"Definitely. I'm positive. And if there had been any room for the benefit of the doubt? She crushed it when she said I was leaving her when I had no proof she wasn't really pregnant. It was unreal. I don't know when Amber became so...manipulative." Michael took a sip of orange juice. "You know what she said in the last text? That I've been 'led astray' and she considered it her 'duty' to save us."
"Geez, man," said Jason. "I'm really sorry about all this. I feel bad—but look on the bright side. Priscilla Bauer, and a whole new chapter, awaits."
"A very bright side, indeed," said Michael. "I can't even describe the way I felt when I got that text from Priscilla the other day. I wasn't about to let her slip through my fingers again."
After he hung up with Jason, Michael took a deep, calming breath before reading Amber's latest.
I'm never giving up on us. U know we belong 2gether. ~ 4Ever Amber ~
Sighing heavily, Michael finished his orange juice and left the diner. It was time to put this problem to bed. For good.
•~•
When the day of the Veronica Bauer event arrived, Michael was so eager to see Priscilla again, he could hardly keep a thought in his head the entire afternoon.
He had gone out and bought a new tux for the occasion, along with a single long-stemmed red rose. He couldn't help glancing over at it as he moved about the hotel room getting dressed for the evening. The rose seemed to express exactly the way he was feeling about Priscilla.
The drive to Mayfair was uneventful and he made it in just under two hours. His anticipation swelled as he crossed the causeway.
Just relax, he told himself. She likes you. Everything's gonna work out fine.
• CHAPTER SEVENTEEN •
For whatever it was worth—and despite having had the most important part of her life ripped away—Amber was trying to keep up with her work.
As luck would have it, one of her long-term clients had decided to become this week's resident pain in the ass. So after ending yet another frustrating Skype call, Amber decided to take a much-needed break and go make herself a cup of coffee.
Jeez, she thought, strolling into the kitchen. What I really need right now is a French latte with a double shot of espresso and extra foam stirred in. Her mouth watered at the thought, but she had no time for that.
As she got the creamer out, her mind inevitably turned to Michael and she felt the familiar dip in the pit of her stomach as their last encounter came rushing back...
After he had returned with the police that night for the rest of his things, Amber had seized almost everything he hadn't taken with him, piled them into the living room and started going over every square inch. There were old CDs, his work files, scraps of paper, and legal pads filled with sentence fragments or randomly jotted numbers that made no sense to her, but must've been relevant to him at some point. She found herself lying on the sofa for hours, trying to figure out what Michael might've been thinking as he'd scribbled this or that, what the notes and the figures had been all about.
She missed him too much for words.
He hadn't taken his iPod, and she kept a Black Lab song he loved blaring on the stereo almost day and night, the haunting lyrics about wrapping the night around you like a sheet to find peace almost ripping her heart out.
He had also left some t-shirts in the bureau and every evening Amber opened the drawer and just stared at them, feeling the urge to sleep in one, especially the Breaking Bad shirt—they had spent days binge watching it on Netflix—but she couldn't bring herself to put it on. It was almost too painful. So she would just sit there for the longest time, staring at his shirts before finally closing the drawer and crawling into their bed alone, feeling as if the sane parts of her mind had gone right out the front door with him.
But most importantly, Amber had kept up her texting, thinking that as long as she stayed in contact with him, she would be on his mind no matter where he was—especially if he had gone back to her. She had also decided that whenever they did finally make up—which had better be soon if Amber wanted to avoid a full-fledged psychotic break—she would just have to tell him the pregnancy test had been wrong.
There's still not a shred of evidence to contradict me, she kept telling herself. So I can't let him get away with holding that against me.
She was taking her coffee back to the desk when yet another text came in from Elaine and she ignored it. Her mother had been calling as well, but she couldn't face either of them with the news, at least not yet. And with any luck, they would never find out that Michael had moved out on her. No one would. They'd never know that Michael had even called the police on her—rather than come to his fucking senses. They would never, ever know the extent of this vile and vicious humiliation she was living through.
Amber’s stomach growled and she went back into the kitchen to make a quick grilled cheese sandwich. It won't always be this way, she reminded herself, standing over the stove. He will come back. She wanted to say the words out loud, but her mouth stayed shut.
After eating the sandwich, which she barely tasted, she went back into the living room and sat at her desk; there was promotional copy she needed to finish before the end of business that day. She would have to work twice as hard now, for as long as she would be footing the bills on her own. The thought brought fresh tears to her eyes—she would never accept this new reality Michael had forced her into.
Staring down at her phone, Amber thought, Ring—please, damn you, ring!
And in a burst of frustration, she grabbed the stapler and threw it hard against the wall behind the computer screen. She actually jumped as it slammed back down on the desk, scattering everything.
