"And I can't wait to see you again." I've been dying to see you again.
"I'm sorry I missed your call before, I was out walking the dog and forgot my phone."
"No problem. I didn't know you had one—a dog, I mean."
"Well, Chewy was Gran's. And now we can't get him out of her room."
"Oh, the poor little guy."
"I know," she said sadly. "Since the paramedics took her out that night, he only leaves the room to eat and take his walk; and he makes it very clear when he's ready to come back in. It's so sad."
"Well, it might take some time, but he'll grieve and come around eventually."
"God, I hope so."
"I hope I get a chance to meet him," Michael said.
There was a pause. "Yeah, I'm sure you will."
"Well then..." he said, closing his eyes. "I guess I'll see you in a couple of weeks?"
"Mark the date on your calendar. Don't be late."
"Not a chance," he said, laughing. He felt fantastic, like he was flying. "Take care, Priscilla. I'll see you soon."
When they hung up, Michael knew exactly what it was time to do.
"Hey, babe," Amber greeted when Michael walked through the front door. "I have here some fried cream cheese wontons, chicken wings and pork fried rice...I also have a jug of sweet tea waiting for you in the fridge—your favorite—and that old classic you talked about watching, Dear Justice? It's all queued up and ready to roll on Netflix. So come on in, relax, and let's have ourselves a nice little movie night."
Amber knew immediately that something was wrong when she finally stopped babbling and looked up at Michael. She heard herself rambling but couldn't stop. She rambled on and on a lot with Michael these days. Always needing to fill uncomfortable silences. Always needing to make things look as normal as possible. Always needing to this. Always needing to that. Always needing to something.
But she was not willing to take the blame for it. None of this was her fault. And she couldn't bring herself to admit that things were actually falling apart. She saw it every single time their eyes met, but she couldn't face it—it would be too much like pulling a trigger.
She could feel herself falling into a hole, sinking deeper and deeper with each passing day. It's why she had been out on the balcony just now, watching Michael sitting in the car on his phone. Who had he been talking to? And why was he looking at her the way he was right now?
She watched as he walked into the kitchen and took a seat at the table, saying, “Amber, I need to talk to you."
The hairs rose on the back of her neck as she sat across from him. "Sure, what about?"
"I'm moving out tonight," he told her. "We can't—"
"What?" said Amber, cutting him off. "But, I'm...I'm—"
"Pregnant?" he spat and raised an eyebrow.
"Jesus," she said, dropping her head. "Don't start this again, Michael, please."
"And you don't start reaching into our history to arm yourself again Amber, because this time it won't work." He started shaking his head. "You know, I thought I knew you pretty well, but you've changed. Somewhere along the line, you changed. We both have, and I think we need to acknowledge it now and go our separate ways—it's time."
She stared at him, feeling her blood begin to boil as the reality of what was happening slapped her in the face—Michael, her beautiful Michael, was actually dumping her for someone else. Those sea green eyes, staring at her now, were so distant. They're lighting up for someone else now, she thought.
It tore her to pieces.
"You cheated on me," she said through clenched teeth. She pointed a finger at him that may as well have been a dagger. "And I forgave you."
"Yes," he replied. "And I'm truly sorry that you found out about me dating Priscilla the way that you did. I really am. I know it was hurtful, and I never meant to hurt you, but,"—he paused as if realizing it for the first time—"that had nothing to do with you, Amber."
"Nothing to do with me? How in the hell could it have nothing to do with me, Michael? We live together! We're practically married, and you say you screwing someone else has nothing to do with me?!"
"Amber, look. Let's not go any further with this, okay? It's not gonna change anything. I'm moving out tonight. You can stay here as long as you like. Renew the lease in your own name, but this is over," he said, motioning between them. "We can't go on like this anymore."
"But...what about the baby?" she croaked in desperation.
"Stop it, Amber," he said firmly. "You're twenty-seven years old—stop with the high school games. We both know you're not a bit more pregnant than I am."
She felt the walls closing in now. Suspecting his disbelief she could cope with, but hearing it verbalized? Sent Amber careening over the edge and she slapped him in the face.
"What the—"
"How dare you?" she shouted, getting up. "How dare you dump me now! You have no proof that I'm not pregnant, Michael, and yet you'd leave me for that fucking slut with a Black Card?"
Saying nothing, his jaw red and no doubt stinging from the slap, Michael left the table and just walked out of the kitchen. First he went into the spare bedroom, which doubled as his home office, pulled out his suitcase, bags and carrying cases, then headed into their bedroom where he quickly started packing as Amber yelled insults at him the entire time.
