to press them down hard when she needed to.
Just as he had pressed hers.
That was the problem with working with people who understood you.
Touché Amber.
If this was a game, then it was one point to each of them.
Sam sat back in his chair and watched Amber as she turned away from him and looked out over the city, all joy in her food and apartment forgotten.
The warm sunlight played on her pale skin and delicate features. Up close and personal, she was even lovelier than the girl on the magazine cover. Her chest rose and fell and he could sense the emotional strain these last few minutes had cost her.
Strain he was responsible for.
Shame on him.
Amber DuBois was gunpowder and those few minutes they had just shared in the dressing room had proved just how explosive getting within touching distance could be.
Any ideas he might have had about staying distant and professional had just gone out of the window the instant his fingers touched her skin.
He might be over his teenage crush but this woman he was looking at now had the power to get under his skin and bother him.
Bother him so badly that suddenly it felt easier to keep his change of heart towards his father to himself. If she had a whiff that he was some sort of self-sacrificing martyr who desperately wanted to make it up to his dad for all those angry years, she would never let him forget it.
A few days. He could stay cool and professional for a few days for his dad’s sake.
His eyebrow lifted. ‘I told you. I need the promotion and the boss made it clear that I will only get that if I come back with an exclusive from, and I quote, “the lovely Miss DuBois”. That’s it, job done,’ and Sam went back to the food.
No way was he going to fall into Amber’s trap and start spouting on about how guilty he felt about leaving his dad all alone for years on end while he lived the high life in California. This was Amber he was talking to. She would be only too ready to believe that he was a heartless son who had only come back to London for the job and the status.
After what had just happened in the dressing room he intended to keep as far away from her as physically possible.
He had to keep up the pretence that he was still the self-absorbed young man who would let nothing come between him and his career. Which was not so far from the truth. Happy families were for other men. Not men like Sam Richards.
‘Job done. Right,’ Amber replied and picked up her water glass. ‘Come on, Sam. Out with it. From what I hear, you can get a job anywhere you like. Why here? Why now? And why do I suspect that there is a lovely lady involved in the answer?’
‘You think I came back to London for a woman? Oh, no. Sorry to burst your romantic bubble, but this was strictly business all the way.’
‘Um,’ Amber replied. ‘Pity. I could have given her a few tips. Such as run for the hills now, before he breaks your heart. That sort of thing. But not to worry, it will keep for another time.’
And she smiled sweetly at him over her water glass. ‘But do tuck into your lunch. You are going to need it for this afternoon’s opportunity to shine.’
‘More pictures?’
‘Yes, but that is for later when you deliver the paintings to Saskia and hang them up for her,’ Amber replied. ‘But in the meantime I have something which is much more suited to your...talents.’
She narrowed her eyes and rested her elbows on the table so that she could support her chin with one hand. ‘Did you bring your camera and tripod? I’ll take that nod as a yes. Super. My shoes really do need the right angle to look their best.’
Sam spluttered into his water glass. ‘Shoes? You want me to photograph your shoes?’ he asked in complete disbelief.
‘Eighteen pairs of designer loveliness.’ Amber sighed. ‘Worn once or not at all. Gorgeous but unloved. Kate wanted them but she has tiny feet so I am selling them on the Internet.’
‘You are selling your shoes.’ Sam snorted and tossed his head with a sigh. ‘Things must be desperate. Cash flow problems?’
Her tongue flicked out and she licked her lips once. And right there and then he knew that she was keeping something from him.
‘Don’t try and hide your enthusiasm. I knew that you would be excited by the opportunity. This is just part of the modern girl’s annual clearing out of last season’s couture so that she can buy new ones to take their place—and all the money goes to charity. Oh—and tomorrow gets even better. The lovely Saskia is trying to launch Elwood House as a private dining venue and her online presence is just not cutting it. She needs a professional writer to redesign the website and create a whole new photo gallery—and it has to be complete in time for my birthday party on Thursday.’
‘Is there any good news in all of this?’ he spluttered, while shovelling down more chickpeas and rice.
‘Of course. You have a front row seat at my birthday party, hobnobbing with the great and good of the London scene. Even if you are taking the photographs for Saskia’s website at the same time.’
Sam blew out slowly. ‘I am so grateful for your kind consideration. So that’s Saskia covered. Are you sure that Kate Lovat wouldn’t like me to stand in her shop window modelling a tartan dinner suit in my copious spare time?’
‘Hey, that’s not a bad idea. You might be able to fit it in after you have cleaned the spiders and mouse droppings out of her attic tomorrow. Oh. Didn’t I mention that? Silly me. And after you have sorted the ladies out, then you can pop back here. By then I should have sorted out my unwanted lingerie. I am sure you can come up with some suitable slogan like “as worn by Amber” when you put together the adverts for the Internet auction.’
Amber tilted her head to one side as he glared at her through slitted eyes.
And this was the girl he was thinking of asking to be his friend.
‘Not lingerie. Shoes I can understand. But I draw the line at photographing lingerie unless you intend to model it in person.’
‘But this is your audition, sweetie. Have you forgotten so quickly? Of course, if you are refusing to carry out my perfectly reasonable requests, well, I shall have to phone the journalist on the other paper and see if she is still interested... And no, my modelling days are over.’
She leant her chin on the back of one hand and fluttered her eyelashes at him.
‘You’re looking a little hot under the collar there, Mr Richards.’ Amber smiled. ‘How about some ice cream to cool you down? It’s delicious with humble pie.’
* * *
‘Well. What do you think? The emerald and diamond drop necklace or the sapphire white gold collar?’
Amber held one necklace then the other to her throat, slowly at first, then faster and then faster, using two fingers of her plastered wrist to prop them up against her skin.
