Amber Nights - The Esquire Girls Series - Amber's Story (Books 1, 2, 3 & 4) - Box Set

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  I watch as Matt walks slowly around to the front of his desk. He perches on the edge of the desk, uncomfortably close to me. He looks down at me as if trying to overwhelm me with his sexuality.

  It doesn’t work.

  “Yes, so what is it that you wanted to tell me about the DisSpence Developments file?” My voice is firm and professional.

  Matt sighs heavily, seeming a tad annoyed that his aura isn’t having the desired effect on me. He abruptly eases off of the desk and returns to his chair. He slides a sheet of paper across to me. His tone is gruff. “Here. This is a list of all of DisSpence’s properties worldwide. You’ll see that the majority of them are here in New York. But the company also own properties in Miami, Altanta and Philadelphia. Also, a few on the Canadian west coast – mainly in Vancouver. And a handful in Dubai.” Now, he slides a thick folder to me. “Read through this file. It should give you a good idea of the particulars – The unique style of DisSpence Developments’ deals – What they look for in a property – The structure of their deals – What the final results of a project look like when it’s all done. Just get up to speed on who DisSpence Developments Group is as a client.”

  I think you mean, who Spencer Harrison is as a client, I chuckle inwardly. I’m tickled by the fact that Matt’s dislike for Spencer is so deep that Matt can’t even say Spencer’s name unless absolutely necessary.

  By now, Matt has turned away from me and is back to typing away on his laptop. “That’s all,” he says without even looking up at me.

  Despite Matt’s bitch-assness, I’m determined to remain professional. “Thanks for your time, Matt,” I say sweetly although this whole meeting has been a royal waste of my time – this is all information that Mr. Moretti discussed in yesterday’s meeting.

  “Yeah. Yeah,” Matt mumbles flippantly as I walk out the door stifling a laugh.

  Chapter 5

  So, the DisSpence Development Group real estate deal is my main focus, but definitely not my only focus of the week. I’ve worked on everything from the thrilling to the mundane; helping a third year associate prepare a brief for the court of appeal to researching some obscure information in the land registry for a junior partner to sifting through twenty-three banker’s boxes to find one receipt for a sandwich bought by a construction worker back in 1998. I’ve already pulled two all-nighters and I still haven’t even completed my first week on the job.

  Such is the life of a summer associate at a competitive New York City corporate and commercial law firm.

  By the time Thursday rolls around, it’s time for some serious self-care because I know myself well enough to understand that when I neglect my own well-being, my bad habits pop up inevitably. So now, I decide to be proactive.

  I pop into a seedy massage parlor near my apartment in Brooklyn for a thirty-minute rub down. I wish that I could book a whole hour in a fancy Manhattan spa but even though a decent-sized paycheck is forthcoming, mountains of bills loom on the peripheries of my subconscious.

  Damn you, exorbitantly-expensive big city life!

  Once I’ve had some of the tension kneaded out of my upper back, I duck into a Narcotics Anonymous meeting in a church basement on Flatbush. I could have found a meeting nearer to my office in Manhattan but I can’t risk running into someone I know. I get that the whole NA set up is supposed to be confidential but I choose to take extra precautions to ensure my own anonymity.

  I listen in for almost a half hour while other people tell their heart-breaking stories. Many of them have lost their families, their jobs, their homes in the name of feeding their drug addiction. I remind myself that my story isn’t so bad. I’m just an overly-ambitious young girl who got hooked on the ADHD meds I was using to get through the all-nighters I had to pull to balance a law school course load while working a 30-hour week at a clothing store. I realized my addiction fast and I got help fast. It’s not more dramatic than that.

  #FirstWorldProblems.

  In all seriousness though, I got lucky. All I lost was the semester I took off from school so I could go to rehab and work on putting my broken pieces back together again. It could have been worse. I could have lost everything. Every now and then, I have to remind myself that I got lucky.

  Still, I’m embarrassed, ashamed of my past. I’m terrified of what people would think if they knew. Would they think I’m a junkie? Would they shun me? Would I lose my job? Those questions keep me living in a nearly-constant state of anxiety.

  I could have taken a cab home. Instead I decide to walk. It starts to rain during my trek but instead of breaking into a sprint, I just bask in the late-spring Brooklyn drizzle.

  It’s almost 11 o’clock when I get home. My roommate, Oksana, is in the living room blasting techno music with her posse of gorgeous, but wasted Russian dolls, smoking up a storm and dancing like they’re at Studio 54. I try to sneak into my room unnoticed but I fail miserably.

  “Amber! Amber! Come drink vodka with us!” Oksana yells, dancing on our coffee table in strappy platform heels and a silver micro-mini lamé dress, her blond barrel curls tumbling around her face. “Shot! Shot! Shot!” her friends shriek interspersed with words of encouragement spoken in Russian.

  I should be alarmed, but this is Oksana’s ritual – Thursday through Sunday, she gets wasted with her friends in our living room, makes a complete mess of the apartment, then heads to her shift at the downtown Brooklyn nightclub where she works as a bartender. I have to constantly remind myself that the apartment is cheap and close enough to the subway to help me overlook my roommate’s juvenile behavior.

