Shattered Perfection (The Perfection Series Book 1): The Perfection Series, #1

By Heather Guimond

He was the man of her dreams…until it all became a nightmare.

 

It was just a chance encounter...Mimi Bishop found him when she wasn't even looking. And isn't that how the greatest loves are supposed to be? Vance Ashcroft was unlike anyone she'd ever met— he was perfect– and together they were perfect. 

 

They instantly connected. Shared dynamic chemistry and started a relationship filled with humor, happiness, and steamy sensuality. It was all so effortless. 

 

Until her perfect husband disappears before her eyes, growing cold and hostile, then finally violent. In an instant, their perfection is destroyed. Mimi attempts to heal, but she can't escape the haunting memories of their love. 

 

And just when she thinks she can finally put the past behind her, Mimi discovers a devastating secret about Vance... one that threatens to shatter her forever.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heather Guimond
• Release date: Jul 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781515029557

Book preview

ONE

The skin on my arms prickled as I felt the soft whoosh of breath on my neck, just before a low, smooth voice crooned into my ear. I stiffened in surprise as the man just behind me eased into my personal space, speaking warmly in my ear.

Headed home?

The sound was like liquid silk pouring over my skin, smooth and luxurious, threatening to do me in. I shivered automatically from the seductive power of it alone. It wouldn’t do to have the curly blond-haired woman igniting into flames right there in the security checkpoint line.

I turned, unsure and confused, pretty sure throwing myself into his arms and telling him I was going anywhere he was probably wasn’t the best way to make his acquaintance. Just one look at him told me it wouldn’t be the most original way, either. I could easily see women flinging themselves at him in wanton abandon. I was mildly surprised he didn’t have one or two clinging to his ankles this very minute. He had a dark mop of hair, somewhere between dark brown and black—I wasn't sure which but began making plans how I could get close enough to make a truly informed decision. He had thick-lashed blue eyes which seemed to glow when the light hit them just right, and high cheekbones and full sensuous lips that completed his Greek-god image. The more I studied him, the faster my heart pounded, and the sweatier my palms became.

All that was missing from this picture was a halo, a sunbeam, and a pair of white wings. A bare, oiled chest and white loincloth wouldn’t have been unwelcome, either. He was simply divine. I cleared my suddenly dry throat, remembering he’d asked me a question.

Um, leaving home, actually, just taking a short trip to New York. I’m going to visit an old childhood friend, I sputtered with all the wit and brilliance of a canned ham. He hadn’t asked for all that information, yet it rolled right off my tongue as if I was preparing to tell him my entire life history. Undaunted by my own awkwardness, I blundered forward. How about you? Leaving L.A. after working on your tan?

Nope. I’m leaving home just like you. I'm also headed to New York. The line inched ahead again, and we slowly moved forward.

Wow, that's a coincidence, I replied brightly. Business or pleasure? 

It’s a business trip, but I’ll be there a couple of weeks, so I’m hoping to fit in some fun. A spark flared in his eyes. I love the city, you know? I want to do it all—take in the sights, see the shows, eat the food, and watch the people. I suppose that's expecting a little too much for a work trip, though. They're paying me to get a job done, after all.

What nerve these people have, expecting you to work around the clock for two weeks straight, resisting the temptations of the greatest city in the U.S.! I said, shaking my head in mock disgust.

It could be worse, I guess. They could be sending me somewhere in Kansas.

Ah, but then you could have bragging rights for visiting the world's biggest ball of twine, I offered playfully.

I think I'm afraid to ask how you know that.

Sadly, I'm filled with a million useless facts. The good news is, I'm a great partner for Trivial Pursuit.

I didn't know that game was played with a partner.

Err... well, that's usually the only way anyone will play with me, I said, looking at my feet.

He laughed silently for a moment, one hand pressed against his obviously taut midsection.

It was probably a bad idea since I was already struggling to see past his near-perfect looks, but I took a moment to discreetly eyeball his lean physique. His shoulders were broad and muscular, and his pectorals were clearly defined beneath the black cotton shirt, clinging to his form. His chest tapered to a trim waist, and his faded denim jeans were slung low on his hips. A pair of scuffed black boots completed his look. I wondered what he really did for a living. All he needed was a leather jacket, and I could easily imagine him on a motorcycle, riding from town to town, doing odd jobs for pocket money. I did my best to discreetly wipe off the drool that had quickly accumulated on my chin.

Don't look so sad. Nobody plays Trivial Pursuit anymore, anyway. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he looked at me.

