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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Synopsis

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Bella Books

  Synopsis

  Unemployed university professor Tyler Marsh is pounding the pavement looking for a job. Disillusioned with academia, she’s aiming for an analyst’s spot in the private sector but after a year of rejections based on her over-qualification, she’s dumbed down her resume in a desperate attempt to get her foot in the door somewhere—anywhere! When Buffalo’s leading marine engineering firm offers her a low-level placement as a personal assistant, she’s sure it can’t get any worse, until she meets the woman she will be working for.

  Chief Innovation Officer and wounded veteran Georgie DiNamico doesn’t want an assistant or anyone else bothering her. She has her work, her dog, and her nightmares to keep her company. Heir-apparent to her family’s engineering firm, a head injury suffered in Afghanistan has left her feeling too broken for anything else.

  Georgie has no use for the helper that her family insists she hire. But when Tyler’s resume lands on her desk, along with a company background check listing the advanced degrees she omitted, Georgie sees an opportunity to add a researcher to her R&D team. Tyler quickly realizes Georgie is not the damaged goods everyone sees. Thoughtful, forthcoming, and generous is Tyler’s first impression of her would-be boss and it alleviates much of her trepidation. The outrageous salary and benefits help too, but working with the woman the family sees as shattered looks like the least of her challenges. She recognizes something special in Georgie DiNamico, garnering trust, loyalty, and something more…something Tyler hasn’t thought about for a very, very long time.

  Copyright © 2016 by Sheryl Wright

  Bella Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 10543

  Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  First Bella Books Edition 2016

  eBook released 2016

  Editor: Katherine V. Forrest

  Cover Designer: Judith Fellows

  ISBN: 978-1-59493-509-1

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  About the Author

  Sheryl Wright is a native of Toronto. A flying lesson at age thirteen seared in her a passion for all things aviation. Now retired from a flying career that included the Royal Canadian Air Force and Canadian Airlines, she lives with her partner near the shores of Port Whitby. Don’t Let Go is her third novel and her first foray into lesbian fiction. To learn more about Sheryl visit her website at http://sherylwright.com or connect on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sherylwrightauthor

  For Vicky, my baby sister

  Acknowledgments

  Gratitude is the first teaching of the elders.

  I find it easy to say thanks and impossible to convey just how thankful I am. Please know whether your name is here or not, I am grateful for everyone who has touched my life. First let me thank Linda Hill for taking the time to listen to my pitch at the annual Golden Crown Literary Society Convention in New Orleans. And to Dawn Hogarth, who knew I was too shy to ask Linda for the pitch session, and did so for me. Linda was incredibly patient and gracious with me, immediately setting me at ease. I can’t tell you how nerve-wracking it was waiting for her phone call all those months later. There is a certain joy in the creation of a story but the real thrill is in knowing you have written something other women are sure to enjoy. Thanks to Jessica Hill, the Queen of Production at Bella. I would be lost without you and your staff. And as to editorial, I was amazingly lucky and grateful to have the venerable Katherine V. Forrest as my editor. Her brilliant insights and gentle teasing made the editorial process fun and a remarkable learning experience. I will never again look at the word ‘clearly’ without imagining Katherine clearing her throat in a teacherly effort to break my compulsion to overuse the word. Katherine, I cannot thank you enough, especially when it comes to ‘that dress’ and what lesbians want. You got it!

  And before anyone gets the idea that writing is a solo endeavour, let me correct you now. The love and support of friends and family are a gift, one all creatives need to function. To Dawn Hogarth for always being there. Vicky Furman, for listening to me complain. Joanne Vacanti, our longtime Buffalo friend, for always talking up the lay of the land whenever we were in town. And to the women who are always there to support me, Michelle Barrett, Sheila Collins, Olivia Collins, Kandy and Gen Kennedy, and of course, my cousin Lori Nelson and her wife Rae. And I can’t forget my constant companion, my service dog Stella, all 150 pounds of drooling love and support.

  One day I’ll figure out a better way to show my gratitude, until then please accept my heartfelt thanks. Niá:wen

  Want to drop me a line? Please do. I can be reached at: [email protected]

  Chapter One

  I’ve never been good with change. Honestly, who has? History is rife with all our misguided attempts to change the inevitable.

  It was all she could think of, trying desperately to convince herself to keep moving. Tyler climbed out of her beat-up Chevy and retrieved her briefcase and winter coat from the backseat. She inspected the ski jacket in the shivering damp of the freshly shoveled parking lot. Unwilling to risk looking anything less than professional, she tossed it back in the car. This was her last scheduled interview. If it went well, the job would be hers. Not that this was a great job but she was desperate and already having spent more than a year unemployed, she was determined.