  “Next time, Oksana,” I say forcing a smile. “I’ve really got to get some work done tonight.” I’m hoping she gets the hint and turns down the music.

  Oksana pouts. “No fun!”

  One of her friends shrieks something in Russian and they all cheer. Oksana peeks at her reflection in the mirror on the living room wall and reapplies her frosty blue eyeliner. Her friends primp their hair and reapply their lip-gloss quickly. “We go to night club!” Oksana announces as her already-tipsy friends shuffle out of the apartment.

  “Have fun,” I say half-heartedly as I survey the mess they’re leaving behind in the living room. At least they’re gone now and I can make some progress on reading through the documents in the DisSpence Development file.

  I take a quick shower and pour myself a glass of red wine before settling into my bed with the thick folder. It’s nearly midnight and I’m sleepy, but I need to get through this file sooner rather than later.

  I’m having a really hard time concentrating tonight. In moments like these, I really wish I could just pop an ADHD pill. Then I’d be able to power through these papers in no time. But, I’m not that girl anymore. No more shortcuts.

  This is what it’s like once you’re firmly committed to living clean.

  I try repeatedly to read through the documents but my mind keeps drifting back to the man behind DisSpence Development Group. Spencer Harrison. Tall, muscular, gorgeous. Those broad shoulders. Those cushiony lips. With the memory of his raspy voice lingering in my brain, my hand wanders down my stomach and glides between my thighs. I wonder what it would be like to have him in my bed, stroking me softly while gazing at me with those spellbinding aquamarine eyes. An orgasm rises within me at the thought of him parting my folds with his tongue.

  Overwhelmed by the violent climax, I drift into a peaceful sleep with the DisSpence file scattered across my bed, all while whispering to myself, “No sex with the clients…no sex with the clients.”

  Chapter 6

  “Hey, did you know that the firm pays full gym memberships for all employees?” Hailey is leaning on the edge of the partition that separates her cubicle from mine, her blue eyes gleaming at the prospect of freebie workouts.

  I shake my head distractedly as I do a final revision on the non-disclosure agreement that I’m drafting for one of the junior partners. It’s almost 7:30 and I’d love to get home at a decent hour tonight. Hailey’s a
nice girl and all, but I don’t have time to socialize right now. “Didn’t know that,” I say without shifting my eyes from my computer screen.

  “Well, yeah. All you have to do is send the gym membership application form down to HR and then accounting takes care of the payments,” she announces jubilantly, hints of her Texan accent seeping into her voice.

  I finally break my gaze away from my computer screen. “Hailey, even if the firm is paying for your gym membership, when would you ever have the time to go? I don’t know about you, but I’m pulling all-nighters at least three times a week!”

  “You need to make time for yourself, silly girl,” Hailey says with the brightest smile. She looks around discreetly before slipping me a colorful flyer. “1980s-style aerobics class tonight at 9. It’s like three blocks from here.”

  I immediately have painful flashbacks of that cringe-worthy Arnold Schwarzenegger/Rachel Mclish workout video from the early ‘80s. “You’re kidding me, right?” I scowl at her.

  “You should come. It’ll be fun.” I stare at her, exasperated. She bats her long eyelashes at me and dons a fake pout. I chuckle. Her southern charm is irresistible.

  “Okay, okay,” I say on the heels of an irritated sigh.

  She squeals with delight. “I’m so excited! You’re gonna love it!”

  Somehow I doubt that.

  Chapter 7

  I’ve had a churning knot in my stomach since this morning.

  Spencer Harrison has cornered me into dinner tonight.

  That wouldn’t be such a problem if he wasn’t literally the sexiest man alive and if the law firm didn’t have a strict “No Banging the Clients” policy in place.

  His secretary had called mine and penciled it into my schedule without even running it by me first. So now, it’s 8:15 at night and after a particularly exhausting day, I’m hopping into a cab and riding to Tribeca to meet Spencer for dinner.

  The taxi pulls up outside of a tall building and I double check the address noted in my phone. This is the right building but it’s not quite what I expected.

  I smile gratefully at the doorman holding the heavy glass door open for me as I shuffle inside. I check the address again. I’m going to the 28th floor. I guess it’s a rooftop restaurant.

  As I enter the lobby, one of the men at the security desk rises to his feet to greet me. “Good evening, Ms. Roberts,” he says graciously escorting me to the elevator.

  I smile hesitantly, taken aback by the fact that this stranger knows my name. “Good evening.”

  He enters the lift with me and inserts a key into the panel. We ride in silence until the doors slide open into a small, dimly-lit entrance.

  The doorman bids me goodbye and the elevator doors slide closed before I have the chance to ask him the name of the restaurant.

  Cautiously, I round the corner and am greeted by the soft strums of a melancholy guitar solo easing out of surround-sound speakers. I enter a long, wide, high-ceilinged hallway with polished concrete floors. Modern, geometric light fixtures cast a warm glow along the length of the hallway. Stacks of unopened moving boxes line the freshly painted light gray walls. I nearly trip over a pair of size 13 men’s loafers that has been carelessly kicked off near the entrance.

