Always You Read online

  Indigo Love Stories

  An imprint of Genesis Press, Inc.

  Publishing Company

  Genesis Press, Inc.

  P.O. Box 101

  Columbus, MS 39703

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, not known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission of the publisher, Genesis Press, Inc. For information write Genesis Press, Inc., P.O. Box 101, Columbus, MS 39703.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author and all incidents are pure invention.

  Copyright © 2007, 2010 Crystal Hubbard

  ISBN-13: 978-1-58571-560-2

  ISBN-10: 1-58571-560-3

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition 2007

  Second Edition 2010

  Visit us at www.genesis-press.com or call at 1-888-Indigo-1-4-0

  Dedication

  I have the best readers in the history of the written word, and I’d like to dedicate this book to all of you. I’m so thankful for each of you, but I have to give a special holler to Vannesia, who always knows just what to say before I even know I need to hear it.

  Please continue to send me your comments and questions at [email protected].

  Acknowledgments

  Always You is something new for me, and I have a lot of people to thank for helping me pull it together. Kim H., one of NASA’s finest minds, made learning about computers fun. Almost. There wasn’t such a thing as a dumb question when I spoke to members of the St. Louis Police, and one of you in particular didn’t doubt me for a moment when I said I didn’t roll through that stop sign. Special thanks to my husband—my eyes, ears, and nose when it comes to overseas hotels. I’m also thankful to the Bureau of East Asian and Pacific Affairs for the engrossing etiquette tutorial. I’d like to acknowledge Anneliese Hubbard, creator, owner, and designer of Soul Hippi, the home of Hazel Wear fashions. And finally, I offer my thanks to the city of Chicago. The line between work and pleasure always blurs nicely there.

  Prologue

  Hotel Sakura

  Tokyo, Japan

  Two butlers rigidly flanked the entrance to the Seiyo lounge. Still as wax figures in their black cutaway coats, dove-grey trousers and white gloves, they stared straight ahead, unblinking. Though they said nothing, Chiara Winters was sure that they inwardly seethed at the horrible behavior of her companion, Chen Zhou, who loudly smacked his lips after knocking back a shot of whiskey. With a sharp crack on the highly polished surface of the burled walnut counter, his empty shot glass joined a long line of others that the bartender made no effort to clear away.

  “What’s going on, Zhou?” she asked, her tone cautious as she eased onto the tall, suede-covered stool beside him. “I rang your room three times and your cell phone twice. We have an early flight back to Chicago tomorrow. You’re not going to be in any condition to travel if you keep this up.” She and Zhou had traveled extensively throughout Asia over the past few years. They were technical sales and public relations reps for United States IntelTech, Inc.—USITI, to insiders—and they were the software giant’s top-selling duo. They were so successful, they answered directly to “U-City” founder and CEO Emmitt Grayson, who personally managed the accounts they acquired.

  Grayson had begun working with computers as an undergraduate in Nevada’s state school system. Twenty years later, he started his own software design firm built solely on the success of his patented Relay-Group Systems (R-GS) chips, which enabled linked computers to communicate more efficiently. The R-GS chip was USITI’s signature product, and Grayson himself chose the clients to whom he wished to sell it.

  Chiara and Chen Zhou had spent the past several years predominantly in the Far East, exclusively promoting the R-GS chips, and their hard work had paid off. If there was a major corporation between Russia and Australia without R-GS chips powering their computer systems, Chiara was at a loss to name it, and she and Zhou had just closed a multimillion-dollar sale to a Japanese biorobotics firm.

  Zhou had a funny way of celebrating their success.

  Japan was a culture of manners, and the concept of shibumi, elegance and restraint in all things, was celebrated. Zhou’s loud, public drunkenness was an embarrassment for him, Chiara, and every butler and bartender in the otherwise deserted lounge. Manners and culture clashes aside, a drinking binge was uncharacteristic for Zhou, and Chiara was concerned.

