Glass Towers, Shattered (Glass Towers Trilogy) Read online

  GLASS TOWERS

  Book 2: Shattered

  By

  Adler and Holt

  Copyright © 2013 Adler and Holt

  Edited by Ginger Fraser

  Cover Art by Adler and Holt

  All rights reserved.

  Glass Towers Book 1: Champagne Showers

  Coming Soon:

  Glass Towers Book 3: Surrendered

  Find us:

  www.glasstowerstrilogy.com

  Facebook.com/glasstowerstrilogy

  Twitter.com/glasstowertri

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following word marks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Jeep, Aston Martin, Juicy Couture, Chanel, Jack Daniels, Lifetime, Cayman Airways, TiVo, Ferrari, Delta Airlines, Cayman Airlines, DVF, Dolce and Gabbana, Barefoot Bubbly, Tom Skerritt, Picket Fences, Gilles Marini, Richard Gere, Frank Sinatra, Bob and Delores Hope, YSL, Hulu, The Jerry Springer Show, The Bachelor, Pandora,

  Acknowledgements

  We would like to thank our friends and family who have supported us and helped to make this book possible. (you know who you are)

  To our beloved readers, we greatly appreciate you!

  We are eternally grateful to our wonderful husbands and amazing children for your patience and understanding throughout this process. Without your love and support, none of this would be possible.

  Thank you to Angela Lamondi for your contributions.

  Chapter One

  Goodbye unknown caller. Goodbye Harrison.

  “Danielle… Danielle?”

  All he hears is a beeping and then a voice says, “Call failed.”

  “Damn it!”

  After throwing my phone in the ocean, I sit back on the log and have the biggest cry I have had since my dog, Barney, died when I was nine. After sobbing uncontrollably for at least the better part of an hour, I stagger back to the house. I have a lump in my throat and need a glass of water. I take the glass back to my room. I undress and take a quick, steaming-hot shower. I crawl into bed and sob myself to sleep. I sleep straight through my crazy parents coming home and through Stormy jumping into bed with me. I awake the next morning disoriented. For one brief second, I have forgotten all of the previous day and the end of Harrison and me. When my mind snaps on, the despair sets in and the tears return. I don’t notice that Stormy is in bed with me, until I feel her snout nuzzling my head. I reach up to pet her and find a brief moment of solace. Then the guttural sobs ensue. My mom hears my sobbing from the kitchen. She knocks lightly, cracks open the door, and pops her head into the room. One look at me, and she comes rushing forward, yelling for my dad to get in here.

  With my parents’ shoulders to cry on and several days of them pampering and waiting on me hand and foot, I feel stable enough to return to Portland and to my condo. I leave early in the morning and arrive before lunchtime. Once inside my condo, I look around nervously to assure myself that nothing has been disturbed. Once I feel comfortable enough, I proceed to sit down to my laptop and catch up on emails. I need to head to the mobile store at some point today to replace my damned phone. It feels weird not having a phone. While at the beach, I used my mom’s phone to contact Simone and let her know my whereabouts. I used Mom’s computer to make sure there weren’t any urgent business matters awaiting my attention. Other than that, I shut myself off from the world. I shut myself off from Harrison.

  I open my personal email and notice there are dozens of emails from Harrison. I just can’t bring myself to open them presently, so I decide to just leave them for the moment. Maybe later, I will look at them--or maybe later I will just delete them all.

  I do notice one message from Simone that intrigues me. The subject says: Brace yourself. So I do. I open the email and scan over it. It is a reaffirmation of what I already confirmed by Harrison, himself, a week ago. Attached to the email, is a copy of the official press release. I don’t read the whole thing, but it states that Harrison is, indeed, engaged to the Wine Witch, and though the date has not yet been set, it is expected to happen by the New Year. The Towers and Devereauxs are thrilled to bring the two families together. I feel a bitterness forming in the back of my throat. Why couldn’t Harrison have been honest with me? It sickens me further to think that I have completely fallen for him. I can’t help but to wonder why he bothered with the charade at the winery. If he was planning this engagement the entire time, why would he flaunt me in front of her and the entire world at the gala? There is so much that doesn’t make sense, but at the end of it, he is due to marry her by the end of the year. Well, he isn’t one for a long engagement, that’s for sure.

  I feel the tears threatening, I take a deep breath, and email Clarke to let her know that I don’t want her to forward anything else. It hurts too much, and it’s insensitive. I also let her know that I will message her later in the day, when I have a new phone number. I log out of my personal email and start to log in to my business email, when, despite my best efforts to stifle my sobs, I start weeping uncontrollably, shuddering at the thought that Harrison has gone from my life. I’m not sure for what I have left to live. I’ve lost the excitement I once felt for my business, I have no one but my parents and Simone, and they are too far away to prop me up. I feel so alone and empty. How could I have allowed myself to let my guard down? I chastise myself. If this long-standing situation between Harrison and Wine Witch’s families had existed all this time, then I never stood a chance. I stop sobbing, wipe my eyes, and blow my nose before I move my attention back to the task of checking my overflowing business inbox. I need to throw myself into something, anything other than Harrison.