I smiled at him as the line continued to move forward at a snail's pace. At least he didn’t think I was a total knob so far—yet.

So, what do you do for these horrible people who send you to New York to do nothing but slave away for them while the city pulses with life and atmosphere? I asked curiously, eager to keep the conversation going.

Just your average slave in a business suit, he replied with a sheepish shrug. I sold out and went to work for The Man after law school.

Oh, wow, you're an attorney?

Please, don't be too impressed. It's just a way to earn a living.

Oh, I'm not impressed, I said, then hurried to add, I mean, I am. It's great. All that school, now you have a good job that pays well, and I'm sure you had to work hard to get it too, and oh shit, I'm really fucking this up.

I stopped and took a deep breath while he looked at me with an uncomfortable expression, most likely looking for the nearest escape route from the crazy gold digger. His face was wrinkled with discomfort as he obviously wondered what kind of trouble he’d gotten himself into.

 What I mean is, it's just that we have something in common. I'm a paralegal.

Oh, hey, okay. He let out his own relieved sigh. What’s your specialty?

I work in the corporate department for a large practice downtown, I replied quickly. Pretty boring stuff, but it pays the bills.

Which firm? he asked, that twinkle in his eye reappearing as he grinned at me.

Miller and Dickerson. Why? I replied slowly.

 I work for the competition, DuPont, Browerson, and Ajax as a mergers and acquisitions specialist, he said, the creases around his eyes deepening as his grin widened.

Your building is just two streets away from mine! We literally work within a mile of each other, yet we meet here?

Such is the marvelous randomness that is life, he murmured as he continued smiling at me.

On impulse, and in what was probably the most awkward move in the history of meetings between young men and women in airports, I took a deep breath and thrust my hand out.

I’m Mimi Bishop.

Vance paused for a moment, his smile fading into a warm look as he gently took my smaller hand in his large one and held it firmly. He didn’t shake, just simply held it while looking deep into my eyes.

Hello, Mimi Bishop. My name is Vance Ashcroft. Will you marry me?

Something electric happened between us in that instant. My vision tunneled, the cacophony of the airport faded into the distance, and the world just stopped. My eyes focused on his glittering blue irises, and my throat felt itchy and raw. I swallowed, trying to soothe myself, to remain centered, but in a second, it was over, leaving us both to dissolve in a massive fit of giggles.

What the hell was that, Vance? Do you use that line often? I said as I wiped a stray tear from my eye.

I always wanted to, but this was the first time I ever felt I had the right audience, he said, grinning from ear to ear as we approached the security scanners. I hefted my carry-on from the floor to one of the security tubs. Vance swooped in to assist, helping to rest it on the conveyor belt, where I tossed my purse, as well.

Well, it was brilliant. Best laugh I’ve had in a long time, I said as I slipped out of my shoes, placing them in another tub. I moved through the security scanner toward the waiting TSA agent, motioning me through the scanner. She was large and imposing with an intent look on her face. I scooted through as quickly as I could, hoping she wouldn’t single me out for a pat-down. Something told me I wouldn’t easily recover from that experience. I was just putting my shoes back on at the end of the conveyor when Vance joined me.

I really think someone should buy me dinner after that man-handling, he said as we both reached for our bags. I glanced at his ashen complexion, nearly laughing at the nauseated expression on his face.

Did you ask her to marry you, too? She might have gone a bit easier on you if you had. You know, maybe skipped the whole cavity search in public, I replied with a sweet smile.

Mimi! I’m saving myself for you. You’re the only one for me. Although… He put a finger to his lips in thought. Bertha back there might be able to show me the merits of having over-developed grip strength. That could prove interesting for some private time in a secluded parking space.

My mouth went slack as I was assaulted by disturbing images of Vance getting frisky in the parking lot with the very manly-looking security guard. He put a finger to my chin and slowly pushed my mouth closed, clearly holding back a laugh.

I think I may have done the impossible and rendered you speechless. Tell me, was it what I said that shocked you or the image it put in your brain?

Did you really have to say that? Now, I have the lovely image of ‘Bertha’ with her manly hand, scraggly and half-bitten fingernails, wrapped around your… I said, groaning and pressing my fingertips to my eyelids as we turned and walked from the scanners.

Enough! No more! You win. I hadn’t pictured it either, but now I’m as traumatized as you, Vance said as he shook his head in distress. My own humor turned against me as a weapon. Why are you a paralegal? You should be a lawyer. You would be lethal in a courtroom. Vance gave me a sideways grin, bumping my shoulder with his as we walked along the concourse.