  “What’s going on, Zhou?” she asked again.

  “You.” With two fingers, Zhou waved over the bartender and, in fluent Japanese, rattled off an order for warm sake. “And me. We’re the problem, Winters. We don’t belong here. You don’t know what we’ve done!” His black eyes overbright with his sudden burst of emotion, he punctuated his words with sharp stabs at the counter. The bartender’s impassive expression never changed, even though Zhou nearly toppled the small ceramic carafe of sake he presented to Zhou. Chiara was well schooled in the customs and traditions of Japan, so it was second nature for her to reach for the carafe and pour a dignified amount of the dry rice wine into Zhou’s fresh drinking cup. When he tried to pour for her, slopping a substantial quantity of the sake onto the counter, she turned her tiny cup over in refusal.

  “Finish that cup and I’ll get you to your room, Zhou,” Chiara said, nervously tucking a long lock of her dark hair behind her ear. “We can talk there.”

  “Why?” He hiccupped sharply. “So we can have privacy? There’s no such thing as privacy in our work. He’s made sure of that.”

  “Who?”

  Zhou leaned in close, startling her with his fluidity of movement in the depths of intoxication. The moist heat of his words seemed to coat her neck in fumes. “Our boss.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  He wagged a long finger in her face. “For the first time in five years, I make sense.”

  She took his hand in both of hers in an attempt to rein him in. “Zhou, I—”

  “Do you remember what you said to me, the first time we met?”

  She winced, shaking her head. Drunk was one thing. Crazy was another, and Chiara was suddenly convinced that Zhou was in the midst of a mental collapse.

  “You said, ‘Good morning, Mr. Chen. It is my honor and my privilege to welcome you to United States IntelTech, Inc.’ ”

  “I did?”

  “Only you said it in perfect Mandarin, and you knew to reverse the order of my name.” Zhou squeezed Chiara’s fingers, and with his free hand, he gave his brow ridge a tense rub. “You took one look at me and you knew that I was Chinese.” He tore his hand away to raise his fist to the bartender. “I am Chinese! Not Japanese, not Korean! I am Chinese!”

  He propped his elbows on the bar and shoved his fingers into the glossy black spikes of his hair. “You are the only one who sees me for what I am, Chiara. You notice so much. What else do you see?” His fathomless eyes turned to her, and beyond the reflection of her own coffee eyes she saw raw misery.

  “You’re in trouble. Is it money?”

  “I wish it were.”

  “We’ve worked together for five years. If there’s something I can do to help, you know I will.”

  “The only one who can help me now is me.” He slid off the stool, bobbling on shaky knees before he steadied himself. He tugged on the lapels of his tailored jacket, straightening the rumpled suit as best he could. He seemed remarkably cle
ar and alert when he leaned in close to her and whispered, “Keep noticing things, Chiara. Keep an eye on everything.”

  “Zhou?” she called as he turned and took a step away.

  When he glanced back, he looked exactly the way he had the first time they’d met. The tall, handsome computer software representative that Emmitt Grayson had stolen away from a rival software company had an elegant confidence that complemented Chiara’s more exotic nature. She had always been able to rely on Zhou, had always trusted him. Now, as he gazed back at her with the shine of tears in his eyes, a quiver in his chin and a frightened smile on his lips, a shiver skipped along Chiara’s spine.

  She swallowed the thick, sticky lump suddenly plugging her throat. “I gotta tell you, buddy. You’re scaring me.”

  “Good.” Zhou blinked, and a tear fell from his eye. “You should be scared.”

  Chapter One

  The mannered voice and clipped words of Abby Winters flowed from the speakerphone sitting on one corner of Chiara’s desk. “Are you still coming home?”

  “Planning to.” Leaning over, Chiara brushed a speck of dark lint from the leg of her wool pants.

  “I can’t hear you, baby.”

  Chiara sat upright and tugged at her pale alpaca sweater to straighten it before tucking a loose tendril of black hair behind her right ear. “I said I’m still planning to come home next week.” She crossed her fingers before adding, “I’m looking forward to spending Christmas with the family.”

