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Amber floated forward so that Sam inhaled a rich, sweet floral scent which was almost as intoxicating as the woman who was wearing it.
A whirlwind of memories slammed home. Long summer days walking through the streets of London as he memorised routes and names and places for the limo business. Hand in hand, chatting, laughing and enjoying each other’s company as they shared secrets about themselves that nobody else knew. Amber had been his best friend for so long, he hadn’t even realised how much she had come to mean to him until they were ripped apart.
‘Don’t flatter yourself. May I sit?’
Sam gestured to the hard wooden chair his dad used at the makeshift desk in the corner. ‘It may not be quite what you’re used to, but please.’
She nodded him a thanks and lowered herself gracefully onto the chair and turned it around so that she was facing him.
Sam shook his head. ‘You are full of surprises, Amber DuBois. I thought that it would take a very exclusive restaurant in the city to tempt you to come out of your lair long enough to give me an interview.’
Her reply was to lift her flawless chin and cross her legs. Sam took in a flash of long tanned legs ending in peep toe low wedge sandals made out of plaited strips of straw and transparent plastic. Her toenails were painted in the same pale pink as her nails, which perfectly matched her lipstick and the colour motif in her dress.
She was class, elegance and designer luxury and for a fraction of a second he wanted nothing better than to pick her tiny slim body up and lay it along the bonnet of the car and find out for himself whether her skin felt the same under his fingertips.
‘What makes you think that I am here to give you an interview?’ she replied with a certain hardness in her voice which plunged him back into the cold waters of the real world. ‘Perhaps I am here to congratulate you on your engagement? Has your fiancée come with you from Los Angeles and my wedding invitation is in the post? I can see that you would want to give me heads-up on that.’
He reeled back. ‘My what?’
‘Oh—didn’t you announce your engagement in the Los Angeles press? Or is there another Samuel Patrick Richards, investigative reporter and photojournalist of London, walking the streets of that lovely town?’
Sam sucked in a breath then shrugged. ‘That was a misunderstanding. My girlfriend at the time was getting a little impatient and decided to organise a wedding without asking me first. Apparently she forgot that anything to do with weddings brings me out in a nasty rash. It’s a long-standing allergy but I have learnt to live with it. So you can save your congratulations for another time.’
Amber inhaled very slowly before speaking again. ‘Well, it seems that this garage is not the only thing that hasn’t changed, is it, Sam? You do seem to make a habit out of running out on girls. Maybe we should all get together and form a support group.’
She raised both of her arms and wrote in the air. ‘“Girls Sam Richards has dumped and ran out on.” We could have our own blog. What? What is it?’
Sam crossed the few steps which separated them and gently tugged at her cardigan. ‘Your arm is in plaster. Hell, Bambi, what happened? I mean, you have to play the piano...’
She pulled her cardigan over the plaster, but lifted her left arm across her chest.
‘I broke my wrist a few weeks ago and I’m officially on medical leave. And that is strictly off the record. My career is fine, thank you. In fact, I am enjoying the holiday. It is very restorative.’
Sam shook his head. ‘Must make your daily practice interesting...but are you okay? I mean there won’t be any lasting damage?’
She parted her lips and took a breath before answering, and for some reason Sam got the idea that she was about to tell him something then changed her mind at the very last minute. ‘Clean break, no problem. The exercises are working well and I should be as good as new in a few months.’
‘Glad to hear it. This brings us right back to my original question. What are you doing here?’
He stepped forward and stood in front of her, with one hand on each arm of his dad’s old wooden chair, her legs now stretched out in front of her and trapped between his. He was so close that he could feel her fast breath on his cheek and see the pulse of her heart in her throat.
Her mouth narrowed and this time it did connect with the hard look in her eyes.
But, instead of backing away, Amber bent forward from the waist, challenging him, those blue eyes flashing with something he had never seen before. And when she spoke her voice was as gentle and soft as a feather duvet. And just as tempting.
‘Okay. It goes like this. I understand that you want to interview me in the light of my recent press release concerning my retirement. I’m curious about what it is that you think you can offer me which is so special that I would want to talk to you instead of all the other journalists who are knocking at my door. You have never been the shy or modest type, so it must be something rather remarkable.’
‘Absolutely. Remember that dream I used to talk about? The one where I am a big, important investigative journalist working at that broadsheet newspaper my dad still reads every day? Well, it turns out that to win the editor’s desk I have to deliver one final celebrity interview.’ Sam pointed at Amber with two fingers pressed tight together and fired his thumb like a pistol trigger.
Amber nodded. ‘I thought it might be something like that.’ Her eyebrows went skywards. ‘I take it your editor doesn’t know about our teenage fling?’
‘Fling? Is that what you call it? No. He certainly doesn’t, or he would have sent me to your last known address with a bunch of supermarket flowers and a box of chocolates as soon as I walked into his office. No. That part of my life is filed under “private”. Okay?’