I grinned up at him, enjoying how easy things were between us. My nervousness had all but vanished. Vance may have been a pretty face, but he sure didn't act like it. It was too bad our time was coming to an end. My flight was scheduled to leave in twenty short minutes, leaving me little time to somehow impress him enough to get him to ask for my number.

I’m flying out on American. How about you? I asked, crossing my fingers behind my back. Given that we were at the airport at the same time, with the same destination, and walking in the same direction down the concourse, odds were better than average, we were on the same flight. While it was highly unlikely we’d be seated together, we would at least have the next twenty minutes.

Yes, Flight 330. Same as you? I nodded, beaming brightly at him. Score! he exclaimed, pumping his fist exaggeratedly.

Are you always such a dork?

Now, that hurt, Mimi. I’m just a man who happens to show enthusiasm when things go his way. I’m happy I get to continue with the pleasure of your company. He dropped his voice to a sinful growl. Would you deny me my pleasure?

"Pervert and a dork," I muttered as I shoved him away playfully.

Yeah, but I think that’s just your type. Vance grabbed my hand as we reached our gate, then pulled me to a couple of empty seats. We fell into them, our eyes locked. Slowly, he lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to the backs of my fingers. I was stunned. Sure, we’d been having a fun and friendly conversation, perhaps even mildly flirtatious—what with the whole faux marriage proposal—but his lips on my skin were a thunderbolt, a starburst—fuck that, a freaking rocket ship to Mars. I opened my mouth to say something witty, but the attendant called for pre-boarding. Huffing out a sigh, Vance stood and shouldered his carry-on, giving me a slightly embarrassed look.

I’m in first class, he said with a grimace. So much for those twenty minutes.

Well, it’s been quite an experience meeting you, Mr. Ashcroft. Don't let the slave drivers work you too hard over the next two weeks, I replied, an inexplicable tightening in my chest, making it hard to speak. Somehow, I managed a bright tone, concealing the acute disappointment ripping through my body.

Vance looked at me as though there was something on the tip of his tongue, but instead, put out his hand.

It was an absolute honor, Miss Bishop, he replied, then left me to quietly watch as he turned and walked to the gate. Resting my chin in my hand, I continued as he disappeared through the doorway, then onto the gangway, long after was gone, right up until they called my seating section.

As I boarded, I scanned the first-class area, hoping to catch another glimpse of him, even if it was just to see him smile again, but I didn’t spot him in any of the seats as I passed. I found it odd, even though it was one of the larger jets, but the stream of people backing up behind me kept me from doing a thorough scan of the compartment.

I made my way to my seat near the back of the plane. After cramming my carry-on in the already stuffed overhead compartment, I stumbled over the rotund gentleman with a six-hair comb-over sitting in the aisle seat as I tried to reach mine next to the window. Evidently, common courtesy had deserted the man in the face of his fear of flying. At least, I assumed that was the cause of his shaking hands and profuse sweating. I tried to shrink against the window as he mopped his face with a handkerchief that had seen better days, making myself as small a target as possible, just in case any stray beads of sweat came flying my way. I pulled the flight safety card out of the seatback pocket, studying it closely for lack of anything better to do.

Excuse me, sir, a familiar voice carried over to my seat. How would you like to sit in first class?

I looked up to see Vance standing in the aisle, looking expectantly at my seatmate, who seemed even more out of sorts.

I’m offering to switch seats with you, sir. My seat is 3B in the first-class section. Vance spoke slowly as if the man were learning impaired. I would like to change seats with you and sit here next to this very lovely lady, while you enjoy the fine service and legroom first class has to offer.

Vance tipped his head politely, spurring the nervous flyer into action. He struggled out of his seat, his shirt buttons straining mightily at his waist as he popped open the overhead compartment without a word. Grabbing a gray laptop bag, he hustled down the aisle, likely worried Vance would change his mind.

Vance stowed his gear and closed the compartment before flopping in the seat beside me. He leaned his head back against the seat and turned toward me with a wide grin.

Are you sure you want to sit there? It might be a little… moist. I smiled innocently.

The horrified look on his face was priceless as he lifted his hands from the armrests, pretending to shake them dry.

Does anyone happen to have any hand sanitizer? Vance called out questioningly.

I was reduced to another laughing fit as the elderly woman across the aisle produced a small, travel size bottle from her handbag, offering it with a warm, grandmotherly smile. Vance squirted a small amount into his palm and handed the bottle back with a wink and that charming grin.

