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 asked.
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.
Richard and Susie went down the hall to another room to hopefully find the perfect music from the available inventory.
Andrea’s head was buzzing from fatigue, and she ached from head to toe as she pushed on.
She was in the process, she thought dismally, of totally erasing all the renewed vim, vigor and energy she’d replenished while m Prescott.
She was drained, both mentally and physically. This week of never-ending work hours, combined with the emotional upheaval regarding Brandon, had cost her dearly. She was so tired she could weep. She just wanted to put her head down on the table and wail.
Just before eleven o’clock, the presentation had been mounted on fiberboard backing and placed on a wooden easel. The tape of the chosen music was in a player, waiting for the proper button to be pushed.
They were ready.
The entire team appeared pale with dark smudges of fatigue beneath their eyes. Even Susie’s everpresent smile was nowhere in evidence.
“We did it,” Andrea said. “You’re wonderful, absolutely terrific, all of you.”
“We’re wiped out is what we are,” Richard said, rotating his neck back and forth.
“When Jack said he was taking that guy for a late dinner,” Mary Ann said, “he wasn’t kidding. Look at the time.”
“The cat food man is being royally wined and dined,” Andrea said. “He’s a bachelor and obviously likes the party life. Jack has been taking him to fancy restaurants and nightclubs all week.”
“Must be nice,” Richard said. “But I’d settle for one New Year’s Eve party.”
“Well...” Andrea said, massaging her aching temples. ”It’s up to you. You certainly deserve to be here to help present this package, but if you’d prefer to go, it’s absolutely fine with me. There’s no reason for all of us to be bringing in the new year pitching an ad campaign for cat food.”
“I’m gone,” Richard said. “Good luck, Andrea.”
“Forget partying,” Susie said. “All I want to see is my comfy bed.”
The others agreed that enough was enough. With wishes for success with the presentation and for having a happy New Year, the four made a hasty exit.
Andrea stood in the empty, quiet room, weaving slightly on her feet as a wave of dizziness and nausea assaulted her. She glanced longingly at her chair at the head of the table, then dismissed the thought of sitting down in fear that she’d be unable to rise to her feet again.
“Hurry up, Jack,” she muttered. “How much wining and dining can two men do in one evening?”
Andrea began to roam around the large room, mentally rehearsing the presentation she would give.
Somehow, she thought, she had to come across with bubbling enthusiasm, sound as though she was so excited about the crummy cat food that she could hardly contain herself. Her team deserved her very best performance.
What did she deserve? she thought. Even more, what did she really want in her life, her future? She missed Brandon with an intensity that was staggering, overwhelming. She yearned to see his smile, hear his laughter, be the recipient of his magnificent kisses, engage in exquisite lovemaking with him.
“Andrea, don’t. Not now,” she said aloud, still trekking around the room.
It was foolish to dwell on Brandon when she needed every ounce of energy she could muster to concentrate on the presentation for the cat food.
Cat food, she thought. How ridiculous. She was a physical and mental wreck. She was alone an hour before the beginning of a new year, all because of cat food? Did that make sense?
Yes, yes, of course, it did. This was her chosen profession, the career she was dedicated to. It brought her monetary rewards. It gave her fulfillment.
Didn’t it?
“I’m very fulfilled,” she said, then frowned. “Aren’t I?”
Oh, forget it, she thought in the next instant. She was too exhausted to think about fulfillment, or lack of same.
Cat food. All she could handle dealing with at the moment was that damnable cat food.
The sound of men’s voices reached her and she hurried to stand next to the easel.
Smile, Andrea, she told herself. Look peppy and proud, excited and enthused to the max. Smile.
Jack and a portly man in his late fifties entered the room.
“There she is,” Jack said, beaming. “The best advertising executive in the west, second only to me. Where’s your team, Andrea?”
“They did such a marvelous job,” she said, “that I sent them on their way. This is their work as much as mine, though. In fact, this fantastic presentation was Mary Ann’s idea.”
“Yes, well, whatever,” Jack said, flipping one hand in the air. “Are you ready to present it to Bert, here?”
“Yes, I am,” she said.
“All right, little girl,” Bert said, sinking heavily onto a chair. “Show me what you have. I hope it’s better than the others. They were a great disappointment to me, you know. So?”
So, eat a worm, little boy, Andrea thought, narrowing her eyes as she stared at Bert.
“Andrea?” Jack said.
“What? Oh. Yes. I’m very excited about this package,” she said. “It’s some of the finest work ever produced by my team.”
“Get on with it,” Bert said, then yawned.
Don’t murder him, Andrea told herself. The man isn’t worth going to jail for.
“Fine,” she said. “Now, then...”
Andrea gave a brief overview of the philosophy of the ad campaign, then turned and pressed the button on the tape player, producing music that was a lovely combination of quiet and upbeat.
