Unfinished Sympathy (Absolution Book 1) Read online

  Unfinished Sympathy

  Published by Amélie S. Duncan

  Copyright © Amélie S. Duncan, 2019-2020

  Cover Design by Sommer Stein of Perfect Pear Creative

  Main cover model image licensed from (and copyright remains with) Wander Aguiar Photography

  Interior Design by Stacey Blake of Champagne Book Design

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior permission of the author or publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All books, songs, song titles, mentioned in the novel Unfinished Sympathy (Absolution Book 1) are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Title Page

  Copyright

  About this Book

  Playlist

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Other books by Amélie S. Duncan

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  A symphony of passion and desire…

  Aubrey Irving has music in her heart. Once a violin prodigy at the prestigious Juilliard, family issues and money problems forced her to give up her dreams. Now she struggles to care for her mother, and makes a living as an audio engineer for a hot new video game developer.

  Then she met Paul…

  Handsome, gifted, wealthy…At twenty-eight years old, Paul Crane seems to have it all. He’s made a fortune as a modern commercial composer. But he longs to show the world that there’s more to his music than trendy, disposable tunes.

  When Paul accepts an assignment to work with Aubrey on the soundtrack of a new video game, an impromptu audition of her music awakens a yearning deep inside his heart. But just as the sparks begin to fly, they both find themselves pulling away…

  Aubrey has a dark and troubled past. Paul has a history of crossing the line with his clients. The last thing either of them wants is another temptation.

  Can these two artistic souls unlock their hearts, and compose a symphony of passion? Or will their love song fade out before it even begins…

  Ysaÿe Sonata No. 3 in D minor Ballade

  Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto No. 3

  Mendelssohn Violin Concerto in E minor, Op. 64

  Tchaikovsky Op. 40, No. 6 Song Without Words

  Bach Partita No.2 Chaconne

  Beethoven’s Spring Sonata, Op. 24 Allegro

  Beethoven Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 61

  Beethoven Moonlight Sonata

  Dvořák Serenade for Strings in E Major, Op. 22

  Dvořák Romance for piano and violin, Op. 11

  The Beatles Something

  John Lennon Watching the Wheels

  Cardi B and Bruno Mars Please Me

  Exile Kiss You All Over

  David Lambert Outlaws

  Thompson Twins If You Were Here

  Hoagy Carmichael Heart and Soul

  For a beautiful, witty woman that chats books in the middle of a hurricane

  Aubrey

  When life handed me a golden egg, it was usually covered in butter and too slippery to grab. I didn’t know how to hold on to opportunities, but I did know something had to change.

  That was what came to mind after I spent my lunch hour interviewing with Prima Games, one of the top gaming companies in the world. I had gone all out in preparation and had expertly answered every question by Prima’s Human Resources Manager, Sue, only to have her say at the end, “I’ll be in touch soon, Angela.”

  Calling me Angela would have been okay if that had been my name. If she’d been listening as carefully as I had, or even looked at my application once, she would have heard or seen that my name is Aubrey.

  What had I done to make her overlook me? Had I misread her enthusiastic nodding as genuine interest, but hadn’t given her the answers she was looking for? Or had she already reached interview fatigue? I could’ve come up with several reasons the interview had ended the way it did, but I was due back at the job I already had as an audio engineer technician at Emono Games.

  Correction… a contracted audio engineer tech with only five months left on an eighteen-month contract. If that wasn’t bad enough, Sue absently—or asininely—placed her Bento lunchbox on top of my résumé. Though, right before closing the office door, I did witness her upgrading my résumé from lunch-spill protection to her in-box tray. Yay me.

  I hurried outside. It took a few blocks to find a ladies’ room to change back into the clothes I wore to work. After buying a cookie, I was granted the key to go inside.

  I peeled off the uncomfortable Spanx and control-top nylons and threw them in my bag, sighing in pleasure as I put my cargo pants back on, and a jean jacket over my free Emono Games company T-shirt. Once I replaced my contacts with my glasses and my pointy-toed stilettos with my white Old Skool Vans, I was back to my normal invisible self, ready to join the countless other people moving through New York City.

  The city housed 8.6 million people, and all of them vied for the same jobs. The clichés about living in the city turned out to be true. Sidewalks moved like freeways and held as much traffic as the gridlocked streets. I learned over the nearly four years I’d been there to adopt a New Yorker state of mind, and that included thinking ahead about work. I would return late. It didn’t matter that I was ahead in my work on Emono’s current game project, Absolution, the third installment from their “Passage of Arms” series. I wasn’t where, as my boss, Ryan, often put it, they paid me to be.

  With that in mind, I fished inside my backpack for my phone and turned it on to see if anyone from my department had tried to contact me. Sure enough, I had two text messages from Ryan, one of two bosses in audio who liked to interrupt employees—mostly me—on their lunch breaks.

