Amber Read online

  “Yes, it is. And here you are.” He looks me up and down.

  I lift my chin. He is not going to intimidate me by judging me again. “Yes, I am. I have some things to say to you and your clients.”

  He glances briefly to his left, in the direction of the reception desk. There are three women and one man sitting there. They look very busy, but I get the distinct impression that they’re hearing everything we say anyway.

  “Why don’t you follow me to my office and we can discuss your plans there?”

  I step off the elevator, making sure to leave as much distance between us as possible. “That’s fine. But I don’t plan on staying here for very long. I have things to do. Places to be.” He doesn’t need to know that those things consist only of eating a hot dog and seeing Central Park before I leave. If I’m going to make my flight back, I need to keep this short and sweet.

  He walks through the lobby, expecting me to just follow him. I’m tempted to stand where I am to prove a point, but when I can’t really figure out what that point is, I hurry to catch up. My bracelets jangle together and make pretty tinkling noises as I rush by the reception desk.

  Two of the people sitting there look up at the sounds, and I smile and nod at them. “Hi, how are you? Good, I hope.” I may be in New York City, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to lose all my manners. None of them respond to me, though, as I follow Mr. Lister out of the lobby and down several long hallways. I’d normally be upset by people being so rude, but I’m too distracted with trying to remember which way I just turned to bother with it. I’m definitely going to need a guide out of this place. It’s a damn maze!

  He finally stops trying to lose me. “After you,” he says, gesturing while he stands in a doorway.

  I walk past him and enter the biggest office I’ve ever seen. I’m used to the normal-size ones at our local city hall or at the bank. I’ve even been inside the postmaster’s office once, but it was a shoe box compared to this ridiculous space. He could put a king-size bed in here and still have room to host meetings.

  I scan Lister’s domain, taking in the huge wood desk, trophies made of crystal, framed diplomas declaring this man spent a lot of money on his education, and shelves and shelves of books. There are floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the city too. I find myself drawn to them. I stop at the nearest one, but not too close to it. Being thirty-three floors up is suddenly very dizzying.

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you,” he says, walking over and stopping behind his desk.

  I forget about the view and turn around. “What’s that? Did they change their minds about the settlement?” That would be a bit of a bummer. Saying We wouldn’t have wanted your money anyway doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as Take your thirty million bucks and shove it where the sun don’t shine.

  “No, not that. The problem is that we didn’t find out you were going to be here until just a few hours ago, so I didn’t have time to call them in. They’re out of town right now on a last-minute trip.”

  I chew my lip. This is very inconvenient. I have a return ticket out tonight and was assuming he could put a meeting together today. Should I just leave a message with Lister to pass on to them? And who the heck is selling me out? I can’t believe my sisters would tell this guy anything, so how the heck did he find out I was coming here a few hours ago?

  I can’t leave a message with Lister. It won’t have nearly the same impact. And if I’m being honest with myself, I have to admit . . . I really do want to say what I came to say to their faces so I can see their expressions when I deliver the news that their long-lost daughters plan to stay that way. I’m probably going to flip them off too, for good measure, and I doubt Lister would do that for me. From the looks of this office, they pay him too much for him to risk it.

  “Where are they?” I ask, even though I don’t really care. I’m just stalling so I can think things through more thoroughly. Can I get a refund on that plane ticket? I think I remember it being nonrefundable. Dammit.

  “They’re in Toronto.” He stops there and just stares back at me. He’s apparently not going to offer any more information—like what these men are doing there and when they’ll be back—and I’m certainly not going to beg for it.

  I walk over to his bookshelves. “Have you read all of these?” The spines on the textbooks tell me that he deals in mergers and acquisitions, contracts, and international taxation. Boooring. Why am I not surprised that his reading material is as dull as he is?

  “Yes.”

  I pull one of the volumes off the shelf and open up to a random page. “What is the corporate taxation rate in Trinidad and Tobago?” I turn around and narrow my eyes at him, waiting for his brilliant answer.

