Breaking All My Rules Read online

  Also by Trice Hickman

  Unexpected Love Series

  Unexpected Interruptions

  Keeping Secrets & Telling Lies

  Looking for Trouble

  Troublemaker

  Playing the Hand You’re Dealt

  Published by Dafina Books

  BREAKING ALL MY RULES

  Trice Hickman

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Trice Hickman

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Secret Indiscretions

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to everyone who has ever

  dared to step outside their comfort zone, take a risk,

  and follow their dreams. For those who haven’t,

  don’t be afraid to try something new. You are more

  powerful than you know.

  Acknowledgments

  I’m an author. I love words. But it’s hard to find the right ones to adequately express how happy, thankful, and appreciative I am to have completed another novel! God has blessed me, healed me, and loved me through many storms, guiding me toward splendid sunshine. Thank you, Lord! I continue to be humbled by Your grace and mercy.

  Publishing another book is like a dream come true all over again! I’m so grateful for this opportunity, and again, there are many people to thank. In my previous novels I thanked individual family members and loved ones, friends, fellow authors, book clubs, and industry professionals who have helped, supported, and encouraged me along this wondrous journey. Each time I have inevitably missed someone, not on purpose, but because God has surrounded me with so many awesome people that it’s hard to keep up with everyone. So as not to leave out anyone, this time around I will simply say, “Thank you! I love you all!”

  Abundant Blessings,

  Chapter 1

  “Nooooo!” Erica screamed over and over, gasping for breath, drowning in fear. She was falling. Falling fast. Her slender arms and thick legs flailed through the air as if she were on a runaway roller coaster. Her mouth gaped open and her eyes bulged wide when she realized what was next to come.

  She knew it would only be a matter of seconds before she hit the hard, rugged earth below. Death was near. She could feel it. Hear it calling her name. Smell it invading her nostrils. The bitter taste of it filling her mouth as she screamed. Then, suddenly, her panic and fear vanished into the whisper-thin air around her. She couldn’t explain her newfound sense of calm, or what had caused the shift, so she did the only thing that was left to do at such a terrifying moment—she obeyed it.

  She stopped struggling.

  She relaxed her tired limbs and welcomed the uncomfortable peace spreading through every inch of her flaccid body—the kind of peace that only death could bring. This is it, Erica thought as she swallowed hard. She closed her eyes, anticipated the rough gravel and dirt that lay mere inches away, and readied herself for the fatal impact.

  Bonk! Beep! Bonk! Beep! Bonk!

  Erica shot straight up in her bed and fumbled as she reached over to silence the alarm clock blaring loudly near her head. Her chest heaved up and down with rapid speed as her lungs fought for air. She took two deep breaths, closed her eyes tightly, and began to slowly count backward from ten until her body no longer trembled with fear.

  She breathed in and out as her heart searched for its natural rhythm. After several minutes she was finally able to inhale and exhale at a normal pace. “Thank you, God,” she whispered, covering her parched mouth with her trembling hand. The exercise had worked again, just as it had so many other nights and mornings in the past.

  Erica slumped her tense shoulders and shook her head, falling back onto her pillow. Waking up like this made her wish she could end her day before it began.

  It was Friday morning, and despite the fact that the weatherman had forecast a bright, beautiful day to start what promised to be a picturesque weekend, Erica felt as if dark clouds were hovering directly above her head, ready to drench her at any moment.

  “Aggghhhh,” she moaned.

  Erica Stanford was normally an upbeat, optimistic go-getter who always looked on the cheery side of things, no matter how bleak. If she had a bad day at work, she didn’t sweat it, because she knew the next day would be better. If she missed out on a business contract, she didn’t get discouraged, because she was confident that a much better opportunity would be waiting around the corner. Whatever the situation, she always tried to change her way of thinking so that she felt empowered rather than trapped by the challenges that faced her. But lately her state of mind had been steering counter to her character, and she couldn’t seem to shake the funk it brought in its wake.

  She knew she should adopt a better outlook and operate from a more hopeful place. After all, she’d learned long ago that negative thoughts led only to negative outcomes. But no matter how hard she tried to conjure up her usual glass-half-full, rainbow-laden optimism, she couldn’t run from her haunting dreams or the seemingly bad luck that was bearing down on her.

  This was the second nightmare she’d had this month, and she could feel the heavy weight of her past pressing into her here and now.

  Erica turned over again and shifted her body against her dampened Egyptian cotton sheets as she adjusted her purple gown, which now clung to her skin. She wiped her perfectly arched brow, thinking about how her frightful dreams were always accompanied by unsparing panic and horrid night sweats.