"You're making a huge mistake, Michael! Do you hear me? And you'll never get away with it! Karma's a bitch! Do you hear me? I've given my all to this goddamn relationship and I deserved no less from you, you asshole! Especially now that I'm carrying your baby, you selfish bastard!" She started sobbing, her chest heaving with panic. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! When your fucking mother croaked and life knocked you flat on your ass—who picked you up, Michael? Me, that's who! How quickly we forget! Where the hell was Priscilla fucking Bauer back then, Michael? Where?!" Amber gulped air, near hysteria. "Just you wait! Karma's a fucking bitch!"
She was standing in the living room as he left the bedroom carrying a suitcase and two shoulder bags. "You worthless bastard!" she yelled, wanting to provoke him into yelling back. "I can't believe you're doing this! Where's your conscience, Michael? Where's your goddamn conscience?"
Giving no reply, Michael stepped right passed her and took his things out the front door.
"Hey!" she shouted from the doorway. "Are you listening to me?! Karma's a bitch, Michael goddamn Frost! And you should be fucking ashamed of yourself for doing this to me! To me! You won't get away with it!"
When he came back for his other bags, she was blocking the doorway, expecting a confrontation. But Michael just stood there on the steps for a moment, shaking his head before turning around and heading back to his car. She watched him cast one last, pitiful glance in her direction before sliding into the car and roaring away.
Closing the door, Amber collapsed in the foyer. It didn't take long for the room to start spinning.
She knew she should get up. Get her mom on the phone. Call Elaine. Call someone who could tell her what the fuck to do next. Someone who'd know how to fix this mess and get Michael to come back to his senses, because she was not giving up. This was nothing more than a very cruel—and temporary—lapse in judgment on his part and she needed help to make him realize that.
I will not fucking slink off into oblivion so another woman can have my man, she thought, staring up at the ceiling. There's no other woman out there for Michael but me. He's mine. That's all there is to it.
She lay there in a state for over an hour, crying out her hurt and rage until she heard a sudden, harsh knocking at the front door.
Amber jumped up. "Who's there?"
"It's the Delray Beach Police Department, ma'am. Please open up."
• CHAPTER FIFTEEN •
"She's meeting me at the hotel tonight to tape the Newslight interview," Douglas told Priscilla. "And it still isn't too late for you to change your mind, you know." He gave her a pointed side-eye as she drove them back up to the house.
&n
bsp; They were riding in a golf cart after spending the afternoon out on the tennis court, where Doug had just kicked her ass three ways to Sunday.
"You know, this is getting old, Douglas," she said. "Please let it go."
"I just don't want you to regret not taking the opportunity to sit down and represent Gran with someone as respected as Ginger Wallford. It's not like it's Access Hollywood or the National Enquirer that we're saying yes to."
"You mean, that you're saying yes to."
"Whatever."
Priscilla rolled her eyes. It was the same old conversation and the same old pressure being applied. She was so over it. Not to mention how much she hated being forced into things she didn't want to do.
"So, when are you planning to finally fly back and meet our mysterious aunt?" she asked. "Aren't things falling to pieces at Blue Satin without you? And I'm pretty sure that by now, Soléna must be missing you terribly."
"Ha-ha," Doug replied dryly. "It just so happens that I've booked my flight for the day after the Academy shindig. Believe it or not, I'm pretty eager to get back home now, myself. I'm missing my neighborhood, thank you very much."
What a relief, thought Priscilla. Since he'd flown in from France the day after Gran died, she was now quite eager to be left to her own devices at Emerald Leas. Sink or swim.
"But there are still a few things I need to get settled at the hotel before I depart for better shores," he said with a wink. "One being the new hires. I think the standards are a little too low and it could wind up hurting the brand in the long term. We have to prune the employee pool and hire more quality people. Even if it means an increase in starting salaries."
"Well, what have you been noticing?" she asked. She parked the cart and they went inside for a late lunch.
"Well, without being too particular, I think it's a matter of presentation, really...the kind of experience we're creating for the guests; and whether or not the people who interact with them actually help to maintain a brand of class and elegance, you know? Every single employee either helps or hurts the Favorite Things brand, Cilla. None of them are neutral. I want to impress that upon the management team, and it'd be great if you could keep an eye on it for me."
Priscilla pondered that as she grabbed from the oven a pasta dish the housekeeper had prepared. "So how are you planning to correct this in such a short period of time?"
"We're hiring a few new people and I'll be sitting in on the rest of the interviews this week. It's my way of retraining the hiring managers."
"Then I think I should sit in on them with you. It would be a good jump-start on my apprenticeship."
"Absolutely, Cilla," he said, looking at her with pride. "It's nice to hear you talk like that."
"Well, truth is, I'm still not sure if taking an active part in the business is for me or not. I feel like I'd need to go to business school like you did...and right now my artwork is much more appealing. Drawing is very instinctual for me. And I'm not sure business would come as naturally."
"Well, you'll just have to find out, won't you?"