  11:31 A.M. WHERE IS THE EXPLOSION AUDIO FOR THE SALVATION SCENE?

  12:25 P.M. IT’S DUE TODAY AND YOU’RE NOT IN YOUR OFFICE. WHERE ARE YOU?

  All caps. It was typical of him, but I grimaced anyway, because he’d sent the first message one minute after I’d left for lunch. I replied.

  1:11 P.M. It’s where I put it a week ago. In the Salvation-Audio folder on the F-Drive.

  Must I send a link? My annoyance at Ryan stayed with me as I moved with urgency along the heavily crowded platform to wait for the train that was filling up with more people by the minute. The hustle of returning to work didn’t mask the letdown that came from not having done as well as I’d hoped on the interview. Landing a permanent job at Prima Games would have given me muc
h needed stability. Not to mention, a helpful boost to reestablish my life.

  The permanent job wasn’t just for me. I knew Mom had a utility bill due soon, and she would have no opportunity to pay it without my help. She and my sister counted on me to keep their home and stay afloat. After everything my parents had done for me, it was the very least I could do in return.

  I headed to the Union Square subway station to take the Jersey City PATH train back to Emono Games. Finding a spot to grab on one of the metal poles, I let my eyes travel over the other commuters to the exit doors, planning the easiest path out of the train for when my stop came.

  That was when I saw him, standing on the opposite side of the aisle from me.

  I didn’t know who he was, but after just a glimpse, he had my full attention. His face was a masterwork of male perfection. High, prominent cheekbones, a long, thin nose, and a square jaw with a short, neatly trimmed beard. Flawless, tanned skin. This guy was insanely hot. Even after I turned away from him, my eyes ended up drifting over to him for another look. I couldn’t stop watching him.

  His dark, stylish curls fell long across his forehead. He occasionally swept them back without once removing his gaze from the book he was reading. When he moved his arm higher on the pole, the sleeve of his jacket lowered to reveal a subtle high-end watch that was probably worth more than I made in a year. The rest of his outfit consisted of a simple white T-shirt under a one-button tailored blazer and dark denim fitted jeans that encased his long, lean frame. On his feet was the pièce de résistance: Warwick leather sneakers. Not only that, but he was reading a copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams—one of my favorite books. Swoon.

  Watching him read brought to mind one of the social media accounts I followed online called Hot Dudes Reading. If this man’s photo had been posted, he’d break a record with his “like” score.

  I’d do all right myself, if I were placed unexpectantly on a similar (though not existent) site, like Hot Chicks Reading. I usually wore my long, dark wavy hair in a slicked-back ponytail. My face was pretty and oval-shaped, with high cheekbones less defined than his, and a set of full lips I didn’t need collagen to fill. Though with my odds, I probably wasn’t his type.

  So I should’ve turned my attention away, but I couldn’t stop myself. The reader’s delight etched on his face captivated me. He’d pause for a few moments before turning each page, an action I called “savoring the passage.” I did this regularly myself and watching him do it with Hitchhiker’s was downright fascinating.

  My pulse raced as I reached in my bag and touched my phone. What if I took a photo of him and posted it on Hot Dudes Reading? I was tempted, though I’d be mortified if he caught me.

  And then, as if he read my guilty conscience, he lifted his head and looked directly at me.

  I shuddered. Wow.

  The impact made my knees go weak, but I still couldn’t tear my gaze away from him, and I had gone well past a fleeting glance. I hadn’t time to fix my expression and I just knew my face was all lit up like I was interested in him. It wasn’t something I usually do, because it meant putting myself out there for a response. Or as Newton’s third law said, “For every action, there is an equal or opposite reaction.” By my action, I had opened myself up to a reaction from this man, including none at all, which would be the worst outcome.

  Whatever his reaction was, I missed it, because the train doors opened at the next stop. I’d been so busy gawking at the stranger that I hadn’t noticed the train slowing. Now the rush of people boarding pushed me out of my spot. I ended up with nothing to hold on to except the top metal bar, which meant getting on my toes to clutch it over the people standing in front of me, if they’d let me.

  I wobbled on my feet once the train got going, with nothing to stop me from falling. My eyes darted frantically to the faces of the passengers nearby, searching for an opening to cross into their worlds for help. I got only blank faces in return.

  The train moved fast.

  My hands shot forward as my legs buckled into the other commuters. Apologies spilled out of me as I struggled with my arms out and my legs bent like a surfer on a board, trying desperately not to fall and take several passengers down with me.

  Then a hand firmly clasped my elbow and held me upright.

  I jerked and lifted my head to thank my hero, and it was none other than the hot guy.