  Whenever she felt stressed, unsure, anxious, or confused, the nightmares would return. Some nights she was chased through winding, narrow streets that never seemed to end. At other times she was hiding from faceless assailants whose footsteps nipped at her heels. And in her darkest, most alarming dreams, she was completely helpless and without a way to protect herself. Those were the dreams she feared most, like the one she’d just had—falling powerlessly from the sky without a soul to help save her.

  But no matter the particulars of her dreams, the results were always the same; she was fighting for her life, awaking just in the nick of time to save herself from a fatal ending. It had been that way for the last twenty-five years, and it had all started the night of her tenth birthday.

  After a whirlwind day of fun, laughter, an
d gifts that had been capped off with chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream to celebrate her first double-digit birthday, Erica and her family had settled in for the evening. A peaceful quiet rested over their large brick and stucco home as her mother finished cleaning the kitchen and her father read in his study. Erica and Nelson, her twelve-year-old brother, were walking upstairs to their bedrooms when they heard frightening sounds that froze their feet into place.

  From out of nowhere, a thunderous crash of glass, followed by the terrifying sound of gunshots, sliced through the still night. What happened next raced by so fast that neither young Erica nor Nelson had time to react as they stood motionless, watching the violent scene unfold before their helpless eyes.

  In the span of the few seconds that it took her mother to dial 911, Erica’s father was shot twice after racing from his study to defend his family. But despite his wounds he managed to break the would-be thief ’s arm, bust open his nose and lip, and leave him a bloody mess before the man hastily limped away through the broken glass of their patio door to a getaway car that had been parked down the street.

  The intruder, a drug-hazed career criminal, was apprehended the very next day. Thankfully, Erica’s father survived the brutal attack. It took months for the wounds to his right shoulder and upper abdomen to heal, but the emotional scars lingered with the family for long after. It was especially hard for Erica, a sensitive child who wore her emotions on her sleeve.

  The violent home invasion had traumatized her on a day that had been otherwise filled with nothing but goodness.

  Erica learned many things on that fateful night. She learned how strong and fearless her father was. How calm and levelheaded her mother was. How resilient and determined her brother was. And how painfully fragile she was. But most of all, she learned that no matter how wonderful your day started out, everything could change after the sun went down.

  Chapter 2

  Looking at her alarm clock for a second time, Erica considered crawling back under her luxuriously soft bedsheets. But instead of giving in to the urge to hug her mattress and block out the world, she willed herself to stand up, put one foot in front of the other, and lumber her way downstairs to her kitchen to make a cup of coffee.

  Erica knew what her problem was, and she’d been thinking about this day ever since she had looked at the calendar last Tuesday and realized its significance.

  She wanted to pull herself out of the dreary place where she was stuck, because it was like being locked inside a room without a key. But try as she might, lately it seemed as if every time her mind took one step forward, something would go wrong and pull her back two paces. And this morning she felt as though the gun had sounded but she was still hunched over the starting block, already behind in the race.

  “You’ve got to get it together, sister,” Erica whispered to herself as she rubbed sleep from her tired eyes.

  One of the reasons for her less than enthusiastic mood was the fact that she had to report to D.C. Superior Court for jury duty by 8:00 a.m., which meant she had to leave soon. She had a jam-packed workweek ahead, filled with a million and one things she had to do at Opulence, the high-end bath and body care boutique she owned. The next three weeks were crucial for her business’s future growth.

  Through a combination of networking, planning, and being in the right place at the right time, she’d managed to score a game-changing business opportunity. Opulence products were going to be included in the coveted swag bags at the highly anticipated Tracy Reese fashion show during New York City’s famed Fashion Week. Erica was ecstatic about the stroke of good fortune, because she knew it was going to catapult her small company to an entirely new level.

  But ever since she’d signed the contract eight months ago to seal the sweet deal, everything that could go wrong had. From a mix-up with her chemical formulations for Paradise, the new body butter she planned to debut at Fashion Week, to a breakdown in price negotiations with a longtime supplier, to one of her employees abruptly quitting two days ago, leaving her short staffed, Erica had been scrambling to hold things together.

  Her days were rushed, her nights were long, and the last thing she needed at this pivotal juncture was an all-day trip to the courthouse.

  But the other source of her frustration, and what felt like a subtle blow to the pit of her stomach, could be summed up in three small, but painful words . . . Claude Daniel Richardson. Or as her best friend, Ashley, not so affectionately called him, Lucifer!