  He shrugs. “I have no idea. Why don’t you have a seat?” He gestures at a chair across from his desk.

  I snort as I slide the volume back onto the shelf. I knew he hadn’t read all those books. I walk over and take a seat, setting my purse on the floor next to me. It’s time to stop stalling and get down to business. There’s a hot dog out there in Manhattan with my name on it, and my sisters made me promise I’d try one and describe every last detail of it to them when I get back. Our mothers have never allowed a single processed meat product to enter our home, and we’ve been dying of curiosity. “When will they be back?” I ask.

  “They’re taking a flight out first thing tomorrow morning. Their plane lands very early. If you wish, I can arrange to have them meet you at your hotel after they arrive.”

  I stare at Lister, trying to figure him out. His expression is completely impassive. He doesn’t look like he’s happy to have me here, that’s for sure. You’d think he’d be nicer to the daughter of his clients, though, even if she is here to tell them to kiss her butt.

  “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

  “I have no feelings about you either way.”

  I swear this man has to be a robot, which really makes me want to push his buttons. “What about my sisters? How do you feel about them?”

  He picks up a pen and starts writing on a piece of paper, effectively letting me know that I’m not even important enough to share eye contact with. “I have no thoughts on your sisters either.”

  “What do you think about these clients of yours who are ready to hand over thirty million bucks to three women they’ve never met before?”

  His jaw twitches. “To be honest, I advised them not to do it.”

  Now we’re getting somewhere. “How come?”

  He stops writing and looks up at me. “I’m sorry, but I can’t share that information with you. My clients enjoy confidentiality in their conversations with me.”

  “But you already told me that you told them not to do it, so I guess that rule only applies . . . sometimes?”

  He says nothing but his jaw twitches again, several times. I think I’m pissing him off. I also think I don’t care.

  “How did you know I was going to be here?” I ask.

  “I received a phone call.”

  No way did my sisters sell me out. The whole plan was for me to come in here and do a sneak attack, catch them unawares so they wouldn’t have time to play games and come up with reasons that weren’t genuine. “Who called you? Because I know it wasn’t my sisters.”

  “It was Barbara.”

  I knew it. My mother sussed out our plan. She probably put Em under a hot reading lamp and interrogated her. Em can’t hold in a secret to save her life. I’m going to give her a serious guilt trip for not texting me and telling me what she did.

  Lister looks up at me, and it’s possible I see a tiny spark of pity in his eye. Now I’m pissed. Nobody pities my family. Nobody.

  “You don’t like my mothers much, do you?”

  “How I feel about anyone in your family is completely irrelevant.”

  I shrug, letting my anger fall away. He’s not worth it, and like Buddha always said, hanging on to anger is like grabbing a hot lump of coal to toss at some
one else . . . or something like that. “You’re right. It is irrelevant. I don’t really give a hoot; I was just trying to be polite.” I look around as I tap my hands on the arms of the chair I’m sitting in. “So, this is your office, eh?”

  “Yes.” He goes back to writing.

  “How long have you been here?”

  I think he’s about to answer me, but a knock on the door interrupts him. I turn around and find a blond woman in the threshold wearing a white nearly-see-through blouse, beige pencil skirt, and nude stilettos. She doesn’t even look at me. “Greg, Mr. Stanz is here to see you.”

  I sit up straighter in my chair. I’m pretty sure I heard that name outside, but it can’t be . . .

  “Show him into the conference room. I’ll be right there.” Mr. Lister stands up and smooths down his tie, buttoning his suit coat. He looks almost nervous, which is really interesting.

  Someone shows up behind the woman and then walks around her. Mister Grabby Hands himself! I stand up in front of my chair and back up until my butt hits the edge of Mr. Lister’s desk. What the hell is he doing here? My mind races to put the pieces of this puzzle together—he knows Greg . . . He was at the airport and knew my name . . . Greg knew I was coming . . . Uh-oh . . .

