
onto her finger. As the cheering continued, Anya allowed
herself to relish the moment in front of hundreds of
on-lookers.
Anya smiled now, as she remembered that moment a little
more than six months ago. She'd loved Braxton so much
then and she certainly loved him now - even more. So,
what was wrong? Obscure emotions had unnerved her for
several weeks, making her believe something bad was
going to happen. But there was nothing specific she
could pinpoint that was causing all of this doubt.
Braxton Vance was everything she'd hoped for - he was
a man of God, professionally successful, and financially
stable. And there didn't seem to be any dirty secrets
or angry women lurking in his background, waiting to
pounce upon them. Topping it all, he was certainly easy
on the eyes, as the women in her office told her whenever
he came to visit. He was the perfect package.
Anya sighed deeply, and walked back to her desk. As
she sat, her fingers did a syncopated dance atop her
marble desk and she let her eyes wander around the office,
finally settling on her brass desktop clock. Hastily,
she pulled the Linden Communications folder from her
briefcase and turned on her computer, determined to
work efficiently during the next half-hour. But within
moments, she was leaning back in her chair, twisting
the ring on her finger.
A short quick knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
Before she could utter a word, the door opened and David
Montgomery strolled in. Anya hated when he did that
- just walked in without her permission. But no matter
how many times she brought it to his attention, he continued.
"Alaister finished all the numbers for the presentation."
David sank into one of the cream-colored leather chairs
in front of her desk and crossed his legs. "I've
looked it over, but you can glance at it before tomorrow's
meeting."
Anya gazed at him, sitting so casually, decked out
in one of his tailored suits that looked like it had
been sewn directly onto his muscular frame.
"How does it look to you, David?" Anya asked
in her most professional voice.
"It's fine, I'm just giving you this professional
courtesy."
Anya cringed, took a deep breath, and willed herself
not to blow like an over-inflated tire. David had been
working with her for a bit more than a month, but this
wasn't the first time he had spoken to her in a tone
bordering on insubordination.
She had to remind herself why she had hired David in
the first place - University of Virginia MBA, Certified
Financial Planner, ten years of financial planning experience
with American Express in the Dallas office, national
top producer awards. Anya knew that David could help
Mitchell & Associates Financial Services achieve
all of her objectives.
Still twisting her ring, she stared at him, hoping
her eyes delivered her message. She took off the ring,
placing it on the desk before she spoke.
"Is this the complete report?" Her voice
was stiff.
"Yep, all numbers have been triple-checked. You
know I never bring you anything unless it's completely
perfect."
Anya pursed her lips, leaned across the wide desk and
took the report from David's outstretched hand, tugging
at it just enough for him to feel it, and just enough
for her to regret it. She shouldn't be acting this way
- it wasn't David's fault she was in a bad mood.
"I'm getting ready to leave, so I'll take this
home." She tried to soften her voice.
David raised his thick eyebrows. "You're leaving?
I thought you'd review this right now. The meeting is
set for nine. So, if you have any changes...."
Anya lifted her chin. "If I have any changes,
I'll handle them in the meeting."
David held up his hands in surrender. "Whatever
you say...boss." He walked to the door, then turned
back suddenly. "You know we're going to get this
account. All of the numbers show that we can save them
almost $100,000 a year on their benefits. I know Linden
will be ours." He grinned, his deep-set dimples
becoming even more visible.
The moment she was alone, Anya stuffed the report into
her briefcase. He probably thinks I'm suffering from
PMS or something, she thought. But she didn't have time
to think about that now. If she hurried, she would still
be on time for Braxton. She picked up her briefcase
and rushed out, without saying a word to her flustered
assistant.
~~~
Anya leaned into the soft seat and the tension of the
day began to ebb from her shoulders. The traffic flowed
easily down Wilshire - a surprise since she'd expected
the trek from Wilshire to Melrose to be, at best, sluggish
and stressful.
She popped the CD of her church's choir into the player
and started swaying as the melodious sounds filled her
car. This is what I should have done before, she thought.
Praising the Lord always took her back to where she
was supposed to be.
She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel
pretending she was Sheila E., when suddenly she was
jolted by the shrill ring of her cell phone. She debated
whether to answer. It was either Braxton checking on
her or Dianna calling with an urgent message that she
didn't want to know about. "I'm not going to answer!"
she yelled at the portable phone. On cue, the ringing
stopped.
With a wide smile, she continued tapping her fingers
to the music, but groaned a few seconds later, when
the phone rang again. She picked it up on the second
ring. "Yes!"