  I scroll down the list and a second email catches my eye. It’s from Harrison’s personal assistant, Hilary. The subject: Appointment confirmation. I open it and scan the email then gasp.

  Oh no! They’re still expecting me to execute the decorating for the new space that HQ is moving into in just a few days. No way! I will not do this job! The pit in my stomach is growing to the size of a watermelon! I send Hilary a message, explaining that it would be best if they find a more suitable designer for the job. I hit send, get up from my chair, and walk over to the fridge. I pull out a bottle of wine and don’t even stop to notice whether it’s white or red. I grab a water glass off the counter, pour the contents into the sink, and replace it with a generous helping of wine. I take a large swig of it, wishing it was something stiffer. After a couple more sips, I feel a little calmer. I lay down on my sofa, and before I know it, I have fallen into a deep, but disturbed, sleep. I dream that I am running on the beach and someone is chasing me. Winded, I look back every few seconds, but all I can see is the outline of a figure. The shape has no face or features to clue me in to the identity of my pursuer. Just as a dark hand reaches out to grab me, I wake with a start. I wipe the drool off my chin and sit up. I notice an envelope dancing across my screen. Yeah, yeah, I’ve got mail. I open my computer and find a few recent emails from my new clients in Lake Oswego, it appears that they are thrilled with my suggestions and are ready to move forward. Well, that’s a piece of good news, a much-needed distract
ion. I look at the next email to find a response from Hilary. I hold my breath and open the email.

  From: Hilary Durand

  To: Danielle Austen

  Sent: Mon, Sept.26, 2011 1:23 PM

  Subject: Appointment Confirmation

  Miss Austen,

  Thank you for your prompt response. I shared your email with Mr. Towers and he respectfully declines your resignation from this project. He feels that you are the best designer for this job. He also indicated that since our move is scheduled for next week it would be nearly impossible to find a suitable replacement. He is expecting you Wednesday at 10:00 AM at the Rogue Towers Suite to cover final preparations.

  On a personal note Danielle, I beg of you that you complete the project. My sanity is at stake.

  Talk soon, I hope.

  Hilary

  Harrison Tower’s Personal Assistant

  Towers Holdings, Inc.

  Damn it! What does she mean her sanity is at stake? Why should I care about her sanity anyway? My own sanity is seriously in peril at the moment, and I’m supposed to care about her?!

  I sit there, staring at the computer screen for what seems like an hour. I don’t want to meet Harrison at the damned building so we can discuss his fiancé’s fucking office. They can do it themselves. He’s screwed me over so why should I help him out?

  I reply,

  From: Danielle Austen

  To: Hilary Durand

  Sent: Mon, Sept.26, 2011 2:45 PM

  Subject: Appointment Confirmation

  Dear Hilary,

  I can’t do it under the circumstances and maybe Mr. Towers should have thought of that before his trip to Montreal.

  Good luck,

  Danielle

  Then I hit send, smiling to myself.

  There, I feel a little better. My mind wanders. Maybe, considering my new clients, I can afford a vacation. I seriously need to get away and leave everything behind me for a week. Maybe, I should go somewhere tropical, where I can hook up with someone tall, dark and mysterious. Maybe, I should hook up with someone who doesn’t even speak English, so I don’t have to communicate with anything more than physical attraction. Who am I kidding? That will never happen to me. It’s not as if I would seriously have a vacation tryst. Now, back to reality, I need a new phone, so I head off to phone store.

  Chapter 2

  “Here is your new phone, Miss Austen, and the new number is printed right here on the paperwork. Is there anything else I can do for you?” The cashier hands me a bag with my new smart phone, along with the contract.

  I shake my head and mumble thanks to the clerk. Out of my own stupidity and anger, my phone now lies on the sandy ocean bottom, with my SIM card, containing all of my contacts. Now comes the shitty part of recreating all of those personal and business contacts that I had collected over the years. I’ll take the suggestion of the flirty young sales clerk, Colin, and download my latest bill in an attempt to re-create my former contact list. I have a collection of business cards and emails that I can also use. No, it won’t be too difficult, just time consuming. However, I have plenty of time on my hands, now that I’m not seeing Harrison.

  After I return from the phone store, I lock myself in my condo, conducting a quick sweep to make sure all is clear. I set the bag, containing my new phone and contract, down on the ottoman in my living room and refill my glass of wine.

  After a glass of wine, I grab my new phone and set to programming numbers into it . I start with a stack of business cards, then I go into my email contacts and add them. I set the phone down on the kitchen counter to refill my wine glass.. Cheers to Harrison Towers, I say to myself. Congratulations on your nuptials! I’m now going to drink myself into oblivion. I hear an unfamiliar buzzing and look incredulously at my phone. Who the hell could be calling my new phone? I haven’t sent out the blast yet to give everyone my new number. I pick up the phone… Fucking Unknown Caller.

  I hit answer.

  “What the FUCK do you want? I am sick of you… GO AWAY!”

  I wait.

  Nothing, but I hear faint breathing.

  Then a snicker and the call drops.

  I feel my insides turn to ice. I have heard this same thing before. Maybe it’s time to email Detective Burke again.

