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Authors: Trice Hickman

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BOOK: Breaking All My Rules
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“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
E
rica 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.
After she settled into her chair in the room, she noticed that the Great Dane was now sitting just five seats down from her in the very same row. She was thankful for her keen peripheral vision, which allowed her to study him discreetly, without being noticed. She crossed her shapely legs and began her inspection, starting from the bottom and working her way up, beginning with his feet.
Now that she had the time and opportunity to appraise him, she noticed things that she had obviously overlooked when he'd strode past her only moments ago. She saw that he was wearing work boots, and that they looked as though they'd been put to use on a daily basis. And even though he was sitting down, she could tell that his faded jeans were a perfect fit, not too baggy or drooping off his butt, like the style a lot of men were wearing, a trend she despised. His solid blue long-sleeve shirt also had a most complimentary fit, as if it had been made especially for him. His attire was neat and clean, simple and basic. But since he was dressed so casually during the middle of business hours, it led her to believe that he was a working-class man, perhaps in a profession that called for him to use his hands, which she could see were large and rough looking.
Erica also noticed that he wasn't wearing a wedding band, which made her perk up. But what made her pause with skepticism was his bare wrist, which was a bad sign for her. She remembered the words her father had always told her. “Erica, a man who doesn't wear a watch has no sense of, or respect for, time. And if he has no respect for time, he obviously has no place to be and probably doesn't have a job, or if by chance he's employed, it's a job and position requiring no real level of responsibility.”
Erica's father, Joseph Stanford, was CEO of Eastern Electric, the largest utility company in the D.C. metro area, serving nearly two million residents. He was a well-respected, powerful man with equally powerful friends in both the business and government sectors, and Erica clung to his words on most things as gospel, despite his personal foibles. He was a loving father, and just like her mother, he'd always been the rock she could lean on for support and solid advice.
But in this case she didn't want to make snap judgments, because, after all, her father was old school, and most people nowadays relied on their cell phones to keep up with time. And besides, she had learned long ago that just because a book cover painted a certain picture, the story inside could be very different once you turned the pages and read the words. But even with this knowledge, after seeing the Great Dane's blue-collar attire and lack of accompanying timepiece, she turned her full attention back to the court clerk.
 
 
One by one the defense and prosecuting attorneys called out the names of those who were free to go, relieving them of what everyone in the room seemed to be dreading, except the bubbly older woman who had first greeted Erica in line and was now sitting beside her. No one wanted jury duty!
“This is exciting,” the plump, silver-haired lady said, leaning over as she whispered to Erica. “Think you'll get picked?”
“I sure hope not.” Erica sighed.
“I've always wanted to serve on a jury trial but in all the years that I've been summonsed, I've never been chosen. I'm hoping this will be my lucky day,” the woman said with enthusiasm.
Erica wondered if the kind old lady was a little bit off her rocker. She couldn't imagine why anyone would want to sit through hours of testimony every day, listening to people plead their case for the alleged crime they were accused of committing. But as she looked at the woman, Erica could see that she was sincere and seemingly stable.
Just a lonely old soul who needs something to fill her day,
Erica supposed.
“I retired ten years ago,” the woman said. “I worked for the D.C. public schools for thirty-five years, and let me tell you, the stuff I saw people do.... Well, let's just say it should've been tried in a court of law.” She chuckled and winked. “But I have to admit, I miss the excitement. I bet sitting on the jury of one of these cases will be full of drama! I sure do hope I get picked.”
Erica smiled. “I have enough drama in my life, so I hope I get to leave.” She glanced down at her lucky shoes and said to herself, “Feet, don't fail me now.”
Two hours later Erica's dread became reality. “I can't believe I have to serve on a criminal jury trial,” she said to Ashley, switching her phone from her right ear to her left as she descended the escalator, headed toward the courthouse exit.
“You make it sound like you just got sentenced to prison,” Ashley said and laughed.
“Very funny, Ash. You know I don't want jury duty.”
“It's not that bad. Hell, I'm in a courtroom all the time.”
“Because you're a prosecutor. It's your job.”
“True, but really, it's not that bad. You might even find it fascinating.”
Erica shook her head. “I doubt it, especially with all the headaches I'm facing at the store.”
“Since when did my bright, cheery best friend become such a pessimist?”
“Since problems started piling up by the shitload.”
“What's wrong?” Ashley asked with concern.
“There're so many things I have to do in order to prepare for Fashion Week. It's three weeks away, and the graphic artist I hired still hasn't gotten the new design to me for Paradise.”
“What? Oh, no, that's not good. Have you called him?”
“Yep, and I e-mailed him, too. As a matter of fact, I sent him a message this morning, right before I reported to court.”
“I guess you're going to have to sue his ass. Fax over his contract and let me take a look at it. I'll get the ball rolling.”
Erica was silent for a moment, wanting to kick herself. She'd been a business owner for five years, and in all that time she'd never entered into a service agreement without a signed contract. But after meeting Pierre St. James, the quirky, kindhearted designer she'd hired in good faith, she had a great feeling about him and believed he'd do a fantastic job. Their lunch meeting had turned into a creative design session, with him capturing the concept of what she'd pictured in her mind. From there, it was pretty much a done deal—sans a formal contract, which she never got around to executing, and now wished she had.
“Erica, I know you signed a contract with that man, didn't you?”
“Um, I really messed up this one.”
“Girl, you never do business without a contract. You want me to get involved?”
“Thanks, but that's okay. I talked to my dad about it the other day, and he's made a few phone calls for me. I also contacted the design firm I normally use, and they're going to get some samples to me early next week. I just hope it'll come in time. I'm up against the gun. Plus, one of my employees just quit, so I have to review applications and hire someone right away.”
“Wow, I'm sorry to hear that.”
BOOK: Breaking All My Rules
3.16Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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