"Anya?"
Who else would be answering her cell phone? "Yes,
Dianna. What is it?"
"God, I thought I would never get you. You ran
out so fast and you didn't tell me where you were going.
So, I figured the only way to get you would be on your
cell phone and I am glad.…"
Anya rolled her eyes. She loved Dianna, who was more
than competent, but sometimes… "What is it?"
she interrupted.
"Oh...you left your ring."
Dianna spoke so casually, it took a moment for Anya
to realize what she was saying. Confused, she looked
down at her left hand as her right one clutched the
steering wheel. The third finger was bare.
"Oh, no," she groaned, vaguely remembering
when she'd taken it off.
"I went into your office to straighten your desk
and your ring was just sitting there, sparkling. I still
think it's one of the prettiest rings I've ever seen.
I can't wait until…"
"Di-an-na!"
"Sorry."
Anya took a moment to consider her options. "Look,
I'm supposed to meet Braxton…," she glanced
down at the clock and moaned, "in five minutes.
And, I'm five minutes from the restaurant."
"I'll bring it to you! Where are you and Braxton
going to be?"
"No!" Anya shook her head at the thought
of Dianna popping into the restaurant saying, 'Surprise!
Here's your ring.' What would Braxton think?
"I'll turn around and drive back down Wilshire.
Meet me at the corner of…Wilshire and LaCienega.
I'll be waiting for you right in front of The Red Lobster."
"Okay," Dianna seemed to sing the word.
"And, Dianna," Anya softened her voice. "Thank
you." Anya clicked off the phone, and looked at
her naked finger once again. How would she have explained
it?
She made an illegal U-turn and headed back toward her
office, shivering as goose bumps rose on her arms despite
the closed car windows. Just the other day, she had
found her ring on the edge of the kitchen sink.
Is this a sign? she asked herself. She shook her head
and sighed deeply. The tension of the day was gone,
but replacing it was a deep feeling of uneasiness.
~~~
By the time Anya pulled up in front of Crossroads,
she was thirty minutes late. She jumped from the car
and tossed her keys to the valet. "Thanks, Michael,"
she said to the young man who often parked her car when
they came to her favorite restaurant.
Her heels clicked against the brick walkway as she
rushed through the entrance and stood behind a couple
talking to the waitress. She squinted into the dark
room, and seconds later, saw Braxton waving at her.
She tried to read his expression, but he was too far
away for her to discern his mood.
Heads turned as Anya made her way to her table. She
strolled with the confidence of royalty, gliding by
the restaurant's packed tables.
Anya kept her soft brown eyes fixed on Braxton and
never noticed the admiring glances from men and women
alike. When she was close enough to see Braxton's smile,
she exhaled.
Braxton took her raincoat and handed it to the hostess.
"I got a call from my editor just as I was leaving,
so I just got here myself."
Anya was relieved when Braxton pulled her close, hugging
her. He was a head taller than she was, and he had to
lean over slightly to rub his smooth face along her
cheek. She eased her hand up his back, feeling the toned-hardness,
and closed her eyes, trying to enjoy the moment. Braxton
had a way of contacting her emotional nerve-endings
with one gentle touch. But she didn't feel it today,
and pulled back a bit quickly.
He hesitated for an instant, then brushed his lips
against her cheek.
Anya responded with a smile. "How are you?"
"Wonderful…now. You sound like you had a
tough day." He pulled the chair out for her, then
moved his chair closer to her. With gentle fingers,
he massaged her shoulder.
She nodded, and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling
of her muscles relaxing. "We're jamming in the
final changes for the presentation tomorrow, and I got
stuck on the 405 and then I got into a little thing
with David." Anya's words rolled over each other.
She opened her eyes, glanced at the ring, then said
a quick, silent prayer of thanks.
"Another little thing with David? What was it
this time?"
"Oh, nothing," Anya said, waving her hand
and ring in the air. "Just the usual…."
She left the sentence unfinished and picked up the menu.
The aroma of the Creole spices teased her and reminded
her just how hungry she was.
"Well, I don't want you to think about work. I
have something that will take your mind off of it."
He reached toward the chair next to him.
A bunch of yellow roses suddenly appeared on the table.
She dropped the menu and brought the bundle to her face.
"Thank you!" she smiled. "But, what's
the occasion?"
Braxton kissed her fingers. "The same as everyday.
I love you."
His light brown eyes enveloped her. She did love this
man.
"Oh, those are beautiful!" the waitress exclaimed
as she came to their table. "Are you guys celebrating
something special tonight?"
