Page 1 of Nothing Breaks Like A Heart

Prologue

Rain and wind rattled the office windows next to my cubicle, drawing my attention from the computer screen before me. Southern California usually had mild Decembers, but the storm had blown in off the Pacific Ocean about an hour ago and made me think I probably should have gone home at five with the rest of my coworkers, but I'd decided to keep working on our new marketing campaign.

Turning back to my screen, I smiled at the completely opposite experience I was trying to sell—a beautiful summer wedding with a couple holding hands under a sunlit archway, all golden light and smiles. The woman was a pretty brunette with a blinding smile any dentist would be proud of. The man was tall and fit, with blond hair and loving brown eyes that were gazing with adoration at the woman he’d just married, the woman who would share the honeymoon suite with him at the Carrington Coastal Retreat, our new resort hotel on the island of Catalina, that would launch this coming May, in time for the spring wedding season.

I leaned back in my desk chair, staring at the glossy, impossible image of wondrous, joyful love and the headlineYour Dream Honeymoon Awaits.The ad screamed effortless happiness: pristine beaches, champagne toasts, bikini beach days, and sensuous nights in fluffy beds with the ocean waves singing you to sleep.

The couple looked perfect, exactly how I'd wanted them to look when I’d conceived the marketing campaign, but I still hated them a little. Not because the ad was bad. If anything, it was too good, because I knew that couple didn’t exist. They were a fairy tale, the kind of happily ever after I'd wanted to believe in but had never experienced. My relationships had all turned out to be a bust. And the last three years, I hadn't even had time to look for love while I'd been caregiving for my mother, who had passed away last Christmas, which was one reason why I was working at ten o'clock on a Friday night instead of doing anything else. I couldn't seem to shake the sadness inside of me, especially at the holidays. I felt numb and broken.

I wished I could be that woman in the ad: carefree, in love, looking toward the future… Maybe one day…

Sighing, I saved the file and clicked off the image. The cursor blinked at me, waiting for my next command or for me to finally admit I couldn’t stall a second longer. The windows rattled again, and for a second, the lights flickered, sending a shiver down my spine. Thankfully, they came back on, but I probably shouldn't push my luck.

As I gathered my things, I heard more odd noises, and I wondered why I hadn't seen the security guard come through tonight. Usually, he made his rounds around nine, but I hadn't seen a soul in hours. Maybe security was busy downstairs. I was working on the top floor of the Carrington Newport Beach Hotel, which was also the headquarters for the Carrington Hospitality Group. The top two floors were office space while the first eight floors housed luxury rooms and suites, as well as conference space and banquet rooms.

The hotel was full this weekend, with one of the last business conferences taking place in the hotel before the holidays. I'd been in the elevator with many badged individuals over the past three days, and tonight when I'd gone down to grab a takeout salad from the hotel snack shop, I'd passed several men and women dressed in suits and cocktail dresses, heading toward their closing night cocktail party.

Seeing them had only made me feel more depressed. In addition to missing my mom, my two best female friends were in long-term relationships and while they often tried to include me, it was awkward to always be the fifth wheel, which was another reason I worked long hours, especially on Friday nights, when the looming weekend was almost too much to bear.

I'd just finished organizing my desk when the heat suddenly clicked off, leaving the office even more unnervingly quiet. Then I heard a loud thud and almost jumped out of my skin. No one else was on this floor. The crash must have come from somewhere else, but it still made me uneasy. I told myself to calm down. I was perfectly safe in one of the most secure buildings in the area. Located near the waterfront, the hotel was five-star luxury, and no one got upstairs without a keycard, especially not to the corporate offices.

Everything was fine. I needed to get my over-imaginative and weary self out of here. I shut down my computer, then headed out of my cubicle and down the hallway. I pushed the button for the elevator, and it dinged softly, immediately opening. When I stepped into the elevator, my eyes started to water, and I smelled smoke. Before I could jump out again, the elevator doors closed. I hit the button for the lobby, feeling my heart beginning to race.

Was there a fire somewhere?

The elevator started down, then stopped so abruptly I stumbled forward, hitting my hands against the silver doors. The overhead lights flickered as piercing alarms rang through the air.

There wasn’t just smoke; there was a fire!

And I’d done the one thing you were never supposed to do—get in an elevator. If only the alarms had gone off thirty seconds earlier.

Panic shot through me as I jabbed the buttons, trying to get the elevator moving. Nothing happened. Taking several deep breaths, I tried to slow down my racing pulse and think. I didn’t know why the elevator had stopped. Maybe it was some kind of backup security system for when the fire alarms went off, designed to keep me safe. But as the smoke grew stronger, my anxiety skyrocketed.

I hit the emergency button several times. Then the elevator suddenly jerked and started down again, stopping abruptly twenty seconds later. It looked like I'd made it to the ninth floor, one floor down from where I’d started. But the doors remained closed.

My options were limited, so I pushed the button for the doors to open—once, twice, then a third time, my desperation growing. Finally, they opened, but when they got halfway, they stopped. The ground was still two feet below me. Squeezing through the doors, I jumped, feeling immediately better to be off the elevator. But as the smoke thickened, clogging my lungs and burning my nose and throat, I wondered if I’d made the wrong decision.

The fire alarms were still piercing the air, but there was no one around. Maybe there was action on the lower floors. Management would be more concerned with getting the guests to safety, especially since they’d believe the office suites would be empty at this time of night.

I had to get to the stairwell. I knew it was nearby, but the smoke was making me lose my bearings. I had to concentrate. The stairs were only a short distance from the elevator. I started in what I hoped was the right direction, when a door next to me suddenly blew open, knocking me off my feet. My head hit the nearby wall and stars exploded behind my eyes as a loud ringing sound sent pain through my ears.

Dazed, I tried to make sense of what was happening. There were flames now blazing out of the room where the door had blown off. The heat was intense and the smoke so thick, I wasn't sure how far away from the stairs I was anymore. The situation was deteriorating rapidly, and that realization shocked me into awareness.

What if that was just the first of more explosions? I had to get out of here. But there was not only pain in my head but also in my leg, and I could see blood on my ankle. When I tried to stand up, the pain was so bad I fell back to my knees. I yelled for help, but I doubted anyone could hear me. Still, I screamed until my cries turned into gasping coughs.

And then a moment later, I saw him coming through the smoke—a man in a suit. He was tall and handsome, with blond hair and blue eyes. I had no idea who he was, but I was thrilled to see him.

"Help," I yelled again, my voice raspy with smoke. "Over here."

He paused as if he’d just heard me, his head swinging left then right, his gaze finally meeting mine.

“Are you hurt?” He came toward me, his voice cutting through the chaos in the scene, the ringing in my ears.

"Hit my head," I said, coughing through the words. "My ankle hurts, too."

"What's your name?"

"Lauren Gray."

---