  When HR had called to book what they described as nothing more than a rubber stamp meeting, they instructed her to give her name to the parking lot attendant, who would have a parking pass ready. He had given her the pass, directing her to a visitor’s spot, along with the obligatory visitor’s badge she would need to access anyplace beyond the lobby. Attached to the visitor’s pass was a Post-it note. “Seventh floor, ask for Georgie.” Freezing cold and shivering painfully, Tyler stopped to take a careful look around, thinking the parking lot might tell her something about the company, at least something that hadn’t been written and posted by DME’s public relations people. Not th
at it would make a difference now, but it would be nice to know her desperate attempt to secure a crappy job wasn’t all bad.

  While DME was no longer considered upstate New York’s landmark boat builder, it had evolved into a leading-edge marine engineering firm. That had to count for something. Taking in the cars parked closest to the entry told her something else. Either the executives at DME all drove crappy winter beaters, or the reserved spots were not for them. Did they lease out their parking? After her first visit to DME, she had only researched the businesses residing in the DiNamico Building. It looked like DME occupied all the floors above the third. There were no tenants listed for eight or the penthouse, and she assumed those floors, like so many in the neighborhood, were probably converted to lofts long ago. All the lower levels were leased out to long-term tenants, except for a meeting room on the lobby level. Both of her previous interviews had been held there.

  Boarding an empty elevator she pressed seven but the button didn’t light up. Impatient, she pressed it several more times before trying other buttons, with the same result. Beside the elevator panel, a small placard read Visitors: Please see Security on the Lobby Level for a Visitor’s Badge. Ready to do just that, Tyler stopped herself, unclasping her badge from her suit jacket. There was no key card slot or input panel, but feeling like this was some sort of test, she looked around carefully. On the opposite side of the doors, the smooth stainless-steel panel was without markings, except for a fist-size circle delineated by a dozen blue LEDs. Tyler smiled. You can’t fool a PhD, she offered under her breath, before swiping the visitor’s badge past the circle. Sure enough, the seventh-floor call button lit up and the elevator began to move. Maybe this Personal Assistant job wouldn’t completely suck? HR had warned her that she would meet the CIO, or Chief Innovation Officer. If they meshed, the job would be hers. “Just watch me mesh!” Tyler growled her warning, her deeply ingrained competitive streak rearing to life.

  When the elevator doors opened, she charged out only to halt abruptly. Directly in front of her, marred only by a single set of glass doors, was an unobstructed view of Lake Erie. Forcing her eyes from the early December grays and blues outside, she took in her surroundings carefully. The small lobby around the elevator area was completely glassed in. Two reception counters were located on each side, their dark wood stain a stark contrast to the white and gray marble floors. Each was positioned in such a way as to enhance the view. And, while one counter was heavily laden with envelopes and packages in various liveries of overnight couriers, the other was attended by a tall and very attractive African American woman. Tyler waited patiently while the woman spoke amiably to a caller over her wireless headset, her long slender fingers skimming expertly over her keyboard. Her voice had a singsong quality to it, leading Tyler to contemplate her lineage. She wasn’t good with accents, especially those tempered by the American melting pot.

  When the woman turned her attention to Tyler, a warm smile melted the last of the anxiety she had been carrying. “You must be Tyler Marsh? I see you conquered the gauntlet!”

  “Sorry?” The woman’s smile was so bright and enthusiastic, Tyler couldn’t help but acquiesce to her charm. “Yes, I’m Tyler. Oh, you mean the elevator?”

  Reaching across the reception desk, the woman offered her hand. “Name’s Zoe. I’m Marnie’s PA, and as you can see, sometimes I fill in on reception.” At the look on Tyler’s face, she waved an excited hand. “No worries, love. Working for Georgie means never having to say welcome to DME!”

  Tyler let that fact sink in. Bad enough that she had to lie about her education, and dumb down her CV to even get in the door. Having to do double duty as a receptionist would have felt like the final insult to her academic career. While she was immensely relieved, she didn’t want to insult the first friendly face she encountered. Accepting the outstretched hand, she gave it a firm shake accompanied by a sincere smile. “Thanks, Zoe. I must admit I’m a little overwhelmed today, and I don’t know who Marnie is or Georgie for that matter.”

  Zoe walked around the reception counter, slipping her arm through Tyler’s in a colluding fashion. “Come on. I’ve been ordered to introduce you to Georgie. She’s our Chief of Innovation, Georgina DiNamico. Once you two have a nice chat, I’ll take you round to see Marnie Pulaski. She’s our COO and Georgie’s sister.”

