instantly sat up and wrapped her arm around Saskia’s shoulder. ‘You’ll meet someone—I’m sure of it. Especially now you’re opening up Elwood House. Think of all the handsome executives who will be queuing up to sample your tasty treats.’
‘From your lips... But in the meantime, where does that leave our Sam Richards? Because, to me, this little plan of ours could go in one of two ways. Either you keep your cool and freeze out his tingle power so that you can finally get Sam out of your system and your life. Or...’
Saskia smiled and pushed out her lips. ‘You might be tempted to try out the new and improved version to see if the quality of those tingles has improved over the years. And don’t look at me like that. It’s a distinct possibility. Dangerous, scary and not very clever, but a possibility...and that worries me, Amber. I know how much you cared about Sam. I was there, remember? I don’t want to see you running back to Elwood House in tears over Sam Richards.’
‘Sam?’ came a squeaky voice from the bedroom and a second later its owner appeared on the patio and she was not carrying more snacks.
Kate was wearing a huge fascinator in the shape of a red tropical flower on her head and several strings of huge beads cascaded below bundles of silk scarves. ‘You don’t have time to think about boys, woman!’
Kate gestured with her head towards the dressing room, which had long since given up any hope of being used as a second bedroom. ‘Amber DuBois, you are officially one of the worst hoarders I have ever seen. And I make clothes for women who are still wearing their mother’s hats. You have been crushing stuff into those cupboards for years. I am frightened to open those wardrobes in fear of avalanche.’
Amber waved one slender hand in the air. ‘I know. I spent most of yesterday trying to root out casual day clothes to wear and ended up going to the shops. I have got so used to just dumping my stuff here that when I want something I cannot find it.’
Amber frowned and pushed her lower lip out. ‘Is it normal to have more performance dresses than pants? I love dressing up for my audiences, but I find it so hard to refuse when designers start giving me free gorgeous things to wear. Most of those dresses have only had to survive one recital. It does seem a shame to just stash them until they gather dust. Unless, of course...’
She grinned and looked from side to side. ‘Ladies. I have been looking for some way of raising funds. What do you say to a spot of dressing up in the name of decluttering? I am talking Internet auctions and second-hand designer shops.’ A wide grin creased her face as she was practically deafened by shrieks from Saskia and Kate. ‘I’ll take those screams as a yes. Right. Then let’s get started on those ball gowns. But girls—there is one condition. You do not touch the sacred shoes. Okay? Okay. Let’s do it. I’ll race you.’
Sam Richards leant against the back wall of the elevator, propped his camera bag against his foot and crossed his arms as he enjoyed the view.
Two tall, very slender brunettes dressed from head to toe in black had rushed in at the last minute from the cream and caramel marble reception area to Amber’s apartment building, gushing thanks and flooding the space with giggling, floral perfume and an empty garment rail which took up the whole width of the elevator. Judging by their sideways glances, indiscreet nudging and body language, they were not too unhappy with being crushed into the space with him, and any other time and place he might have started chatting and enjoying their company.
But not today.
His morning had already got off to a poor start when his dad had phoned from France saying that he was going to stay on a few more days because for once the weather in the Alps was perfect for a spot of touring.
Perhaps it was just as well. His dad had not exactly been sympathetic when Sam had told him about Amber’s little scheme. In fact he had laughed his head off and told him to behave himself.
As if he had a choice.
Sam pressed his hands flat against the cool surface of the elevator wall.
Amber had the upper hand and he was going to have to go with it, but it didn’t mean to say that he liked it. One. Little. Bit. He had stopped being at other people’s beck and call the day he’d left London and there was no way he was going to step into the role of Amber’s fool and like it.
But he would get through it and move on. He could survive being pulled back into Amber’s high class life as a diva for a few days.
If she could stand it—then so could he.
Sam inhaled the perfumed air, which was suddenly overheated and cloying. He had no interest in this world of fashion and celebrity—he never had. The A-list party and clubbing circuit had long lost their appeal for him. It was his job and he worked hard to create something interesting and new out of the same old shallow gossip and the relentless need for fame and riches fuelled by the public obsession for celebrity—an obsession he helped to foster, whether he liked that fact or not.
Past tense. He had paid his dues and earned the right to sit behind that editor’s desk, doing the job he had been trained for. And he wasn’t going to let that slip away from him without a fight.
He had come a long way from the raw teenager with a fire in his belly that Amber had known.
Man enough for the job? Oh, yes, he was man enough for the job all right.
Even if he had no clue what the actual job was. Her text message had asked him to bring his camera bag and a screwdriver over and they were all the clues she had given him.
Sam rolled his shoulders back as the elevator slowed and the girls starting fidgeting with the clothes rail.
The elevator doors slid open on the floor number Amber had given him but, before he could stride forward with his bag, the girls swept out into the wide corridor of pale wood and pastel colours.
Interesting.
Unless, of course...
With a tiny shoulder shrug Sam slowly followed the girls towards the penthouse apartment. Lively disco dance music drifted out through an open door towards him, the beat in perfect tune with the rattle of their high heels on the fine wooden floor.
Disco music? If this was Amber’s place, she must be out shopping for the morning. The only music Amber DuBois liked was written by men with quill pens and dipping ink hundreds of years ago.
The girls rolled the garment rail into the apartment, waved at someone inside, then swept back past Sam out into the hallway, arm in arm in a flutter of perfume and girly giggles.
He paused for a second to admire them, then turned to face the door.
This was it. Show time. He took a deep breath, pushed the door open another few inches, stepped inside the apartment and instantly went into sensory overload.
What looked like the entire contents of a large fashion boutique was scattered over every surface in the living room. Handbags, shoes, hats and assorted female fripperies were draped across sofas, chairs and tables in a wild riot of colours and patterns, illuminated by the daylight streaming in from the floor to ceiling patio doors at the other end of the room.
His first reaction