“The cats would be shown,” she went on, hearing the thread of exhaustion in her voice, “in subdued shades of color, surrounded by a soft golden, or perhaps pink, glow. The images would merge, blend, one into the next as the kittens play, romp, even snooze and—”
“That’s it in a nutshell,” Bert said, throwing up his hands. “Snooze. You’re putting me to sleep, little girl. I can’t sell cat food to people who are no longer awake.”
He got to his feet.
“I’ve seen enough,” he said. “This is junk. Hellfire, shut off that damn funeral music.”
Andrea pushed the stop button on the player with a shaking finger. A red haze of fury flashed before her mental vision, taking the place of the sudden tears that had filled her eyes.
“I’ve been with the same advertising agency for thirty years,” Bert said, hiking up his pants over his bulging belly. “And I’m going to stay put. You people have offered me nothing remotely close to fresh and inspired ideas.”
He shook his head.
“I’m flying back to Chicago tomorrow and renew my contract with the outfit I know I can trust to produce something I can use. Lord, a slow-motion cat trying to smack a butterfly? Hell.”
It was too much, it really was.
Andrea was trembling with fury and fatigue. Everything seemed to come crashing down on her at once, nearly crushing her with the intensity of emotions tumbling one into the next.
Along with the anger at Bert and her physical weariness was the heartache and confusion about Brandon, the chilling loneliness the image of him in her mind caused to course throughout her.
And there, too, was the strange, menacing dark cloud of déjà vu, the sense of having somehow lived this scenario before.
Andrea blinked, shook her head slightly, then a gasp escaped from her lips.
The darkness in her mind’s eyes was suddenly lifted, revealing vivid scenes from her childhood in the foster homes. Painful memories slammed against her like punishing blows.
She heard the voices of people fawning over her, saying how pretty and well-mannered she was.
She heard them promise, promise, to start proceedings to adopt her, so they could take her home to be their cherished daughter.
She heard the foster mother of the moment telling her that the people bad changed their minds, were not going to adopt her after all.
Over and over it happened. Promises made. Promises broken. Hopes and dreams shattered time and again. Trust and belief in the future destroyed.
So she’d learned—oh, yes, she’d learned—to bury her emotions deep within her, to leave them untouched, beyond her reach. She protected her heart, mind, her very soul, against the heartache of love.
Promises made. Promises broken.
Dear God, what had they done to her? What had she become?
She became aware of Jack attempting to placate Bert, telling him that Andrea and her team would start over in the morning on a brand new advertising package to present to him.
“No,” Andrea said. “No, we won’t.”
“Yes, you will,” Jack said, looking at her intently.
Andrea stumbled forward to grip the back of a chair to keep her legs from crumbling beneath her.
“You never even considered switching ad agencies, did you, Bert?” she said, her voice quivering. “This has all been a sham, a way for you to escape the Chicago winter for a while and be wined and dined in warm, sunny Phoenix. Your coming here represented a promise to view our presentations with an open mind. That was a promise you never intended to keep. Isn’t that right, Bert? Isn’t it?”
“Andrea, that will do,” Jack said sternly.
“Let me tell you something, Mr. Cat Food Man,” Andrea went on, as though her boss hadn’t spoken. “You did me a tremendous favor. Your actions enabled me to discover something about myself that I didn’t even know.”
Tears spilled onto Andrea’s pale cheeks.
“And guess what, Bert?” she said, a sob catching in her throat. “The butterflies in that scene with the cat weren’t flying—they were dancing. How do I know that? Because I’m a woman who is in love with the most magnificent man in the world. In love. Only people in love can make the butterflies dance.”
“Andrea,” Jack said, “you’re out of control.”
“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m in control for the first time since I was a child. I’m in love, and I pray to the heavens that I’m not too late, that I haven’t lost the man who loves me in return.”
“You haven’t lost him,” a deep voice said. “He’s right here.”
Brandon strode into the room and Andrea stared at him with wide eyes, wondering frantically if she was imagining that he was actually there.
“Who in the hell are you?” Jack said.
Brandon went to Andrea, gripped her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes.
“Me?” Brandon said, his gaze riveted on Andrea. “I’m the man who loves this woman with every breath in my body. I’m the man, who along with Andrea, can see the butterflies dancing.”
“Enough of this nonsense,” Bert said. “I’m leaving. Thanks for the freebies, Jack, you dumb patsy.”
“What?” Jack said. “Is what Andrea said true? You never intended to consider changing agencies?”
“Hell, no,” Bert said. “My outfit suits me just fine. I flew out here to party in the sunshine and let you pick up the tab. See ya.” Bert sketched a salute and left the room.
“That lousy...” Jack started, then looked at Andrea. “Andrea, sweetheart, go home, get some rest, take tomorrow off. You can get cracking on a different account the next day.”
“No, Jack,” she said, “because I quit If you want to sue me for breaking my contract, then go for it.”
“But... Ah, hell, forget it,” Jack said. “Butterflies dancing? They deserve each other. They’re both crazy.” He stomped from the room.
Brandon watched Jack leave, took a shuddering breath, then looked directly into Andrea’s eyes.
“Andrea Cunningham,” he said, his voice not quite steady, “will you marry me? Be my wife? The mother of my children? Live with me in Prescott?”
