Dissonance

Readers love
Blue Notes

by
S
HIRA
A
NTHONY

“In Blue Notes there are all of the classic elements that make passion come alive in an enchanting backdrop.”

—
Prism Book Alliance

“
Blue Notes
by Shira Anthony is a lyrical song of finding faith in oneself and allowing love to blossom for the first time.”

—
The Novel Approach

“This was a wonderfully written romantic, sexy, and enjoyable escape to the city of love, with a beautiful HEA. The writing was smooth, and painted a wonderful picture for my imagination.”

—
MM Good Book Reviews

“A beautiful love story by Shira Anthony, I hope to see more of Jason and Jules in upcoming books in the series.”

—
Mrs. Condit & Friends Read Books

By
S
HIRA
A
NTHONY

The Dream of a Thousand Nights

B
LUE
N
OTES
S
ERIES

Blue Notes

Melody Thief

Aria

Prelude

Encore

Symphony in Blue

Dissonance

M
ERMAN
OF
E
A

Stealing the Wind

Into the Wind

With
V
ENONA
K
EYES

The Trust

With
EM L
YNLEY

A D
ELECTABLE
N
OVEL

Lighting the Way Home

Published by
D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Published by

D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS

5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886  USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Dissonance

© 2014 Shira Anthony.

Cover Art

© 2014 Catt Ford.

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.

ISBN: 978-1-63216-181-9

Digital ISBN: 978-1-63216-182-6

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014943224

First Edition August 2014

Printed in the United States of America

This paper meets the requirements of

ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).

F
OR
THE
child victims of abuse and neglect who suffer through no fault of their own. For the adult survivors who every day live with the physical and emotional scars. For those who dedicate their lives to helping children in need, and for those who protect children and keep them safe.

More than you know, more than you think, there are survivors out there, trying to get by. Your friends, your colleagues, your relatives. All around you are adults who struggle daily with the devastating and sometimes crippling aftereffects of child abuse and neglect. Open your eyes and your heart. Stop child abuse. Speak up. Report abuse and neglect. Be an advocate for abused children. We owe it to ourselves to make a difference. We owe it to our children. They
are
our future.

S
PECIAL
THANKS
to Rebecca Cohen for keeping my little British toff from sounding like a Yank. Thanks also to Tali Spencer, Cody Kennedy, Venona Keyes, and Jase Glines for keeping me on the straight and narrow. All y’all rock!

Late September

New York, New York

“N
OT
HAVING
breakfast this morning, my lord?” Luisa asked as she turned from the mirror she was diligently cleaning.

Cameron Sherrington cringed inwardly as he breezed into the foyer. He’d come to abhor the title with a passion. And although he could hardly deny that the money that came with the title paid for his life in New York, he felt a bit removed from all it represented. He loved spending time in the penthouse towering high above East 57th Street. It was his escape from days spent in long meetings arguing with board members over transactions they shouldn’t even bat an eye over.

He knew Luisa liked using his title. She liked to brag to her friends that she worked for royalty, which suited him just fine. Though he did have noble blood, it wasn’t worth shit. He’d met the queen once when his father had dragged him to some gala fundraiser, but it wasn’t as if he could simply ring her up on a whim and ask her to join him for tea. But Luisa didn’t need to know that.

“Not today. I need my cashmere scarf,” he snapped.

She immediately dropped what she was doing, opened the coat closet door, and reached for a scarf.

“Not that one, the beige one,” he snapped again as he snagged it from the shelf above her head.

She closed the door softly and stepped back as Cam checked his reflection in the mirror. He worked his fingers through a particularly stubborn curl that insisted on flopping into his eyes. He frowned at his reflection. He was meeting friends for lunch at a restaurant downtown and needed to look his best. He’d chosen a pair of D&G jeans, a button-down Armani shirt, a light blue hand-knitted Burberry sweater that matched the startling blue of his eyes, and a tweedy Fendi jacket he’d picked up in Italy a few months before.

“Very nice, Lord Sherrington,” she said politely.

Cam shot her an irritated look. What the bloody hell would she know? “Where are my Oliver Peoples?”

She opened the drawer in the small cherrywood table that stood sentry in the foyer and handed the sunglasses to him. “Will you be dining in tonight, sir?”

“No. But make some of that leek and potato soup before you leave for the weekend. I’ll have it for lunch tomorrow.”

She nodded timidly as she waited to return to cleaning the mirror. “Of course, Lord Sherrington. I’ll see you on Monday.”

He finished fiddling with his hair, donned the sunglasses, and pressed the call button for the private lift. “You will. And make some of that greek salad.”

He paid her well—Sherrington Holdings paid her well, more accurately—even paid her when he wasn’t staying at the penthouse, just to keep it up and water the plants. The least she could do was make enough food for the weekend.

“Certainly, Lord Sherrington.”

He stepped onto the lift without a word, exiting into the lobby a minute later as his mobile buzzed. He pulled the phone from his breast pocket, glanced at it, and tapped the screen.