  Today made exactly six months since Erica and Claude had broken up, bringing their two-year romance to a crushing end. Erica knew that she shouldn’t let a failed relationship have this kind of effect on her, especially since breaking up with Claude had been for the best. But she hadn’t met a decent man worth mentioning since their split, or even gone on a date, and now her gloomy love life only added to her already dampened spirits.

  Her breakup with Claude had been just one in a long string of disappointments that she’d experienced with men, and now she was what she’d secretly feared—a statistic. She was one of the reported 42.4 percent of single black women who had yet to marry. And worse still, she didn’t see her prospects for matrimony getting any better, because one needed to actually meet and date men for that to happen, and right now things were looking fairly dim.

  But what concerned Erica even more was the thought that she might reach over to the ugly side of that dreaded statistic and become the stereotypical bitter, angry black woman who ranted about all of life’s woes and the sorry, no-good men who’d dogged her, yet didn’t have an amiable disposition to attract anything different. That was why she was always mindful to be pleasant and kind to everyone she met.

  Erica shook her head when she thought about her ex. Claude Richardson was supposed to have remedied her statistical fears. He was supposed to have been “the one.” She’d thought he was her black prince, the man who would give her the two kids, the dog, and the big, beautiful home that most women dreamed of, and that she’d been accustomed to growing up.

  Claude was the man who all her family and friends, sans Ashley, had referred to as a good catch. He was a successful investment banker who owned a sprawling home in the wealthy Palisades neighborhood of northwest Washington, D.C. He was handsome, successful, educated, well mannered, and responsible. He opened doors, always remembered special occasions and holidays, and showered Erica with thoughtful gifts and any material thing she desired.

  After their split, Erica had received condolences and a strong show of support from her girlfriends, who had said things like, “I’m so sorry to hear about you and Claude. He was one of the good ones,” and “I can’t believe you and Claude called it quits! You two were absolutely perfect together.” But within days, the very friends who had shared drinks with her, offering sympathetic words of comfort, had added Claude to their phones’ speed dial and had linked up with him through various social networking sites. The murky, shark-infested waters of the D.C. dating scene were brutal, and it was all about survival of the craftiest.

  Erica opened the cabinet over her sink and reached in for her Winston-Salem State University coffee mug. “Damn, why can’t I at least go out on a decent date?” she mumbled to herself, thinking about her crappy luck with men. But she knew the answer to that question before she’d asked it. The real truth was that her work schedule and her underlying fear of being disappointed again were both blocking her way.

  She inhaled the sweet aroma of hazelnut-flavored coffee and watched as her Keurig machine produced a liquid stream of black gold that filled her ceramic mug. She shook her head again, remembering how much Claude’s lying ass loved a piping hot cup of coffee first thing in the morning. “Why didn’t I see it coming?” Erica asked herself.

  On the surface, Erica and Claude had been the ideal couple. They had both graduated in the top 10 percent of their class from Winston-Salem State University, loyally following in the tradition of both their parents and grandparents by attending a historically black col
lege. They had each earned advanced degrees from Ivy League schools, Erica’s in fine arts from Columbia, and Claude’s in business from Yale. Even their backgrounds growing up had been similar. They each hailed from well-connected, old-money families and had been raised in affluent suburban neighborhoods—she in Maryland, he in Pennsylvania. As everyone had said, they were great together. At least on paper.

  Erica had met Claude at a cocktail fund-raiser for a popular D.C. councilman who’d been running for reelection. She had attended the swank downtown affair at the urging of Ashley, a gregarious but pragmatic prosecutor who was in the know about all things social. “This event is not to be missed,” she’d raved to Erica. “Everyone who’s anyone will be at Councilman Perry’s fund-raiser, so put on your best dress and sexiest heels, ’cause, girl, that party is the place to be!”

  Claude and Erica had locked eyes from the moment she entered the hotel’s lavish ballroom. Her confident stride and natural beauty had instantly attracted him. From her shapely figure and curvy hips, which she swayed like a gentle breeze, to her radiant chestnut-brown skin, which looked dewy to the touch, to her full, kissable lips painted in burgundy blush, to the neatly trimmed shoulder-length bob she sported with fierce style, Erica had captivated him.

  Even though they shared the same undergraduate alma mater, they’d never formally met before that night. They were a few years apart in age, so by the time Erica had entered WSSU as an eager freshman, Claude was a graduating senior and an established big man on campus.

  Erica had heard all the buzz about Claude during her first week of classes. She and Ashley had been roommates, but they’d shared completely different views on the handsome upperclassman. Erica thought he was amazing, while Ashley thought he was, as she often smirked, a slick-ass phony. But despite Ashley’s negative feelings about him, Erica managed to get her best friend to tag along with her to social events where Claude would be. Admiring him from afar became her hobby.