  “No, that’s okay,” Grabby Hands says. “I’ll just meet him in here.” He walks into the office and turns around, slowly shutting the door right in the woman’s face. She has to back up a step to keep her nose from getting smooshed.

  A rude dude acting crude. Why am I not surprised? He’s the type of man who will grab a girl he hasn’t even been introduced to yet.

  Lister clears his throat. “Hello, Ty. I guess you missed Amber at the airport.”

  Ty turns around and hooks his thumbs in his front pockets as he stares at me. “No, I didn’t miss her. I ran right into her, actually.”

  It all falls into place . . . why this turd has been stalking me since I got here. I glare at Lister as I point at the weirdo standing near the door. “You sent this animal to pick me up?”

  “Animal?” Ty takes two steps closer, pulling off his sunglasses. “She attacked me.” He points at his eye using one of the little arms of his sunglasses. “I have a bruise.”

  I laugh. He sounds like an angry toddler. “A bruise? That’s not a bruise . . . it’s smeared makeup. Please.” I know a blob of smeared eyeliner when I see it. My sisters and I have played with makeup since we were tiny. We don’t wear it much, but we know how to use it. He’s the first man I’ve seen in person with eyeliner on, but to each his own. Maybe he’s a musician too. That would explain a lot of things, like his behavior, hair, and body art. I’m not impressed. Not really.

  Ty frowns and rubs at his eye. He looks at his finger, trying to determine whether I’m right or not.

  “Okay, I don’t know what happened, but obviously things went a little off track.” Lister holds up his hands, trying to make peace. “Why don’t we just sit down and figure out where we go from here?”

  I back away from both of them. “No, I’m not sitting with him.” I look Ty up and down. “First of all, he needs a shower, and second of all, he needs to put on some clean clothes. And third of all, he put his hands all over me, and I don’t even know who he is. That’s assault. I know my rights.” I fold my arms and face Lister. “I want to sue him. You’re hired.”

  Ty starts laughing. “Sue me? That’s rich. There’re about fifty videos on YouTube right now showing you beating the shit out of me and that guy with the camera.”

  Lister frowns at me. “Is this true?”

  “No, it’s not true.” I drop my arms to my sides. The righteous indignation that was riding shotgun with me just a minute ago starts to slip away. “Not really. I mean, they both asked for it. I was just defending myself from their advances.”

  “Advances? Are you serious?!” Ty is yelling now, and the madder he gets, the more his voice sounds like a little old lady’s. It makes me laugh. I try to keep it in, but I can’t.

  “She’s laughing.” He gestures at me. “Do you hear her laughing?” He uses his glasses to point at his eye again. “This isn’t makeup, okay?”

  Lister tips his head down and rests the bridge of his nose on two fingers, pinching it. He scrunches his eyes closed really tightly. It looks like he’s hurting himself. “How did this go so wrong?” he asks no one in particular.

  “Listen, man, I’m no chauffeur, okay? I know you’re shorthanded and all, but sending me out there was a bad idea. I told you that, but you didn’t listen. The paparazzi were all over me the minute she started yelling.”

  “You know you weren’t asked to go because we’re shorthanded,” Greg says, shaking his head in disappointment.

  “Hey! I wasn’t yelling,” I say, annoyed that I’m being cut out of the conversation and painted as the weirdo in the situation when I was clearly acting like any normal person would. This isn’t about why Ty was sent to pick me up; it’s about his assault of my person. “I was just telling you to take your damn hands off me.”

  Lister stares at the ceiling and hisses out a long breath. “You’re right. It was a mistake.” He looks at me. “I’m sorry. He was supposed to . . . not put his hands all over you . . . but pick you up at the airport in one of our firm’s cars and bring you here. I assumed my office was your destination.”

  “Man, I’m telling you, I didn’t put my hands all over her! She’s exaggerating!”

  Lister holds his hand out at Ty, effectively telling him to shut up, which Ty does.