She gave him a closed mouth smile. ‘Why? I know you must have been tempted. I can see the headline now. “The real truth about how I broke Amber Du Bois’ heart”? Yes, there are plenty of television reality shows who would love to have you on their list. I could hardly sue, could I?’
‘I suppose not, but let’s just say that I was saving that for a financial emergency. Okay?’
‘An emergency? You were saving me to get you out of some money crisis? I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. Or both. I’m not sure I like being compared to a stash of used notes which you keep under the mattress.’
‘Oh—is that where you keep yours? I prefer banks myself. Much more secure.’
Her eyes narrowed and she licked her lower lip as though she was trying to decide about something important.
He could remember the first time he’d kissed those lips. They had just come out of a pizza restaurant and got caught in a heavy rain shower. He had pulled her under the shelter of his coat, his arm around her waist and, just as they got to the car, laughing and yelling as the rain bounced off the pavement around them, she had turned towards him to thank him and her stunning face was only inches away from his. And he couldn’t resist any longer. And he had kissed her. Warm lips, scented skin, alive and pungent in the rain, and the feeling of her breath on his neck as she rested her head on his shoulder for a fleeting second before diving into the warm, dry car.
Not one word, but as he’d raced back to the driver’s door, there was only one thing on his mind.
She was the passenger and he was the driver. Her chauffeur. The hired help. And that was the way it was always going to be. Unless he did something to change it.
Which was precisely what he had done.
Except to Amber he would always be the rough diamond she broke her teeth on. Girls like this did not date the help.
Sam stepped back and chuckled as he tidied away the polishing kit.
‘Relax, Amber. It takes a lot of hard work to become a journalist in today’s newspaper business. I earned this new job in the London office. Besides, I don’t need to trawl through my past history to score points with my editor. Frank Evans is far more interested in what you are doing in your life right now. Not many people retire at twenty-eight. That’s bound to cause some interest.’
‘And what about you, Sam? Are you interested in what I am doing in my life right now?’
He looked up into her face, which was suddenly calm, her gaze locked on him.
Was he interested? A wave of confusion and a hot, sweaty mixture of bittersweet memories surged through Sam. His breathing was hot and fast and for a fraction of a second he was very tempted to lean back and give her the full-on charm offensive and find out just what kind of woman Amber had become by being up close and personal—and nothing to do with his job.
Fool. Eyes on the prize.
‘The only thing I am interested in is the promotion to the job I have been working towards for ten long years in the trenches. Sorry if that disappoints you, but there it is.’
‘Ah—so your editor needs a story and you thought you could use our teenage connection to wangle the real truth from my lips. Tut, tut. What shameful tactics. And if I even hear the words “for old times’ sake”, I promise that I will pretend to cry my eyes out and sob all the way home to my good friend Saskia’s house and my girl gang will be round with my legal team in an hour. And I will do it. Believe me.’
‘Oh—cruel and unnecessary. I think I just cut myself on your need for revenge. Well, think again, because I have no intention on wandering down memory lane if I can avoid it.’
Just for a second her lips trembled and the vulnerability and tender emotion of the girl he used to know was there in front of him but, before he could explain, her lips flushed pink and she chuckled softly before answering.
‘I’m pleased to hear it, because I have something of a business proposition to put to you. And it will make things a lot simpler if we can keep our relationship on a purely professional basis.’
‘A business proposition? Well, there’s a change. The last time we met your stepbrother and your mother were doing a fine job running your life. As I remember, you didn’t have much of a business sense of your own back then.’
And the moment the words were out of his mouth Sam regretted them.
How did she do that?
He made his living out of talking to celebrities and teasing out their stories with charm and professionalism, but one look at Amber and he slotted right back into being an angsty teen showing off and saying ridiculous things. Trying to impress the girl he wanted.
Yes, Amber’s mother had been furious when she found out that her musical prodigy of a daughter was sneaking out to see the chauffeur’s son, but he didn’t have to listen when she told him how a boy like him was going to hold her daughter back and ruin her career.
He was the one who’d taken the cheque Amber’s mother had waved in front of him.
He was the one who’d marched out of Amber’s eighteenth birthday party alone, only to find a warm and receptive Petra waiting for him in the car park.
Maybe that was why it still smarted after all of these years? Because the young Sam had fallen for her mother’s lies, just as she had planned he should. Because she’d been right. What hope did Amber have if she was trapped with a no-hoper like Sam Richards?
It did not excuse what he’d done. But at least her mother cared about what happened to her child. Unlike his mother.
Amber’s head tilted to one side and she peered around his side to focus on the sports car that he had just been polishing before answering in the sweetest voice, ‘Well, some of us have moved on in the last ten years.’
The silence between them was as rigid as steel and just as icy.