  I hop onto my email and send a message to Detective Burke, outlining the extensive number of calls I have received over the past five weeks, explaining that I have call records to show as much. I give him my new phone number and ask him to contact me directly.

  I then call Simone, but she doesn’t answer, so I leave her a message.

  I have no idea what to do next. I drink more wine and wander aimlessly around the condo, doing things like laundry and cleaning. I have downed almost an entire bottle of wine by 4:00 PM, when I get a knock at the door. Shit! I’m tipsy and someone is at my door. It must be someone I know, otherwise he or she wouldn’t have gotten past Frank. I look through the peephole, and just as I’m about to unbolt the door, Frank belts out, “Hey Danielle, Miss Austen, you there? Got a delivery.”

  As he says this, I’m working my way down the locks.

  He chuckles and looks at my door, “Fort Knox, I see. Well, a lady by herself in the city can’t be too careful. Listen, I have a delivery here for you.”

  I don’t see anything in Frank’s hands, so I’m wondering what he has in store for me. I’m starting to grow impatient, when Frank steps aside, and who should step in front of the door but Harrison. I almost fall over, my head is full of wine and my mind goes into shock. I scowl at them both and hiss at Harrison, “That was a dirty trick using Frank to get to me.” Frank looks at me sheepishly and then says, “Sorry, Miss Austen, he is my boss.” He shrugs and then disappears down the hallway.

  Harrison turns to me, and I notice that he looks like shit. I actually gasp aloud at the sight of him. I know I must look a fright, with my tearstained face, swollen eyes and nose red from too many brushes with tissue in the past few days. But Harrison looks worse! It appears that he hasn’t slept in days; there are dark circles under his eyes, and speaking of his eyes, they are usually dancing and sparkling pale blue pools, but today they are cloudy and rimmed in red. He has more than a five o’clock shadow, and his clothes have that slept-in look. Despite my sorrow and my rage, my loins betray me by stirring at the mere sight of him. I am momentarily taken off guard by his disheveled appearance, but I regain my composure, and I realize that I need to shut him out. I can’t let him muscle his way in here. I start to close the door, but he quickly shoves his foot into the doorway.

  “Please, Danielle, can’t you just hear me out?” I start shaking my head rapidly, but I don’t move to continue shutting the door. Part of me wants to have my questions answered, despite his ominous warning about the truth being dangerous. I have so many things that I need to know, just so I can move forward with my life.

  We continue our standoff, his foot on the threshold, my hand threatening to slam the door into it, until I finally let him pass through the door. I make a terrible gatekeeper–to my heart and to my condo.

  I lock only one deadbolt, so I can usher him out with ease in a few minutes. Something tells me he’s not leaving that easily, but I can hope.

  He looks at me expectantly.

  “Look, Mr. Towers, you have exactly five minutes and then you WILL need to leave.” I look at the clock on the wall then back at Harrison. “Your time starts now.” I show him to the living room, and he sits down next to the empty tissue box.

  I sit down in a cognac brown leather chair opposite him, with the square coffee table separating us. I look at him expectantly. He looks around the room nervously, and then settles his cloudy eyes on mine. I feel my insides stir as we lock eyes. My body, for once, does not respond with my loins being stimulated. No, instead my stomach is stuffed full of butterflies fighting to escape. My mouth is dry, and I am scared more than anything to hear what he has to say. I start twisting my hair around my finger. Enough already! I give an exag
gerated look at the clock on the mantle.

  He seems to have gotten the message. He clears his throat, “Danielle, the last thing I ever want to do is hurt you. There are so many things I want to tell you right now, but I can’t, no yet.” I start to interrupt, but he holds his hand up as if to say stop.

  He continues. “I know it is hard or perhaps even impossible to believe that I do not have feelings for Marion. I never have and I never will.”

  He shifts his body so that he is now leaning on the armrest of the sofa. He reaches behind his back, removes the chenille throw pillow, and places it next to his side. He looks back at me, and I fight to restrain myself from bursting a pipe and allow him to continue. My fingers continue to twist and pull at my hair; it is the only thing keeping me from chewing my fingernails to the quick. .

  “I know I have handled the whole situation in Montreal poorly.”

  I make a loud un-ladylike snort and nod my head. He ignores me.

  “I am sorry that I have not been completely open with you, but you must understand that it has been for your safety.”

  A long awkward silence falls between us. I am trying to digest what he has told me so far. Has he really told me anything

  It is all I can do to refrain from yelling at him. Instead, I calmly say “My safety, really? “Harrison, you have kept me in the dark about Montreal and Marion. I am shattered by your deceit. I feel like I am but a shadow of a person right now, and it is entirely your fault.”

  I am choking back sobs, as I feel hot, wet tears streaming down my face. I quickly wipe them away with shaking hands. I attempt to take a deep breath, but my body shudders, making my breath shallow and ragged.

  I continue, “I can’t begin to tell you how devastated I was to hear that you got engaged to her. You didn’t even give me the courtesy of telling me yourself. It makes no sense to me. I had to find out through Simone. It really felt lousy to find out that in the end, I was just a cheap fuck to you and that obviously you had your sights set elsewhere.”