Anya looked directly at Braxton. "We're celebrating
our love." She laid the flowers on the table.
"Hey, now. That's a good reason. Would you like
something to drink?" The waitress asked Anya.
"An iced-tea." She picked up the menu again.
"I think we should order."
"I already ordered, honey," Braxton said,
taking her hand. "When I realized you were running
late, I thought I'd better. That's okay, isn't it?"
It was a moment before Anya responded. "What are
we having?"
"I ordered the Georgia salad for you. I didn't
think you'd want anything heavier."
Her smile drooped, and she pulled her hand away. From
a nearby table, the aroma of the crawfish stew drifted
over to her. She inhaled, then picked up her glass of
water and took a long sip.
Braxton took her hand into his once again. "Anya,
there is something we need to talk about."
She chewed on a piece of ice. "What is it?"
He sighed and dropped his head, dropping her hand at
the same time. "I've been thinking about this marriage
counseling…"
It was Anya's turn to sigh. "Braxton, not again."
"I don't want to fight," he said, holding
up his hands. "But I think we should really think
about this before we start. It will be harder to get
out once we begin."
Anya shook her head, but remained silent.
"Counseling is going to be a waste of time,"
Braxton continued. "You haven't gone through this
before, but I have."
Anya closed her eyes and held her head in her hands.
Around her, glasses and silverware clanked and laughter
rose. But all she could hear were the words of the many
discussions they'd already had on this subject. Some
time passed before she opened her eyes.
"Braxton, just because you think counseling didn't
work for you before, it doesn't mean it won't work now.
If that were true, then you shouldn't even be thinking
about getting married again because your first marriage
didn't work out."
He shook his head. "I'm not saying that. I'm saying
that counseling is for kids just starting out."
"This has nothing to do with age. This is about
taking time with our pastor to discuss all of those
issues that come up in marriage. It's about being prepared,
Braxton."
"We don't need outside help with our relationship."
"Obviously you could have used some help before."
She softened her tone when he winced. "Braxton,
just look at this for what it is - a way for us to learn
how to keep God in the center of our lives. Why are
you so against this?"
"Honey, I'm not against anything. I'm just saying
that we already have God in our lives. We're two born-again,
spirit-filled, committed-to-God people. That's all we
need. We don't need counseling." He paused. "But
if you're going to force the issue...."
She sat straighter in her chair. "You do remember
that Pastor Ford requires this counseling if we want
her to marry us." Her voice went up an octave.
He nodded.
"So, maybe you're saying something else."
She twisted her ring with her words. "Maybe you
don't want to get married at all."
Braxton shook his head. "That's ridiculous. We
don't agree, but you know that I want to marry you.
All I'm saying is that we can tell Pastor Ford that
we're too busy right now, get out of counseling, and
she'll still marry us."
"I can't believe you are actually willing to lie
to Pastor," she said through clenched teeth. "We
keep talking about this - going over the same thing.
How can taking one hour a week, talking about putting
God in the center of our lives be a bad thing?"
"Here we go," the waitress sang, silencing
their argument. The plate in front of Anya was filled
with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers and carrots, while
an overflowing dish of pasta topped with jumbo peppered-shrimp
sat in front of Braxton. Her eyes darted between her
plate and Braxton's and her stomach growled.
Braxton took Anya's hand, and they bowed their heads
while he blessed their food. When he lifted his head,
his smile had reappeared.
"Okay," Braxton started, motioning with his
fork. "If I have to live with counseling, then
I want you to do something for me."
Anya silently stabbed at a plump cherry tomato.
"I want to set our wedding date," Braxton
continued, not noticing Anya's silence. "Let's
go in there tonight with an announcement. I think we've
put off setting the date long enough, don't you?"
Anya swirled a piece of lettuce in the vinaigrette
dressing. Ever since their engagement, Braxton had been
pushing to set a date. But she had continuously put
him off, saying that there was no need to rush. She
was just too busy with her business and he was too busy
with his writing.
Now, as Braxton looked into her eyes, Anya knew there
were no more excuses. What was she waiting for anyway?
"Do you have a date in mind?"
"Tomorrow," Braxton chuckled.
Anya flinched. "Can't do it that fast."
"Just kidding…and hoping. How much time do
you think we'll need? It's not going to be a big affair."
"It will still take time to plan, Braxton,"
she said coolly.
"Let's do June. That give us six months, and Junior
will be out of school so he could spend some extra time
with us." Braxton's smile widened when he mentioned
his son.