Then Amber shuffled forwards in his dad’s chair and raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you know what? I have changed my mind. Perhaps it was a mistake coming here after all. Best of luck with the new job and please say hello to your dad for me. Now, if you will excuse me, I have an appointment with the features editor at another newspaper in about an hour and I would hate to be late.’
She pushed herself to her feet and waved a couple of fingers in the air. ‘See you around, Sam.’
And, without hesitating or looking back, Amber strolled towards the garage door on her wedge sandals, the skirt of her floaty dress waving back and forth over her perfect derrière as she headed out of his life, taking any chance of a career in London with her.
FOUR
‘Aren’t you going to ask me what it feels like to finally work in that shiny glass office I used to drag you down to ogle every week?’ Sam called after her. ‘I would hate for you to stay awake at night wondering how I’m coping with being a real life reporter in the big city. Come on, Amber. Have you forgotten all those afternoons you spent listening to my grand plans to be a renowned journalist one day? I know that you’re curious. Give me another five minutes to convince you to choose me instead of some other journalist to write your story.’
Amber slowed and looked back at Sam over one shoulder.
And her treacherous teenage heart skipped a beat and started disco dancing just at the sight of him.
Just for an instant the sound of her name on his lips took her right back to being seventeen again, when the highlight of her whole day, the moment she had dreamt about all night and thought about every second of the day, was hearing his voice and seeing Sam’s face again. Even if it did mean sitting in the back of the limo and in dressing rooms around the country as her mother’s unpaid assistant and general concert slave for hours on end.
It was worth it when Sam took her out for a pizza or a cola for the duration of the concert she had heard so many times she could play it herself note perfect.
She had adored him.
He had not changed that much. A little heavier around the shoulders and the waistline, perhaps, but not much. His smile had more laughter lines now and his boyish good looks had mellowed through handsome into something close to gorgeous. She was sorry to have missed the merely handsome stage. But, if she closed her eyes, his voice was the same boy she used to know.
And the charm? Oh, Lord, he had ramped up the charm to a level where she had no doubt that any female celebrity would be powerless to resist any question he put to them.
Sam had always had a physical presence that could reach out and grab her—no change there, but she had not expected to feel such a connection. Memories of the last time she came to this very garage flooded back. His ready laughter and constant good-natured teasing about watching that she didn’t knock her head on the light fittings. The nudges, the touches, the kisses.
Until he betrayed her with one of her best friends on her eighteenth birthday. And the memories of the train wreck of the weeks that followed blotted out any happiness she might have had.
Amber turned back to face Sam and planted her left hand on her hip.
‘Perhaps I am worried about all of those hidden tape recorders and video feeds which are capturing my every syllable at this very moment?’
He smiled one of those wide mouth, white teeth smiles and, in her weakened pre-dinner state, Amber had to stifle a groan. What was wrong with the man? Didn’t Sam know that the only respectable thing for him to do was to have grown fat and ruined his teeth with sugary food? He had always been sexy and attractive in a rough-edged casual way, as relaxed in his body as she had been uncomfortable in her tall gangly skin. But the years had added the character lines to his face, which glowed with vitality and rugged health. Confidence and self-assurance were the best assets any man could have and Sam had them to spare.
‘In this garage? No. You can say what you like. It’s just between us. Same as it ever was.’
The breath caught in Amber’s throat. Oh, Sam. Trust you to say exactly the wrong thing.
She flicked her hair back one-handed and covered up the bitter taste of so much disappointment with a dismissive choke. He must be desperate to go to such lengths for this interview. She had no idea how much journalists earned, but surely he didn’t need the job that much?
Drat her curiosity.
Of course she remembered the way he used to talk about how he was going to work his way through journalism school at all of the top London newspapers and be the star investigative journalist. His name would be on the front page of the big broadsheet newspapers that his dad read in the car as he waited for his clients to finish their meetings or fancy events.
Maybe that was it?
Maybe he was still hungry for the success that had eluded him. And this interview would take him up another rung in that long and rickety ladder to the front page.
She was a celebrity that he wanted to interview for his paper to win the extra points he needed for the big prize. And the bigger the story the more gold stars went onto his score sheet.
And that was all. Nothing personal. He had walked—no, he had run away from her at the first opportunity to make his precious dream of becoming a professional journalist a reality.
She did not owe him a thing.
‘Same as it ever was? In your dreams,’ she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear. ‘That editor of yours must really be putting the pressure on if you’re resorting to that line.’
Sam shrugged off her jibe but looked away and pretended to tidy up the toolbox on the bench for a second before his gaze snapped back onto her face.
‘What can I say? Unlike some people, I need the job.’ Then he laughed out loud. ‘You always had style, Amber, but retiring at twenty-eight? That takes a different kind of chutzpah. I admire that.’