“Yes, oh, yes,” she said, tears streaming down her face.
She threw her arms around Brandon’s neck and he encircled her slender body with his arms, pulling her close to him.
“I’m so sorry, Brandon,” she said, sobbing. “I was terrified to love you, to trust in you and your love, in your promises. Forgive me, please, for hurting you. I’ll explain it all to you later, but please believe me when I say that I’ve laid my ghosts to rest at long last. The future is ours. Forever.”
“Ah, Andrea,” Brandon said.
She smiled at him through her tears. “I love you so much, Brandon Hamilton.”
“And I love you, Andrea Cunningham,” he said, his voice choked with emotion.
The sound of car horns honking and bells ringing reached them.
“It’s midnight,” Andrea said.
Brandon cradled her face in his hands. “Happy New Year, my love.”
“Happy forever years,” she whispered.
Then Brandon lowered his head and captured Andrea’s mouth with a kiss that sealed that commitment as it chased the shadow of hurt and loneliness into oblivion.
Brandon broke the kiss. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Yes,” Andrea said. “I’ll come back tomorrow and collect my personal belongings from my office. We can spend the night at my apartment.” She paused, a thoughtful expression on her face. “That’s all it is, just an apartment. What you and I will have together will be a home, a real home, overflowing with love.”
Brandon slid one arm across Andrea’s shoulders and tucked her close to his side.
“Wait,” she said.
She went to the easel and removed the drawing of the cat and the butterflies. She rolled it into a tube and nodded.
“I want to keep this,” she said, smiling.
“We’ll frame it,” Brandon said, matching her smile. “Come on. We should be outside greeting the new year, saying hello to the first day of the rest of our lives together.”
 
Several hours later, Andrea woke with a start, then gasped in dismay when she looked at the clock.
Three-sixteen in the morning, she thought. She’d fallen asleep while Brandon had taken a shower. She’d intended to wait for him, eagerly anticipating the exquisite lovemaking they would share. But her exhaustion had won out and she’d fallen asleep!
She turned her head, a soft smile forming on her lips as she saw Brandon sleeping peacefully next to her, visible in the glow from the night-light she kept in the bathroom.
Oh, how she loved him, she thought. Their future together was spread out before them like a lush array of yet unopened Christmas presents. Did Brandon know, really know, how much she loved him?
“Maybe I’d better show him,” she said aloud.
Andrea eased onto her stomach and began to wiggle her way closer to Brandon, inch by inch. As she moved, she could feel the heat of desire begin to thrum low within her naked body.
Brandon’s arm shot out and snagged Andrea around the waist, causing her to gasp in surprise. He scooped her up as though she weighed no more than a feather and settled her on top of him.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” he said, smiling at her.
“You scared the bejeebers out of me,” she said, matching his smile. “I was traveling over here to seduce you.”
“Can’t be done.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yep,” he said, chuckling. “For you to seduce me would mean that I was resisting your womanly charms until you convinced me otherwise. I haven’t got a resisting bone in my body.”
“How nice.”
Andrea lowered her head and claimed Brandon’s mouth in a searing kiss, her tongue delving between his lips to seek and find his tongue.
A groan rumbled in Brandon’s chest as he rolled over, catching his weight on his forearms. He deepened the kiss and Andrea’s lashes drifted down. She savored the feel of him, the taste, the heat of passion licking throughout her like burning flames.
She felt so vibrantly alive, she thought dreamily. So young, carefree and happy. She was in love. And, oh, it was glorious.
Brandon broke the kiss and shifted to one of Andrea’s breasts, laving it with his tongue, then paying homage to the other.
As Andrea’s hands roamed over Brandon’s broad back, she rejoiced in the strength of this man, the power, tempered with gentleness.
They kissed and caressed, remembering, anticipating, as their desires soared. Brandon trailed nibbling little kisses across Andrea’s stomach, then down... down. She tossed her head restlessly on the pillow, whispering Brandon’s name, until she could bear no more.
“Brandon, please,” she said, her voice a near sob.
He moved up, then into her, meshing their bodies into one miraculous entity.
“Oh, yes,” she murmured, lifting her hips to meet him.
The rocking rhythm began, gaining force, thundering into a tempo that was wild and earthy, evidence of their want and need. Upward they flew, reaching for the exquisite release, together.
“Brandon!”
They were there, bursting into their private place in shattering ecstasy, hurled seconds apart into the kaleidoscope of brilliant colors.
And...
Butterflies.
There was a multitude of beautiful butterflies and all of them, every single one, were dancing.
They drifted back, sated, spent. Brandon sank heavily next to Andrea on the bed and wrapped one arm around her waist, his lips resting lightly on her temple. Their breathing quieted and heartbeats slowed.
“Did you see them, Brandon?” Andrea said, awe and wonder ringing m her voice. “Did you see the butterflies dancing?”
“Oh, yes, I saw them,” he said. “They were incredible.”
“And ours.”
Brandon sighed m contentment. “Forever.”