  “Everybody’s dying to see you.”

  Chiara heard the smile in her mother’s voice, and she had to smile herself.

  “There’s so much going on,” Abby bubbled. “John’s been back for almost three months now. He still hasn’t found a house yet, but it’s not from a lack of trying. I think ol’ Almadine’s trying to sew the umbilical cord back on. Kyla had a fancy book signing downtown, and you should have seen all the local celebrities who turned out for it. Cady’s pregnant—”

  “Still?” Chiara joked.

  “Again,” Abby clarified. “Virginia’s almost a year and a half now, and Cady and Keren don’t seem to be wasting any time about going forth and multiplying. Have you spoken to Clara lately?” The Winters family information officer didn’t give Chiara a chance to answer before she continued. “Troy’s got early acceptance to Stanford. He always wanted to go back to California, so I guess he’s getting his wish. Danielle’s dancing the lead in The Black Ballet Theatre’s production of The Nutcracker this season, and Christopher got tickets for all of us. The St. Louis Symphony Youth Orchestra plays for the show, and Chris Jr. is sitting first chair on the violin. I tell you, my grandchildren are so talented! I know they get it from our side of the family because I was always very artistic.”

  “Ma, I—”

  Abby nattered on, and Chiara wondered if it even mattered whether she was on the other end of the phone. “Did Ciel call you? She was supposed to. Clarence won’t be returning to the fifth grade after Christmas break.”

  “Did he finally get expelled?” Chiara laughed lightly. “He wasn’t selling book reports again, was he?”

  “No, Ciel put him out of business. Let me tell you ’bout your nephew,” Abby exhaled, a touch of her Southern dialect creeping into her speech. “That boy started selling book reports in September. He made up business cards on Chris Jr.’s computer and sample reports that he advertised on the Internet on a web page he and C.J. created on one of those free website providers.”

  Chiara laughed.

  “This isn’t funny,” Abby declared. “That child—”

  “I’m laughing at you, Ma.” She eased back into the embrace of her pricey leather chair and activated one of the lower back massage features. “You sound like a computer expert now, and six months ago, you didn’t even know what ‘log in’ meant.”

  “The system you recommended was just so easy,” Abby marveled. “I’m down with the download.”

  “Don’t get cocky, now. You’re the same woman who interrupts my meetings because you’re scared to open a mailer daemon.”

  “They shouldn’t call it a demon if they want you to open it,” Abby complained.

  Chiara steered her mother back on track. “So why isn’t Clarence going back to school after the winter break?”

  “Oh, he’s going back, just not to the fifth grade. That boy tested off the charts on his fall standardized proficiency exams. He’s being promoted to the seventh grade.”

  “Mid term?” Chiara sat forward, for the moment forsaking the soothing hum of her massage chair.

  “If his homeroom teacher had her way, he would have been moved on the first of November. Ciel told you what he did on Halloween, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, but you can’t blame him entirely. Cady’s the one who loaned him the monkey.”

  “Cady’s paying for that animal trainer’s lake house,” Abby said with a click of her tongue. “If I’d married a rich doctor, I wouldn’t spend all of his money renting monkeys.”

  “The monkeys are meant to entertain the kids on the Raines-Hartley pediatric oncology ward,” Chiara said in defense of her sister. “But she should have known that giving Clarence permission to borrow a monkey would lead to disaster.”

  “Knowing Cady, that’s what she was hoping for. She had Mrs. McNairy for fifth grade, too. She hated Mrs. McNairy.”

  “Good Heavens, Ma, is the St. Louis Board of Education still allowing that woman to teach? She was the worst teacher I ever had. She’s as mean as a damn rattlesnake.”

  “I don’t like to hear you use that kind of language, baby,” Abby said. “I forgot you had Mrs. McNairy, too.”