He stepped forward towards her and nodded towards her arm, his eyes narrowed and his jaw loose. ‘Is it your wrist? I know you said that it was a clean break, but...’
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘It’s nothing to do with my wrist.’
‘I am glad to hear it. Then how about the other rumours? A lot of people think that you are using this announcement to start a kind of bidding war between rival orchestras around the world. Publicity stunts like this have been done before.’
‘Not by me. I won’t be making a comeback as a concert pianist. Or at least I don’t plan to.’
Amber swallowed down her unease, reluctant to let Sam see that she was still uncertain about where her life would take her.
She had made her decision to retire while recovering in hospital and she’d imagined that a simple press statement would be the easiest way to close out that part of her life. Her agent was not happy, of course—but he had other talent on his books and a steady income from her records and other contracts—she was still valuable to him.
But the hard implications were still there on the horizon, niggling at her.
Music had been her life for so long that just the thought of never performing in public again was so new that it still ruffled her. Playing the piano had been the one thing that she did well. The one and only way that she knew to earn her mother’s praise.
Of course Julia Swan would have loved her daughter to choose the violin and follow in her footsteps, but it soon became obvious that little Amber had no talent for any other instrument apart from the piano.
For a girl who was moving from one home to another, one school to another, one temporary stepdad to another, music had been one of the few constants in her life. Piano practice was the perfect excuse to avoid tedious evenings with her mother and whatever male friend or violin buff she was dating at the time.
The piano was her escape. Her refuge. It was where she could plough her love and devotion and all of the passion that was missing in her life with her bitter and demanding, needy and man-hunting mother.
So she had worked and worked, then worked harder to overcome her technical problems and excel. It was her outlet for the pain, the suppressed anger. All of it. And nobody knew just how much pain she was in.
Because there was one thing that her mother never understood—and still did not understand, even when she had tried to explain at the hospital. And then in the endless texts and emails and pleading late night phone calls begging her to reconsider and sometimes challenging her decision to retire.
Amber had always played for the joy in the music.
She was not an artist like her mother, who demanded validation and adoration. She just loved the music and wanted to immerse herself in the emotional power of it.
And Sam Richards was the only other person on this planet who had ever understood that without her having to explain it.
Until this moment she had thought that connection between them would fade with the years they had spent apart.
Wrong.
Sam was looking at her with that intense gaze that used to make her shiver with delight and anticipation of the time that they would spend together and, just for a second, her will faltered.
Maybe this was not such a good idea?
Getting her own back on Sam had seemed a perfectly logical thing to do back in the penthouse, but here in the garage which was as familiar as her own apartment, suddenly the whole idea seemed pathetic and insulting to both of them. She had made plenty of poor decisions over the past few years—surely she could forgive Sam the mistakes he had made as a teenager desperate to improve his life?
Amber opened her mouth and was just about to make an excuse when Sam tilted his head and rubbed his chin before asking, ‘I suppose this is about the money?’
And there it was. Like a slap across the face.
Her lower lip froze but she managed a thin smile. ‘Are you talking about the blood money you took from my mother to leave me alone and get out of London? To start your new career, of course.’
His mouth twisted and faltered. ‘Actually, I was thinking more about the generous donation the paper will be contributing to your favourite charity. Although I should imagine that we are not the only ones to offer you something for your time. Not that you need the money, of course. Or the publicity.’
‘You don’t think that I need publicity?’
‘Come on, Amber, your face was on billboards and the sides of buses, your last CD went into the top ten classical music charts and you have set new records for the number of followers you have on the social media sites. Publicity is not your problem.’
‘It goes with the job—I am in showbiz. Correction. Was in showbiz. That doesn’t interest me any longer.’
‘Okay then. So why are you even talking to me about doing an interview? Seeing as you don’t need the publicity.’
‘Logistics. I thought that the press would get bored after a couple of weeks and move onto the next musician. Wrong! I was almost mobbed outside the record company this morning. So it makes sense to do one comprehensive interview and get it over with.’
She waved one hand in the air. ‘One interview. One journalist.’
Sam shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, his casual smile replaced by unease.
‘Wait a minute. Are you offering me an exclusive?’ he asked. ‘What’s the catch?’
‘Oh, how suspicious you are. Well. As it happens, I might be willing to give you that interview.’ She cleared her throat and tilted her head, well aware that she had his full attention. ‘But there are a few conditions we need to agree on before I talk on the record.’
‘Conditions. This sounds like the catch part.’
‘I prefer to think of them as more of a trade. You do something for me, I do something for you. And, from what I have seen so far, you might find some of them rather challenging. Still interested?’
‘Ah. Now we have it. You know you have the upper hand so you decided to come down here to gloat?’
‘Gloat? Do you really think I would do that?’ she repeated, her words catching at the back of her throat. Was that how he thought of her? As some spoiled girl who had come to impress him with her list of achievements?