: Chapter 18

Amber has a way of looking at people so intensely that they usually do whatever she wants without noticing they’ve been manipulated. It’s a combination of charm, insistence, and sheer force of personality. I’ve seen grown men come away from encounters with my sister-in-law shaking their heads, wondering why they just agreed to do something they had no intention of doing.

I’ve completed a study of the Amber Effect during the years I’ve known her, and recently, I realized what it is. She doesn’t blink. Well, obviously she does—she’s a human being, not a lizard—but she blinks less frequently than most of us, and when she does, it’s a slow and sweeping gesture that makes you gaze at her long eyelashes in wonder. Personally, I think it’s a type of hypnosis.

Right now, for example, she’s telling me how much I should be wanting to help the retired clowns and carnies of the USA. I mean, it sounds ridiculous, right? Elijah and I sat in that gritty Irish pub and laughed about this exact thing. Yet here I am, finishing up lunch and finding myself deeply affected by the story of Ebenezer Daley, a ninety-two-year-old former trapeze artist who lost an arm in a terrible Big Top accident in Wichita.

“And then,” she says, leaning forward and pinning me down with those huge brown eyes of hers, “after decades of entertaining the American people, he was left with nothing! Not even a trailer to call his own, Drake—can you imagine? He was a homeless, one-armed tightrope walker with no hope, no future, and nobody to help him!”

I’m caught up in her story and powerless beneath her unblinking gaze, but my lawyer brain kicks in just in time. “Hold on,” I say, pointing a finger at her. “Didn’t you say he was a trapeze artist? When did he morph into a tightrope walker?”

She tries to hold it together, but eventually she cracks and bursts out laughing. It’s a joyous sound, Amber’s laugh, and it always makes me sad that so few people in my family get to hear it. Even Nathan, who is one of the best judges of character I know, can’t stand her. It’s a long, complicated story with too many layers of misunderstanding and sadness to unpeel, but my brother’s wife simply does not gel with most of the James family. Sadly, that includes Elijah, the man she’s been married to for eighteen years.

She runs a hand through her thick caramel-colored bob and winks at me. “Damn, you’re too good Drake. Yeah, I made it all up. I was going to make him a war veteran who used his circus skills to escape a POW camp, but the timeline didn’t quite fit.”

She sits back and turns serious. “But truly, it is a community that needs help. Not a lot of 401(k)s floating around in that world, and quite honestly, the lifestyle lends itself to a lot of injuries and ill health later in life. So, I can put you down for a table?” She balances her exquisite face on her steepled fingers and gazes at me. It’s like sitting across from a sexy human version of Kaa from the Jungle Book—if Kaa had been interested in robbing you blind in the name of charity.

“Of course you can. Just don’t necessarily expect me to sit at the table on the night of.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, you meanie.” She pouts, pretending to be offended. My phone rings, and I see that it’s a call from a man I never expected to hear from again: Stu Parker, the owner of the now-national Parker’s Plumbing chain.

“Sorry, Amber, but I need to take this,” I say, getting to my feet.

“That’s fine, sweetie. I’ll just carry on drinking while you’re gone,” she says, smiling and holding up her wine glass.

I head out of the dining room and find a quiet doorway before answering. “Mr. Parker. How nice to hear from you.”

I’m intrigued as to why he’s calling. It’s been five days since our meeting, and I’ve been bothered by it ever since. He left abruptly, and all he said was that he didn’t think we were “compatible.” It’s not like we’re desperate for his business, but he would be a solid client, and I liked him. I like what he’s done with his company, his ethics, and the way he carries himself with honesty and decency. To suddenly be told that he decided against signing with us, with me, came as an unpleasant surprise.

“Yeah, well, maybe,” he says. “Look, Drake, I wondered if we could get a do-over? Maybe set up another meeting?”

“We could, Mr. Parker, if you think that would help. But first, I have to ask—what went wrong? If I don’t ask, we’re potentially wasting everyone’s time, and we’re both busy men.”

I hear the sound of yelling and cheering in the background. “Sorry,” he says, “I’m at my granddaughter’s soccer game. It’s a rough crowd. Right, yeah. The way you treated Amelia really bothered me.”

I blink, not quite sure I heard right. “Could you repeat that, Mr. Parker?”

“For goodness’ sake son, call me Stu, will you? And I think you heard me the first time. Amelia. Your secretary. The lovely girl who showed me around the building and looked after me. I don’t like the way you behaved toward her.”

I have a completely illogical moment where I think he’s talking about the night Amelia and I spent together. An unpleasant vision assaults me—her confessing all and complaining about how the big, bad boss had exploited her for a night of passion. No. That’s absurd. She’d never do that.