  He stood over six feet and easily reached the top bar, which he used to keep both of us balanced. His eyes were the color of beckoning Caribbean waters, blue-green and beguiling in their allure, with sun shadows of gold around his irises. They were unusual, gorgeous and stood out against his tanned skin.

  An image of him as an explorer popped into my head. Dressed in a billowing white shirt and fitted jodhpurs, he’d run through a crowded market, searching for me. I didn’t have many seafaring romances in my personal arsenal to draw from, but it didn’t stop me from indulging those musings.

  When he’d finally catch up, I would glance at him and find his stare back at me to be an unwavering force. Bold. Direct. Born of self-assurance. Oh, yes, this man wouldn’t hesitate. He’d grab me, hold me by my ass, and kiss me passionately.

  Hiding my grin with my free hand, I stole a glance at his lips. They were full and sexy. His kisses would be boundless, fervent, bruising…I coughed to cover the burst of heat in my face once I realized my thoughts had gone too far. All this guy had done was help a stranger in distress, and here I was, invading his personal space and ogling him. I had to say something.

  “Thanks … Thank you very much,” I stammered, immediately sorry for sounding so breathless.

  I inhaled sharply through my nostrils, trying not to further embarrass myself with a sexy hitch to my next breath. My restraint was rewarded with a whiff of his cologne, a citrus-wood mix that smelled heavenly.

  As for my PATH train hero, he was rock steady.

  “You’re welcome,” he said.

  I liked the sound of his voice, deep with a melodic tone. His eyes studied my face, the shape of my neck, then dropped ever so casually down my front before lifting to meet mine again. The tip of his tongue traced an inner portion of his lip as his gaze intensified.

  I watched his smile form, and my pulse accelerated.

  He looked even more striking when he smiled.

  To his credit, he tried to keep a gentlemanly distance, but the train’s speed was about as fast as my racing pulse, and with the crowd packed in, it was difficult not to bump against his chest. My eyes fell lower down his front, the same way his had done. When I peered up, I found him still staring.

  “You make it a habit of rescuing strange damsels in distress?” I asked.

  “No, but I don’t believe we’re strangers. Do we know each other?”

  Did he know me? Had we crossed paths before? If so, why didn’t I remember him?

  “I highly doubt it.” I wouldn’t have easily forgotten a man who looked or carried himself as this one did. I cleared my throat, out of practice in terms of interacting with an attractive member of the opposite sex.

  He peered above my head as if he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. Then he looked at me again, his eyes narrowed in contemplation. “Are you a part of Cleo’s Ensemble? I believe I’ve seen you perform classical music somewhere.”

  I immediately lowered my gaze as my stomach flipped over. I wasn’t ready to revisit this world. “No. That’s not me.” Again, I cleared my throat to cover the tremor in my voice.

  “But you play music?” he pressed.

  This time I held his gaze. “I did, a long time ago.”

  He leaned his face close to mine, the gesture somehow demanding my full attention. “What do you play?”

  I pressed my lips together. My eyes darted over the crowd, searching for another space, but I saw nothing.

  “Violin,” I finally answered.

  His face transformed in recognition. “I must have seen you at Juilliard.”

  Ever
y muscle inside me tensed. This man knew me and was from that part of my life. The part I didn’t visit under any circumstance, not even with a hot stranger on a train.

  A hardness crept into my voice as I stared him in the eye once more. “I was only there two years…I didn’t graduate.” I turned and looked out the window. By now, we were in the tunnel.

  “Maybe so, but I believe I’ve seen you there.” He leaned closer and dropped the level of his voice a little. “I’m Paul Crane.” His name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I was too busy worrying if he knew anything else about me.

  “Aubrey Irving.”

  “Aubrey Irving,” he repeated and nodded in agreement. “I’ve seen you play the violin. You’re good. I never forget a good performance.”

  It sounded like he thought I should marvel at his compliment. Arrogance? Maybe, though he didn’t give off a smug vibe. He had more of an air of importance, like he was a Somebody.

  He did seem familiar, now. I squinted, but still couldn’t place him. I heard myself say, “Nice to meet you,” but my mind became preoccupied with his remark. Good performance? Good? He was being kind. Compared to everyone else at Juilliard, I’d been mediocre at best. I never would have made it all the way to graduation on musical talent alone, especially after what I’d done.

  My skin burned hot. The faces in the train suddenly came into focus—faces I’d paid no attention to when I boarded, and otherwise wouldn’t have inspected in such detail. A man with lined cheeks. A high school student staring at his phone. I looked everywhere but at him, because he’d turned the tables and invaded the part of my life that I tried so hard each day to escape.

  When the train stopped and passengers alighted, I pointed to the pole, but his hand was slow to release me. This caused me to study his eyes again, only to find he was studying mine. And he didn’t move on like I expected him to. Instead, he stood there waiting for my affirmation.