  Tyler simply nodded, taking everything in as Zoe steered her toward the glass doors and the breathtaking view of the lake. When Zoe waved her hand over a blue light embedded in the glass door, it and its partner unlocked simultaneously and whooshed aside. “How did you do that?”

  Holding out an empty hand, palm up, Zoe explained simply, “Embedded technology. Georgie came up with it, but don’t ask her too much or she’ll chat your ear off.”

  Tyler gave her a perfunctory smile, but didn’t ask more. She had no idea what the woman was talking about, but decided to wait, observe and learn what she could. Eyes fixed on the spectacular view, she was surprised when Zoe pulled her back by her arm just in time to prevent her from tumbling down the stairs in front of her. She had completely missed that, the stairs, the room, and she now understood that the office had been designed so the view of the lake took precedence over everything. She thanked Zoe for preventing her fall. Following her down the stairs, they made their way to a grouping of white leather couches around a large square coffee table. While the sofas looked comfortable, the grouping was stark and functional and suited the space. She had to wonder if that was a reflection of her new boss, or should the ambience be credited to some unnamed office designer?

  “How about you have a seat and relax,” Zoe instructed warmly. “Listen, I know you interviewed with Susan. Did she talk much about Georgie’s…challenges?”

  “I…challenges, I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Sitting on the sofa, and patting the place beside her, Zoe was the picture of the perfect young professional in a slim-fitting dress and a cute little jacket. Her smile bordered on beguiling as she explained, “Georgie’s my aunt and a veteran, a royal pain in my backside too but she’s come a long way. All I can suggest is be patient when she’s speaking. Try to hear her out. She may take the long way about but she gets there. Now,” she said, and stood, her smile and charm irresistible, “Georgie’s asked me to bring tea in. Do you have a preference, or will you drink that weak granny tea she’s always after?”

  Tyler considered her options for a moment, knowing that in an interview, asking for what you want as opposed to simply accepting what was offered was often a test of what you would and wouldn’t do in your job. “Actually, I would prefer coffee,” she said, without second-guessing herself, “please.”

  “Sorry, Tyler. How about some juice for now? Once you head over to Mrs. P’s office, I can bring in the java but not here. No coffee in Georgie’s office.” As explanation, she offered, “It’s just her thing!”

  “Oh, okay…then I guess I’m having tea.” Tyler smiled, then turned to take in the rest of the office. One wall seemed to be constructed solely of opaque glass partitions that closely matched the marble floors. The wall opposite was constructed of stone and featured not only a fireplace, but the largest flat-screen TV she had ever seen. A remote and wireless keyboard lay on the coffee table, carefully aligned and offset to suit a user who would sit at one end of the couch, directly across from the flat-screen. If she were asked to analyze the room as a characterization of its owner, she would speculate minimalist, dissociative, OCD, and…

  The opaque glass panels suddenly cleared revealing a more traditional office. Moments later, several of the panels whooshed aside. The sole occupant of the adjoining office, a striking, dark-haired woman, seemed to hesitate before finally making her way to Tyler. “This used to be…Grandfather’s office.”

  “It’s breathtaking. I was so entranced coming in, I almost tripped down the stairs.”

  That remark made the woman smile. “Don’t tell…I have too…more than once.”

  That comment went a lo
ng way to helping her relax, that and seeing a certain kindness in her eyes. When Zoe had said the woman was her aunt she had pictured an elderly matriarch, not the unassuming woman before her. It was hard to pinpoint her age, maybe forty, she figured. It was hard to actually catalog her physicality. She was impeccably dressed in a conservatively cut suit. She immediately noticed the woman’s confidence. She walked with a military bearing but without the type of swagger she had come to think of as a guy in uniform thing.

  “May I ask, when did your grandfather buy this building?” With its distinct art deco feel of the 1930s, certainly her grandfather could not have been old enough to be the original occupant.

  “Grandfather bought…under construction. He…he was fourth, owner of…blueprints, permits…hole in ground. He…modified plan. This,” she pointed to the stairs, the gallery and the two-story ceiling, “was two floors.”

  Tyler took her time to examine the features she pointed out, and to adjust to halting, almost disjointed speech which was completely at odds with the woman’s appearance. For an older woman, she was very attractive, her athleticism lending an air of quiet strength to her countenance. Her short-cropped hair was thick and black, except for a bold stripe of pure white high on the right temple. And her light olive complexion held the kind of radiance that came with summers spent in the sun. She was dressed impeccably, in a charcoal suit that Tyler would bet was custom made. Still, her cheap blue cotton shirt, although starched, lacked any adornment. The pressed cuffs that jutted from her jacket sleeves were fastened with plastic buttons instead of the expected mother of pearl and the edges seemed close to frayed. The woman was a study in contrasts.