“And how did I behave toward her?” I ask coldly. I might like him, but I certainly don’t need his business badly enough to grovel or talk about my personal life.

“I can tell from your tone that you think it’s none of my business, but if I partner up with someone, I want them to share my values. And one of my values is that I treat everyone with respect, no matter their pay grade or how fancy their job title is. You were downright rude to that girl when she was nothing but professional, pleasant, and completely damn charming.”

Oh, fuck, I think, as I cast my mind back to the day of the meeting. It was an especially tough morning. She came into work wearing one of her plain-on-the-surface outfits that somehow managed to completely inflame me. The tight black skirt had a decorative lace-up section at the back that was just begging to be undone. I’ve never talked to Amelia about my interest in Shibari, but she seems to accidentally stumble across clothes that remind me of it all the damn time. I spent the whole morning trying not to think about sliding my hands over those laces, about untying that bow and sliding that skirt down her juicy ass …

By the time she came back in with Mr. Parker, I was fit to burst and annoyed with myself for yet again allowing myself to get distracted. It’s why I sent her the reminder that she needed to take her leave—I needed a few days off even if she didn’t. Then she breezed into my office, all smiles and sunshine, obviously having charmed the new client in exactly the right way—by talking about Mario’s again. Am I the only guy on the planet who hates Mario and his fucking exploding donut balls?

Was I actually rude, though? Rude enough for someone else to pick up on it? Jesus, I obviously was. Uncomfortable heat floods me, and I realize that I’m ashamed of myself.

“Mr. Parker—Stu. I think you’re right. I was, to use the proper legal jargon, an asshole. I’m not going to start making excuses or telling you stories, but I hope you believe me when I say I’m sorry you had to witness that. No, more to the point, I’m sorry I behaved that way. It’s a complicated situation, but I accept full responsibility. I was wrong. Whatever you choose to do with your business, I wish you the best, and I thank you for your honesty.”

“Rosalie, go! Yessssss!”

I can’t help but smile at Stu’s excitement. “Did she score?” I ask.

“She did! Off an incredible steal too. Anyway. I appreciate what you just said, and I can hear in your voice that you mean it. I asked around about you, and everything I heard was good. Plus, she really fought in your corner, and that says a lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before I left your building the other day, she gave me a terrific speech about how you were a good man at heart. How I’d misunderstood, and how nobody would fight for me like you would fight for me. Not gonna lie, son, it moved me. Loyalty like that has to come from somewhere. I promised her I’d think about it, and I’m a man who keeps my promises. So, shall we meet next week?”

“I’d love to, Stu. Contact Amelia, and she’ll set something up. Hope the rest of the game goes well.”

I close down the call and stand still for a few moments, gathering my thoughts. Fuck, shit piss, I eloquently rant within my mind. Sometimes those are the only words that do the job.

I treated Amelia like crap because I’m too much of a jerkwad to deal with her being around. And then, when a man like Stu Parker objected to that, she defended me. Persuaded him that I’m worth a second chance. That I’m a good man. Shit fuck. I have a lot of thinking to do.

I walk back into the dining room and see that Amber has not only finished her wine, but she’s halfway through mine as well.

“I’m sorry,” she says, shrugging cheekily with the glass at her mouth. “It jumped into my hand. What’s a girl to do?”

“It’s fine,” I say, and even I can hear how absentminded I sound.

“Drake … Are you okay?” she asks, all playfulness gone.

“I don’t know. Do you—” I lean back and study her face for a long moment. “Do you think I’m a good man?”

“I absolutely do. One of the best I’ve ever known. Sometimes the fact that you seem to like me is the only assurance I have that I’m not a terrible person. And our friendship is sometimes the only thing that makes my life tolerable.”

It’s a bleak statement and completely at odds with the stylish, charming persona she projects to most of the world. Depending on her mood and who she’s with, she can come across as an ice queen, a bitch, a charismatic hostess, or a tireless fundraiser. But so few people see this side of Amber James—the side that lives with constant pain.

“That’s a terrible thing to say, Amber. Lots of people like you.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like they really know me.” The husky sound she makes could be interpreted as a laugh if you weren’t looking into her eyes. “Not like you do. And the irony is that I can’t even tell Elijah the truth. I’m only sorry I dragged you into it.”

I reach across the table and take her delicate hand in mine. “You didn’t drag me into anything, and Elijah loves you and he always will, no matter what. Now, can I talk to you about a woman?”

Her gorgeous eyes widen, and her perfectly made-up lips curve into an O of surprise. “Oh darling, of course you can. I’ve been waiting years to hear those words come out of your mouth.”

Steeling myself, I take a deep breath, then I pour my heart out to my sister-in-law, telling her all about the woman who haunts my every waking thought.