  “Yes, and I wish Clarence had gotten the monkey drunk before he smuggled it into school. There are chimps in Uganda that get drunk off beer they steal from illegal breweries in the jungles, and then they go on the rampage, attacking people to steal food.”

  “Drunk monkeys, huh,” Abby said with practiced disinterest. “I’ve just run on and on about the homefolk. Tell me, how was your trip to Taiwan? When did you get back to Chicago?”

  “It was Tokyo, and we came back three days ago. It went well. We secured the contract with Siyuri Robotics. Zhou and I did our routine—he takes the lead, explaining all the technical details of how the software is installed and what hardware is required while I sit quiet, making everyone think I’m just a secretary or something.” She took a self-satisfied spin in her chair. “Then I come in with the sales pitch, showing them exactly how USITI’s R-GS microchips will vastly improve communications between their in-house computer systems as well as locations elsewhere. Zhou sells the process, but I sell the merchandise itself. Then Zhou leaves the room and the clients talk among themselves in Japanese, thinking I don’t understand what they’re saying.”

  “That’s deceitful, baby,” Abby admonished. “How would you like it if you thought you were having a private conversation and somebody was listening to every word?”

  “First of all, Ma, it’s rude, even in Japan, to speak a foreign language in the presence of someone you think doesn’t understand what you’re saying. Second, they shouldn’t presume that Zhou is the only one who speaks and understands Japanese. And third, if they wanted to speak in private, they could ask me to leave the room.”

  “What were you wearing in that meeting?”

  “Clothes.” Chiara hoped she didn’t sound as guilty as she suddenly felt.

  “What kind of clothes?”

  “A blouse. A skirt. Just clothes.”

  “How short was the skirt?”

  Short enough to guarantee that no one would be asking me to leave the room, Chiara thought. “I don’t trade on my looks to secure deals, Ma.”

  “I’m sure you don’t, but I’m also sure that your long pretty legs help keep attention where you want it.”

  “It’s an ugly part of the business, Ma.”

  “Why do you persist in calling me ‘Ma?’ None of my other children call me ‘Ma.’ It’s so…guttural.”


  “Would you like to hear about the rest of my trip, Mommy dearest?” Chiara asked sweetly.

  “Tell me about Zhou. Is he seeing anybody?”

  “Zhou went a little funny on me toward the end of the trip. He went a lot funny, actually.” Chiara got goosebumps, and not the good kind, as she thought back on Zhou’s odd behavior in the hotel bar. “He was at our Monday morning debriefing with Mr. Grayson, but he’s been out since. I have to give him a call.”

  “Maybe if that boss of yours didn’t keep the two of you on the road two weeks out of every month—”

  “It’s not that bad, Ma.”

  “—then maybe you and Zhou could spend more time with your families. Nothing helps release stress more than family.”

  “Or adds to it,” Chiara grumbled.

  “What?”

  “It wasn’t stress, Ma. Zhou loves the travel. So do I. It’s the reason we both wanted to work in sales and public relations. We wouldn’t have this job if we didn’t love what we do.”

  “Well, it sounds like he’s burned out to me,” Abby said before launching into a familiar tirade about long lost daughters who spent more time chasing business deals in the Far East than at home with their families.

  A light rap on the glass door of her office turned Chiara’s attention from her mother’s rant to her employer, Emmitt Grayson, who stood in the doorframe. He wore a suit, always black, and always exquisitely tailored. The elegant draping and high armholes on this particularly wide-shouldered jacket marked it as the product of one of Grayson’s favorite cutters, Anderson & Sheppard of Savile Row. From the neck down, his $8,000 suit gave him the look of the idle rich masquerading as a hard-working businessman; but from the neck up, he wore the concerned expression of an investor watching his favorite stock nosedive. His square forehead creased in severe lines and his dark blue eyes were unreadable; he beckoned Chiara with a sharp hand gesture.

  She nodded and turned back to the phone as she stood. “I have to go, Ma. I’ve been called to a meeting.”