Anya hesitated. "That's fine," she replied,
with as much joy as she could muster.
Braxton leaned over and kissed her, leaving the savory
taste of the peppered-shrimp on her lips. "Great!
We'll tell Pastor tonight and then we can tell Madear."
Anya couldn't help but smile when he mentioned her
grandmother - the woman who had raised her since she
was thirteen. Madear was so happy that Anya had found
herself 'a good Christian man.'
"You do know how much I love you." Braxton
ran his palm across her cheek.
"I know," Anya said honestly. She never doubted
his love.
Braxton talked throughout dinner, while Anya smiled
and nodded. She watched as Braxton swept the last shrimp
through the sauce on his plate, and popped it into his
mouth.
He smiled at her. "Are you finished?"
She munched on one last piece of flavorless lettuce.
"I've had just about enough."
"Great, let's get to church!"
Anya wasn't surprised at Braxton's new-found eagerness.
After all, she had given in. Well, she thought, as she
backed away from the table, isn't that what a relationship
was about...compromise?
~~~
The wheels of the metal cart creaked along the carpet.
The cleaning lady paused outside David's door.
"Good night, Mr. Montgomery." With her thick
Spanish accent, she always spoke slowly, drawing out
every word to make sure she was understood.
David raised his head and squinted through tired eyes.
"Good night, Gina."
Since he'd joined this firm, it had been this way -
even the late-night cleaning people came and left before
he did.
"I will lock the doors." The older woman
gave David a toothy grin, then ambled toward the front
of the office.
David knew what would come next. He waited, counting
the seconds and her steps, and then heard her voice.
"Don't work too late, Mr. Montgomery. It's not
normal for a handsome young man like you to be working
so late. You should be home right now, taking care of
a wife and some children. You shouldn't be alone."
Gina tisked and continued mumbling indecipherable words.
David massaged his temple, trying to relieve the headache
that had taken up permanent residency there. He waited
to hear the office doors close and lock - the signal
that Gina had completed her nocturnal soliloquy. Finally,
he leaned his tall, ex tight-end football frame back
in his chair, as Gina's words played in his head.
She said he was young and handsome. Young - that was
hard to believe since he felt well beyond his thirty-two
years. He moved forward so that he could glance at his
reflection in his oversized glass and chrome desk. Many
people said that he was good- looking, at least in recent
years. When he was younger, girls preferred the fair-skinned
boys. With his dark skin, he was the last one anyone
looked at. But times had certainly changed. He was one
of the handsome Black men of the new millennium. Chocolate
brothers were in demand, and his smooth dark complexion
was disturbed only by the close-cut beard that he recently
started wearing. He guessed he could be considered good-looking,
if the way women now reacted was any indication.
But Gina was right about one thing. He was alone. And,
going home to his Huntington Beach condo served only
to remind him of decisions he'd made. It was there that
he seemed to remember all the things he tried so hard
to forget.
Mitchell and Associates was another attempt for him
to start anew. But though he had been in Los Angeles
for over a month, he felt like he was still in the middle
of Manhattan.
He glanced at the Linden presentation laid out before
him. Seven-day weeks filled with fourteen-hour days
had delivered what he knew was a flawless proposal.
The office's atmosphere had been electric today, charged
with expectation as everyone felt this million dollar
account was about to become part of Mitchell & Associates.
He had brought Linden Communications to Anya the first
week he was here. He remembered her face when he told
her the numbers this account would bring. She'd shaken
her head and called him Mr. Boy Wonder. David exhaled
a loud breath of air. Mr. Boy Wonder. If she only knew.
The miniature walnut grandfather clock chimed softly
eleven times. He didn't have to raise his head to know
that, finally, it was time to go home.
Slowly, he stuffed papers into his briefcase. He never
looked at anything he took home. He was always too tired.
But he took them just in case he awakened in the middle
of the night.
He stood, closed his eyes, and released a long sigh.
He couldn't wait to fall asleep; unconsciousness was
his relief.
He turned off the lights and walked through the capacious
office, stylishly decorated with glass desks and black
lacquer furniture. Moving silently along the rich mauve
carpet that Anya had installed when she'd rented this
space, he paused in front of one of the positive affirmation
posters she had hung throughout the office. Don't Quit,
he read silently. That was the only thing he hadn't
done.
It would be midnight by the time he got home. He would
sleep for a few hours, then be up at five for his normal
hour run on the beach, before returning to the office
by eight - always before anyone else. He knew he was
pushing himself, but it was the only way for him to
survive.
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