Rubbing her hands together, she let her heart flow freely. Too many things were being broken—her anger and rage were now scattered all over the apartment, and she didn't give a fuck about cleaning any of it up! She had even demolished Michael's favorite dinner plates the other night, and the broken shards still lay scattered all over the kitchen floor.
Even the neighbors had come by a few nights ago, a friendly older couple they had met working out in the clubhouse gym. She and Michael almost always went there together so it seemed strange to even contemplate joining Dan and Bree on her own. Amber hadn't even answered the door when they'd knocked, and she had taken to parking her BMW in the carport on the other side of the building.
With her deadlines looming, she took a deep breath and steadied herself in the swivel chair. She managed to get her fingers poised over the right keys...but it was a long, long time before they actually started moving.
• CHAPTER EIGHTEEN •
"Well, why isn't he picking you up here?" Douglas asked.
They were leaving for the hotel and he'd been rushing her, wanting to arrive early.
"Because I told him it wasn't necessary," said Priscilla, as she joined him in the Cadillac. "You have to pass the road to the hotel to get out here so it didn't make sense. Look, Doug...please don't be a jerk to Michael. We've decided to go out with each other—get over it."
"I just think it's rather peculiar timing, Cilla, don't you? You met him at the funeral."
She itched to fire back with an "I'm a big girl so mind your own business" retort, but held her tongue. Just change the subject, she told herself. He's leaving tomorrow. "So, I've already forgotten," she hedged. "You'll hire that last girl we saw for the gift shop, but who resigned yesterday? I must say, I think I'm really going to enjoy getting involved in the recruitment process."
"The overnight front desk clerk resigned," he said. "Which isn't uncommon given the hours. The nice thing is he gave us plenty of notice, so you'll have a good three weeks to find a replacement. If you need help, you can always Poly me in on the interviews. We'll just have to coordinate the times."
"Okay, well, we'll see how it goes."
"I've asked Jerry to work more closely with Gwen in HR on screening these resumes. I think she's more skilled than he's been giving her credit for. And trust me—a qu
alified interview pool saves you heaps of time."
Reaching over, she touched his arm. "Thanks for all your help, Doug. I mean it. Thanks for everything."
"Anytime, Cilla. You know I'll always be there for you." He paused. "And don't let Mom get to you so much. Remember—she's not abusing us anymore, okay? That's all in the past."
Is it? she wondered. Priscilla looked ahead as they turned on to Bauer Avenue and approached the four-story, 102-room legendary boutique hotel her grandparents had built from the ground up so many years ago. The firebrick red building sported golden accents, silken awnings at each window, and a sleek art deco design that had made it one of Mayfair's featured attractions for over thirty years.
And their mother worked in that building—one of the few things Priscilla had argued with Gran about and lost, but no matter. She still believed that hiring Charlotte had been a big mistake. Huge. And she knew that one day, she would have to be the one who corrected it.
•~•
It was exactly 7:30 p.m. when Michael entered the Raindrops' lobby and saw Priscilla standing near the concierge desk, talking with two other women. All were holding exotic looking drinks that seemed to match their hair and their dresses.
Smiling at her, he made his way across the room. She looked magnificent, wearing a floor-length green chiffon gown, with her long, jet-black hair slicked back into a high ponytail.
Seeing that he had arrived, she excused herself and came to meet him. It felt good seeing a sparkle in her eye. Her creamy shoulders were bare in the green dress and Michael wanted to kiss them right there in the lobby. "Hello," he said, taking her in.
"Hello," she replied with a bright smile. "I'm glad you made it."
"What?" he asked, handing her the rose. "Did you think I'd stand you up, or something?"
"Don't make me blush," she said, accepting it. "Thanks for this. How sweet."
They embraced and he settled for kissing her on the cheek. "You look almost too beautiful."
"Thank you. So do you," she said, taking his hand. "Come meet my friends, then we'll go in."
"Oh, you're ready to show me off now?"
She gave him a look and laughed, leading him over to the desk where the other two attractive women were standing. One was a redhead, the other a tall brunette.
"Ladies, this is Michael Frost, my date for the evening. Michael, meet my good friend Paula Fleischman and her sister Stella. We're neighbors."
He shook hands, greeting them both. Their curious appraisal of him was not lost on Michael. And as they all turned to go into the theater room, he noticed the knowing smirk Paula shot Priscilla. It seemed to promise an interrogation at the earliest possible convenience.
"Oh, my God," the girl named Stella exclaimed, grabbing Priscilla's arm. "Is that Clint Eastwood standing right next to Kim Novak?"
"Stell," Paula warned. "You promised not to embarrass us."
"I know. But even Doris Knight was out in the lobby! Doris freaking Knight! A woman who hasn't been seen out in public for decades. Cilla—you have to let me say hello to her."