  Spencer appears out of a door at the end of the hall, wearing pressed khakis and a forest green polo shirt. He’s barefoot with a kitchen towel flung over his shoulder and a bowl of salad in his hands.

  Ugh – he’s so beautiful. I feel my stomach clench nervously.

  “Hey,” his eyes are ablaze and his grin is wide. “I was starting to worry that you wouldn’t show up.”

  “Uh,” I look around warily.

  “Come on in.” He gestures for me to follow him as he turns on his heel and disappears back into what I assume is the kitchen.

  I follow him tentatively. “This isn’t a restaurant,” I say once I’m sure he’s within earshot. I fold my arms tightly across my chest.

  He chuckles. “I would hope that it isn’t since I live here.”

  “You said we were going to a restaurant,” I protest glancing around the spacious kitchen.

  “No…I said we were having dinner.” He’s pulling a casserole dish out of the oven. I try not to stare at his firm ass as he’s bent over in front of the stove. “You’re a lawyer. You’re used to semantics.”

  I’m pouting now. “Firstly, I’m not a lawyer – I’m a summer associate at a law firm. Secondly, I thought we were meeting at a restaurant. You deliberately omitted the fact that you were luring me to your apartment.”

  He turns to face me. He sets down the dish and puts his hands loosely on his hips. “Come on, Amber. Are you really that uncomfortable?”

  I huff in response, shifting my weight from one foot to another, my hands still folded across my chest.

  “I’m sorry for misleading you. I admit – I did it deliberately. I just thought that if we ate here, we would have more…options.” He is trying to look apologetic but I can’t ignore the air of amusement in his ocean-colored eyes.

  “Options?”

  His face reddens just a touch as a boyish grin dashes across his handsome face.

  Ohmygod – He expects me to sleep with him.

  My shoulders tense. “I need to leave,” I declare.

  He adjusts his posture. He’s serious now. “Okay, okay. I’m really sorry, Amber. I can see that I’ve made you uncomfortable and I didn’t mean to.” An emotion flashes across his face. I can’t quite place it but if I were to guess, I’d say that he genuinely wants me to stay.

  He approaches me cautiously. “I’ll keep it 100% professional, Amber…I promise…Please don’t make me have to eat all this food alone.” He gestures to the pots and pans covering his stainless steel stovetop and granite counter. “I’m trying to maintain my figure. I can’t afford to eat all this by myself,” he says with a wink.

  That gets a chuckle out of me as I picture the rippling abs that I imagine are carved into his torso. “Okay, I’ll stay. But I need you to keep it 100% professional.”

  “Promise,” he says sounding relieved. That breathtaking smile of his just won’t quit. Thank god I wore pants today or else I’d be bent over the kitchen sink with my skirt hiked up over my ass right now. “Maybe you can take a seat on the terrace while I finish up,” he says. “Follow me.” He leads me down the hall into the living room. In the dim lighting, I can barely make out the furnishings in the room. I can tell that there’s a sectional sofa upholstered in dark fabric and a glass-top coffee table balancing on a large concrete block in the center of the room. There are a few large abstract paintings leaning against a wall and an impressive wooden sculpture of a woman’s silhouette sits in the corner. The wall-to-wall bookcase is empty and a pile of framed photos sits in a corner on top of a few unopened boxes.

  “Did you just move in?” I ask.

  Spencer chuckles. “It’s been four months. I just never got around to unpacking. I need to get an interior decorator up here to get the place in order. I guess I’ve been procrastinating.” As he speaks, he slides the glass door open. I step out onto the terrace and am greeted by the most breathtaking view of the Hudson River.

  “Wow,” I gasp softly. “This is beautiful.”

  He smiles proudly, “I know, right.” He’s watching me as I admire the scenery. I can tell that he’s trying to keep it professional, but his personal interest in me is obvious. Our eyes meet in an awkwardly lustful gaze. I blush and turn away. “Okay, just give me a minute. You can have a seat.” He gestures towards the small circular table in the middle of the patio.

  As he returns to the kitchen, I take in my surroundings. The terrace is lit up by strings of tiny white lights. Vines sprawl up a trellis adding a touch of green to the concrete exterior. The table has already been set with a bottle of red wine chilling in the center. A wine glass, napkin and cutlery have been prepared for each of us.

  This is utterly stunning.

  How am I supposed to not sleep with this m
an?

  Firstly, he’s easily the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever met. His sexuality is overwhelming. I feel like my legs will involuntarily fly open and my panties will march right out the door in the middle of dinner.

  Secondly, every date that I’ve ever been on already pales in comparison to this ‘non-date’ dinner at Spencer’s home – and we haven’t even gotten to the entrée yet.

  I say a silent prayer that I’ll be able to keep it together tonight.

  Spencer returns with a plate sitting in either hand. He sets one down in front of me before easing himself into the chair opposite me. “Bon appetit,” he says playfully.