Love in a Carry-On Bag Read Online Free Page A

television, booming sound system and lazy boy recliner—but everything was high end with uncluttered lines.
    When she looked down at the table, Warren had her quesadilla unwrapped and had scooped a bit of sour cream on top.
    “Thanks,” she said, cutting into the tortilla and taking a bite. They ate with their eyes glued on the television. Warren poured her a glass of wine and popped open a beer for himself.
    When she finished the quesadilla, he pushed the remote towards her. “Want to watch a movie?”
    “Sure.”
    Erica carried the empty containers into the kitchen. The contract was still on the counter. Disappointment washed over her, but before it felt consuming, Warren was there wrapping his arms around her and pulling.
    “There’s nothing in the world I want more than you. We’ll get through this.”
    “But I’m tired of just getting through it,” she said and her resistance made him hold her tighter, pressing his pelvis and chest against her until she retreated.
    Warren unclipped her hair and ran his fingers over the curve of her neck, “You’re my first round draft pick. Just trust me to run the team.”
    He was such a man. After spending most of her life without her father, and having an incompetent mother, Warren was just the rock that she needed, and that knowledge was sometimes as scary to deal with as the distance.

Chapter Three
    Publicity 101
    O n Monday morning Erica dressed happy, in a taffy colored pantsuit and patent-leather peep-toe-heels. She brushed her eyelids with Glad Ginger, rouged her cheekbones in Bitter Bisque, and slid Pouting Plum over her lips. On the subway ride to work, she watched two lovers bump against each other with each shift of the train, enjoying each other as if no one was watching. A block from her office, a teenaged couple cuddled over a Styrofoam cup of cocoa, kissing and keeping warm. At the corner, a stooped man held the door to a diner open for his wife, waiting as she hobbled through. Every scene reminded her of Warren and how it seemed they would never have Monday mornings together.
    But when she pushed the revolving door of B&B Publishing’s building Number 416, those feelings were checked at the curb. Erica morphed from a red-nosed girlfriend into a powerhouse publicist who lunched with top television producers, influenced booksellers, and persuaded the opinions of erudite editors with the same fervor as a storefront preacher.
    “’Morning, Iris,” she waved to the receptionist who buzzed her in.
    B&B Publishing had started as a family business before being sold to a British media company a year after Erica was hired. It was now first in producing the most New York Times bestselling fiction titles, and as Erica stepped over a box of books into the publicity department, she knew she had a lot to do with their success.
    Erica had always loved books. Every Saturday morning, she would slip into a pleated skirt and soft leather shoes, and walk the three short blocks and two avenues to the Newark, New Jersey, branch of the library where all the librarians knew her by name. She’d check out five new titles, reading them whenever she could. During class, she had a library book tucked between the pages of a textbook. In the schoolyard she read while the other girls jumped Double-Dutch, chased boys, and played hand games. At night she wouldn’t put the book down until she finished the last page, even if it meant reading by flashlight.
    Ntozake Shange’s For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Is Enuf affirmed her black-girl struggle. Maya Angelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings made her salivate for poetry. Then Terry McMillan wrote Mama , and it was the first time Erica had ever read a book twice. Her voracious appetite for reading was what drew her to publishing, and her passion for words is what made her successful.
    Erica P. Shaw, Associate Director of Publicity, was stenciled in gold script in a black plaque fastened in the center of