  I look at both of them, and while I can tell they’re both angry, I detect no real malice. I believe Lister is telling the truth and that Ty just lacks some manners. But this doesn’t change the fact that Ty grabbed me like I was the last gluten-free dinner roll on a Weight Watchers buffet, so I’m not just going to forgive him and forget everything he did.

  I cough once and straighten my posture as I address Lister. “Well . . . he apparently needs a few lessons in how to deal with women, but that’s not my problem. Your office was my destination because I figured you could put together a meeting with . . . the interested parties. But seeing as how you can’t do that right now, there’s no need for me to be here anymore.” I walk toward the door, hoping Ty will move out of my way before I get too close. I’m so ready to run back home, and screw the whole hot dog and long-lost fathers adventure. I’m not brave. I’m a lily-livered chicken, just like my sisters. Bawk, bawk, bawk!

  “Where’re you going?” Lister asks.

  Ty backs out of my way. I nod at him once, thanking him silently for at least being respectful toward me this time.

  “You’re not running away, are you?” Ty asks softly.

  He knows I’m running and he’s issuing a challenge. Or he’s mocking me. I can’t tell which. Either way, it makes it really hard for me to continue on my current trajectory. When he gives me a poo-eating grin, it makes my decision for me: I cannot run from this.

  Taking a notepad from my purse, I write down my phone number, tear off the sheet of paper it’s on, and walk over to slap it down on Lister’s desk. I pause in the doorway on my way out and face Lister, completely ignoring that other jerk in the room. “I’m going to eat some lunch and find a place to stay, since I’m obviously not going to be able to leave here tonight like I planned. You have my number now. Call me when you can set something up.” Screw going home. I’m not afraid of Ty Grabby Hands. I came here on a mission and I’m going to complete it.

  “You don’t have a room booked?” Lister asks.

  “No, but this is New York City. I’m sure I won’t have a problem finding someplace.” Maybe a youth hostel, since that’s all I can afford at this point.

  Lister picks up his phone and speaks to the person who answers. “Zoey, I need you to book a room at the Four Seasons for Ms. Amber Fields.”

  “Aka Jessica Albatross,” Tyler says softly so that only I can hear him.

  I’m torn between wanting to reach out and slap that stupid hat off his head and lau
ghing along with him. I have never met a more frustrating person in my entire life. I think he could be an interesting person under all that grunge, but rather than indulging in the idea of getting to know him better, I glare at him while he glares right back at me. And now that I’m looking at him in such close proximity, I think he might be right; I may have accidentally bruised the corner of his eye. Oops.

  A tiny bit of guilt sneaks into my heart, courtesy of the very healthy conscience my three mothers have spent twenty-four years instilling in me. I can hear their voices in my head right now: You should never lash out at someone in anger, Amber. You need to learn to control your emotions, Amber. Not everyone is going to understand your passion or appreciate your expression of it, Amber.

  Lister nods at his phone. “Thanks.” He hangs up the handset. “There’s a room for you at the Four Seasons.”

  I saw an ad for the Four Seasons in the airport, and I’m pretty sure it’s out of my price range. “I’m not interested in anybody’s charity.”

  “It’s not charity. We have a corporate account there. It’s a write-off on our taxes every time we use it for clients.” He hesitates, as if he’s going to say more, but then he glances at Ty and stops. I’m glad, because it’s none of Ty’s business who I am or what I’m doing here.

  I blink a few times, letting the idea of staying in that hotel settle into my brain. Am I taking charity from someone if it’s giving them a benefit to their business? I don’t know anything about the tax code, but I do know that I just spent ninety bucks on cab fare and I only have $210 left. That’s not going to get me very far, especially if I’m going to be stuck here for another day. “Fine.”

  “You want me to give her a ride over there?” Ty asks.

  I look at him like he’s insane. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Why not? I’m a good guy.” He points at his face, smiling like he’s charming or something. “You’re the one who injured me, remember?”

  I snort. “Yeah, right.” As far as I’m concerned, a ‘good guy’ doesn’t just assume a perfect stranger will get into a car with him at the airport; he takes a moment to introduce himself and be friendly first.