That wasn’t very nice, Mimi, he said as he rubbed his hands together, a mock look of disapproval shadowing his features.

Yes, it was. I was trying to warn you of the hazards of occupying the same seat as Captain von Sweatyballs.

Now, how do you know his balls were, in fact, sweaty? Vance groaned painfully and squirmed uncomfortably in the seat.

Well, not personally inspecting them, I can’t say with a one hundred percent degree of certainty, but I think it’s a fair assumption, in all likelihood, they were indeed sweaty.

Aha! You concede you couldn’t possibly be certain. It’s just as possible they were as dry as the Sahara, Vance exclaimed enthusiastically. Our conversation was beginning to sound like courtroom banter between lawyers.

Let me ask you this since you have balls, I presume, I said, leaning in closer to him. He nodded and motioned with his hand for me to continue.

Have you ever, at any time, had your entire body covered in a sheen of perspiration, yet had your balls remain as dry as the Sahara?

Vance leaned back in the seat, his fingers threaded over his abdomen, his head cocked to the side as if contemplating the condition of his private parts.

You know, a bit of antiperspirant works wonders under such circumstances.

Do you put antiperspirant on your balls, Vance?

Now, that's a very personal question, Mimi. We've only just met. You can hardly expect me to tell you something like that.

You're the one who brought it up! You can't back out now, I sputtered.

Actually, I think you're the one who instigated this whole gonadal conversation.

Quit dodging the question. I’m going to assume you must, or you wouldn't have suggested it.

Even men like to have that 'fresh' feeling. He stopped and looked down the path Captain von Sweatyballs had followed. Well, most men.

We quieted down as the plane began to move toward the runway, and the airline attendant began his safety speech. Soon, we were in the air and sipping flat soda from little plastic cups. We managed to get our silliness under control and spent the next six hours lost in conversation, covering just about everything under the sun.

It turned out we had a great deal in common. Vance and I were fans of the outdoors, preferring to spend a day hiking and biking than just an hour in the gym. Judging by Vance’s lean, muscular body, he still logged the time lifting weights, but it was nice to learn he wasn’t a vain gym-rat.

We liked to read—he was a fan of the classics while I favored contemporary books. This led to a spirited debate over who was a greater talent, Charles Dickens or Stephen King.

We learned we were liberal in our politics with strong feelings about social issues since we each grew up under less than ideal economic circumstances. Vance shared he’d grown up in a one-bedroom apartment with his single mother, having never known his dad. My own father died when I was small, so I knew the hardships of living in a single income household and had felt the absence of a father figure. Neither of us had siblings, though we spent our childhoods longing for a brother or sister. The more we talked, the longer the list grew. Big things, little things—we ticked so many of the same boxes, it was eerie.

As I listened to him speak, I found I genuinely liked him. He was incredibly handsome, but beneath all that physical perfection was naughty silliness, underscored by an intelligent and thoughtful person who was completely unaware of his own attractiveness.

As our flight circled John F. Kennedy International Airport, Vance turned to me with a serious expression. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. He took my hand, and for the first time since I met him, he looked slightly unsure of himself.

Mimi, this was probably the best time I've had since I don’t remember when, and it was only a plane ride. I can't even imagine what a real date with you would be like, but I'd really like to find out. He dropped his eyes to our joined hands as he paused for a beat. I know this is a vacation for you, so you probably have your itinerary all planned, but do you think we could get together one night this week? I really want to see you again, and if I have to wait the two weeks before I am back in Los Angeles, I think it just might kill me.

Relief washed over me. In the back of my mind, I’d been dreading our landing, the uncertainty of any future time spent with Vance looming on the edges of my consciousness. It didn't matter what plans my friend, Laurel, had in store for me while I visited. I would carve out time for this man on any day he wanted to see me. She’d just have to understand.

I'd really like that. Let me give you my information so you can give me a call so once you know your schedule. We'll figure something out this week, I said, still trying to play it cool when all I really wanted to do was throw myself into his lap and squeal like an over-excited teenager.

Once the plane landed, we gathered our belongings and deplaned hand-in-hand. We teased each other playfully as we made our way to baggage claim, but I was aware of a new vibe humming between us, something simmering just below the surface. I wondered if he felt it, too, or if my imagination was running away with me.

The carousel was already turning as we approached and searched for our bags. Vance found his quickly, a sharp, silver wheeled case and a simple black garment bag with a shoulder strap that had frankly seen better days. I chuckled as I realized his luggage was a study in economic opposites. If I had to guess, he’d had the garment bag since college and had only just bought the suitcase, probably because the one that matched his bag had fallen apart. Before I could tease him about it, I heard a feminine voice calling my name.