"Yeah, I intend to explore it. And the interviews sound like a pretty innocuous way to see you in action and get my feet wet."
"Good. We start Wednesday morning. We're replacing a few people on the housekeeping staff and a gift shop clerk." He checked his watch. "Oh. That's time. I need to return a few calls before it gets later in London. Then I'm off to get ready for the big interview."
"Right," she replied. "When does it air?"
"Not sure," said Doug, leaving the barstool, plate in hand. "I'll ask her, but it's either this Friday night or next. Wish me luck."
"Luck," said Priscilla with a mouthful of penne.
•~•
The morning of the first interview at the hotel came fast, and Priscilla took care to dress suitably for the occasion in a silver-belted navy blue sheath and matching jacket. She brushed her hair up into a high ponytail, did her makeup and jewelry, and slipped into a pair of beige Tom Fords.
"You look good," Doug said when she came down the stairs.
"Thanks," she said, smiling. "Let's roll."
They saw four people that morning, then three in the afternoon for the gift shop position. Priscilla initially liked them all but didn't trust her own judgment once Doug started questioning them; five had buckled under pressure. Turns out he knew exactly what to ask to get to the truth about their past experience.
"Who chose these applicants?" Priscilla asked Doug when they had finished.
"Jerry," he replied.
"Well, I don't think it's his fault. He can only go by what they have on their resumes or their applications, right? And anyone can exaggerate their work history, Doug."
"Yes, but interviewing effectively is a skill, Cilla. You have to be able to read people and know what to ask. It's not one size fits all, but not everyone gets that."
Priscilla listened intently, absorbing the information like a sponge. Her first proper venture into the running of their heritage was surprisingly stimulating, and she now realized she was more than ready to roll up her sleeves and get to work.
• CHAPTER SIXTEEN •
The Renaissance Hotel in Stuart was the perfect mid-way point between his office and Mayfair Island. Michael had checked in, still not quite believing how much life had changed for him in the last few weeks.
He did think about Amber—a lot more than he wanted to. Her words about his mother had bounced off the walls of their apartment and were now echoing throughout his hotel room.
Whenever he thought about her rage, Michael's heart began hammering away in his chest and his muscles became tense. He'd maintained a brave face in front of her, but she had frightened him. It was a side of Amber he'd never experienced before.
Well, she does have a lot to fight for, now doesn't she? he thought.
Amber had always depended on him quite a bit financially. Not just for herself, but also for her mom, Julie. They were both used to squandering their own paychecks, living well above their means because Michael was always there and always willing. He knew he was the one making the $600 lease payments on Julie Holland's Lexus. Amber had set up a monthly debit from their joint account and Michael had said nothing, he had never complained. He was doing well after all and saw no reason to make a fuss; it was just money.
And now that he'd left her, he was feeling guilty. But he kept telling himself that Amber was not his responsibility, that she would just have to learn to shop less and start taking care of herself. If they wanted to drive luxury cars, it could no longer be at his expense.
Signing into their joint account online, Michael saw the balance was enough to cover Amber's living expenses for the next several months, even if she decided to move elsewhere.
Well, I can leave her with that, he thought. But he wouldn't make any more transfers into the account.
Having stayed in for the last few days—avoiding the office, avoiding the world—this morning, Michael decided to have breakfast in the neighborhood diner he'd seen on his way to the Renaissance.
When he walked in, he chose a corner table where he'd be least likely to interact with other patrons. And just as he started eating his deliciously well-loaded omelette, Jason called to see what he was up to.
"So," his friend said. "Amber called me this morning, M. She must be getting desperate."
"I know." Michael kept his voice low to avoid being overheard. "But you're not thinking about calling her back, are you?"
"Not unless you want me to try talking some sense into her."
"No, she's just shocked and pissed off, and she needs some time to accept this. I think it's best if we just let her wear herself out. She has to give this up eventually."
"Have you talked to your father about it yet?"
"No. I've been working from my room and e-mailing him about the projects only."
"Well, you can't ignore him forever," Jason cautioned.
"Don't I know it?"
His father had left hi
m an urgent voicemail. Apparently, Amber had called to tell Larry that Michael had moved out and his father was basically demanding a response. But Michael didn't feel he owed him any explanations...And he just wasn't ready to discuss it with him anyway, so he kept himself scarce.
His phone chimed, signaling an incoming text. "There she goes again. I think I'm going to change my number, Jay. My e-mail, too—just make a clean break. Blocking her number won't be enough, she'll just use other phones."
"Good idea," replied Jason. "That way she'll know you're serious—even if showing up with the police didn't. I mean, I still can't believe Amber! She totally lost me at fake pregnancy, dude." He paused. "I mean...you are absolutely sure she was lying, right?"
Raindrops on Roses: Book One of the Favorite Things Trilogy Page 9