"I'll introduce you later...but only if you relax, Stella. We can't have people thinking we invited a patient from the local psych ward."
Paula cracked up and gave her sister a look. "Exactly. Behave."
"This is pretty cool, though," said Michael, as they entered the balcony and sat down. "Seeing Hollywood royalty close up."
Squeezing his hand, Priscilla leaned in and whispered, "I'm so glad you're here."
"Me too," he whispered back, looking into her eyes. She smelled fabulous, and Michael was dying to kiss her, to cover himself with her, but he knew the time would come for that. "I couldn't stop thinking about you."
She blushed, but he saw good things in her eyes.
The evening began with an opening speech by the President of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, who spoke eloquently of Veronica Bauer's contribution to the film industry, and the enduring popularity of her Academy Award winning roles.
After a few other speeches and a collage of clips from her most well-known productions, there was a very nice dinner followed by a screening of her final film before retiring from Hollywood, Rainfall, opposite Sean Connery and Jimmy Stewart.
Afterwards, Michael got a signal from Priscilla and they snuck off to talk out in the lobby. "Didn't you want to hear the closing?" he asked, joining her underneath one of the elegant chandeliers.
"No, not really," she replied. "Did you? Because we can go back in if you want."
"Well, I was really enjoying it," said Michael, sipping his drink. "But now I'd much rather find out what you'd like to be doing instead."
Saying nothing, Priscilla slipped him a suite number and key card, then discreetly disappeared.
•~•
When Michael entered the suite, it was dark. With only a vague hint of light behind the velvet drapes. As he walked into the bedroom, he saw her silhouette at the edge of the bed, waiting for him.
Loosening his bowtie, he approached her, slowly.
"You know," she cooed softly. "I thought about playing it cool. Of spending the evening just chit-chatting with you downstairs and letting this be our first real date."
"Well, we can still do that if you want," he said, hesitant.
In reply, she reached up and unbuttoned his jacket...then she began unbuckling his belt. She slid her hands around his waist and pulled his shirt from his pants as he unbuttoned them.
When he slipped off his shoes, Priscilla lay back in the large bed and he followed, realizing for the first time that she was already completely naked. Michael grew even harder as he claimed her lips with a passion so hot it consumed him. He couldn't wait to get inside her.
Dropping the long-awaited kisses on her shoulders, his hands ran the length of her smooth, silky body, paying special attention to her taut nipples as he brought her knee up. Parted her thighs. Placed himself right at her entrance.
And made her purr like a kitten when he finally entered.
Groaning in pleasure, Michael exhaled deeply. "Cilla," he whispered as he kissed her, "I missed you."
"I've missed you, too...I've missed having you inside me," she whimpered as he began moving. Deepening. Wrapping her legs around him, she buried her fingers in his hair. Cupped his buttocks. Moaned his name. "...don't stop..."
But Michael came almost immediately, long and hard.
"Sorry," he panted as he got back to earth.
"Don't worry, baby," she said, chuckling. Kissing his neck, biting his ear. "We have all night..."
• CHAPTER NINETEEN •
Douglas had booked an early morning flight, so Priscilla got up before dawn, showered and slipped out, leaving Michael well-sexed and sleeping soundly.
In the wee hours of the morning, before they’d drifted off to sleep, she’d promised to come back for breakfast in bed once she’d seen Doug off at the airport. Michael was up when she returned to the suite, just leaving the bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips. "Good morning," she said, dropping her purse in a chair.
He reached for her and pulled her in for a kiss. "It is now." Gently, he brushed her nose with his. "So Douglas got off safely for opposite shores?"
"Yep. Thanks for lending me your beast of a car. I drove up to the house and rode with him to the airport. We had a nice goodbye." She ran a hand through her hair. "You know, I've been so eager for him to get lost…but now that he's gone? I have to admit I feel a little sad. I'm already missing him."
"Well, that's understandable," Michael said, dropping another kiss on her lips. "Because now it's just you in that great big house."
"Exactly," she said. "I guess that's it. Ever since she sent Doug off to France, it's always been Gran and me."
Dropping his towel, Michael promptly stripped her down to her underwear and pulled her back into the bed. "Here's what I suggest," he said, holding her close. "I suggest we stay right here in this bed the rest of the day—"
"Oh, really
?" she interrupted with an amused smirk.
"Talking," he continued, “getting to know each other better. I'd love to hear more about your grandmother…and there's still a whole lot I don't know about you."
"And a whole lot I don't know about you," she replied.
"Right. So let's start talking."
"Okay, but...what about breakfast? We do get to eat while we talk, right?"
Raindrops on Roses: Book One of the Favorite Things Trilogy Page 10