Mimi, girl! Over here! I looked over my shoulder to see Laurel hopping up and down, waving her arms as if she was trying to take flight. Her auburn hair was swirling around her face, getting caught in her mouth while her chic but nerdy glasses slipped down the bridge of her nose as she made a spectacle of herself. Standing all of five feet tall, she had huge green eyes, a pert little nose, and a slender figure. She was wearing a conservative navy suit with a high collared white blouse, a short skirt, and five-inch spike heels. She looked something between a sexy librarian and a wood sprite on meth.

I waved back, letting her know I saw her before she fell and broke an ankle. She smiled and gave me the best jazz hands she could, considering she was holding her smartphone in one of them. Assured she'd been seen, she shoved the phone in front of her face and began furiously texting someone.

That’s Laurel, I said as I turned back to Vance, hitching a thumb over my left shoulder. She’s a little…

Enthusiastic?

Yes, that’s one way to put it. Out of her ever-loving mind would be another.

I can’t wait to meet her. You’re planning to introduce me, right?

I saw my suitcase come around on the carousel and attempted to heave it off, nearly knocking the passenger next to me to the ground. Vance stepped in, grabbed the handle, and fluidly lifted the case over the lip, then lowered it to the ground beside me. He raised the telescopic handle and waved his hand toward it with a flourish. I rolled my eyes.

I totally had that, you know, I huffed, wheeling the case around and heading toward Laurel, Vance trailing behind. She didn't look up until I stood right in front of her, tapping my foot. When she looked over my shoulder and saw Vance, her eyes darted back to me.

She leaned in and whispered loudly, You know you have a slice of mancake stuck to your backside, right?

 When they asked me if I wanted nuts on the flight, I said yes. This is what I got, I deadpanned, jerking my thumb toward Vance.

Laurel shamelessly gave Vance a once over, her eyes roaming head to toe before turning back to me with a shrug.

Well, let’s go. We’ve got stuff to do. She strutted off, mumbling to herself, Man, I really gotta start flying American.

We followed her out of baggage claim and onto the sidewalk. Cars were moving aggressively down the street in front of us, cutting each other off and honking like crazy. Insults and hand gestures were tossed out of windows at dizzying speeds. I wondered why anyone willingly chose to drive in this city—especially the cab drivers.

Vance and I pulled up alongside Laurel as we headed toward the taxi stand. I nudged her arm to get her attention and pointed to Vance.

This guy is a new friend of mine. While we established on the plane, he does have nuts. He also has a name. This is Vance Ashcroft. Vance, this is Laurel O'Malley, my old childhood friend. They quickly shook hands as I continued, Vance and I are going to have dinner sometime this week, and no, you’re not invited. Hopefully, it won't interfere with any plans you have lined up for us.

Laurel gave Vance another long look as we lined up for a taxi, then shrugged indifferently.

Fine with me. Any day but Wednesday. We’ve got tickets to see Wicked. We can move our plans around, but under no circumstances can we move Wednesday. You will not be bailing out on me that day. Capisce?

Got it. When did you turn Italian?

Sorry. I just had an Al Pacino marathon with Stevie the other day. Don’t mind me. Laurel said, waving a hand in front of her face. Things get a little sideways sometimes, Vance. Don’t worry, though, you’ll catch on quick, staying quiet like you do.

 Between the two of you, I don’t see where there’s much of an opportunity to do anything else, Vance replied with a chuckle.

Laurel leaned in and patted him on his chest a few times. By the look in her eye, we were about two-and-a-half seconds from her copping a full-on feel. I growled softly, so only she could hear, warning her to back off.

I do so love a man who catches on quickly, she purred, right before cackling unattractively as she approached the taxi that pulled up in front of us.

Please don’t judge me by my friends. I have an eclectic group of people in my life. You know how some people collect odd things? Laurel is one of my prize oddities.

So, if I hear you correctly… Laurel is your pig fetus in a jar?

Ew... no. Well… maybe, I replied, briefly considering the comparison.

So, where are you headed? Do you want to share a cab? Vance asked hopefully.

I think we’re heading to the East Village. How about you?

I’m headed to the Upper West Side. I’ll catch the next cab. I’ll give you a call once I’ve got everything nailed down, and we’ll plan our dinner. I'm really looking forward to it, Mimi. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on my cheek just as Laurel