How can Spencer deprive other addicts of the gift of healing that I found in this place? How can he do something so selfish all in the name of making a profit?
The burn of his fingers on my skin jolts me back to the present. I recoil at his touch. “You okay?” he whispers to me. He’s leaning in to me so close that his breath causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand. But this time, it’s not his sexual prowess that has me so reactive. It’s disgust. I’m disgusted by his greed and his self-centeredness and his egotism.
I feel like running as far away from him as I can, but instead, I whisper. “Do you need me in here right now? I need to get some fresh air.”
Spencer glances over at Mr. Gaston who is on the phone having an animated conversation in French. His face is fully red and he looks like the vein on the side of his neck is about to pop violently. “Go on,” Spencer says, helping me ease my padded folding chair away from the wood veneer conference table. My heels click loudly against the scuffed vinyl flooring as I rush towards the door.
As soon as the door closes behind me, I grip the wall for balance. I take deep breaths trying to compose myself. Tears sting at the back of my eyes. I have so many memories in this building.
I wander through the halls of the treatment facility. The fluorescent lights glare down on me casting a spotlight on my pathetic being.
Who am I fooling?
I can’t keep this up. I can’t keep pretending that I’m this upstanding lawyer-in-training who has it all together. I’m nothing but a junkie. I’m just an addict who desperately needs a fix right this minute.
I stumble past an open door and a loud voice booms out to greet me. I peer inside. A short woman with greying hair is standing at the front of the room, blotting her eyes with a wad of tissues. Her voice carries out the door. “Everyday is a struggle,” she says, barely holding herself together. “Everyday I struggle against the urge to shoot up, to get high again. It’s scary and it’s lonely and if I didn’t have all of you to support me, I don’t know where I would be right now.” The small crowd throws encouraging words at her. “I thank you all so much. My family’s gone. My friends are gone. My job is gone. You’re what’s keeping me together.”
I find myself moving towards the front of the room. My loud clicking heels announce my presence and eyeballs turn to look in my direction. I look out of place. I feel out of place. With my long black trousers and smart blazer, my deep green satin blouse, my freshly manicured nails. Still, on the inside, I’m no different from these people. I’m no less vulnerable.
The woman at the front of the room moves back to her seat and the moderator asks if anyone else would like to share. I feel myself walk up to the front and twenty-something skeptical eyes stare up at me.
“My name is Amber…and…and I’m an addict.” My hands are trembling. Though I routinely slip into NA meetings in Brooklyn, I haven’t shared at a meeting since I left rehab. I swallow hard and purse my lips to bite back some of my nerves before continuing. “I – It’s been a while since I’ve been clean. Almost a year? – Yeah, about a year…I started using prescription drugs to help me concentrate during law school. I couldn’t keep up with my classes. I was always behind. I was struggling. The pills were supposed to help. But then, I got hooked. I couldn’t function without them – My mom came to New York, picked me up and brought me here. To this very building. It was hard work, but I did it. And, I’m so proud…But I’m also ashamed. I work at a law firm now. And I’ve been hiding my addiction. And it’s so heavy. It’s so lonely. And I’m struggling. I want to take a few pills so bad –“ My voice cracks and tears spill from my eyes. “I’ve had an awful day and I was just walking through the halls, thinking about how badly I wanted to take a few pills, and I heard you –“ I gesture towards the woman who was speaking when I walked in, “—I heard you talking, and I just want to thank you, all of you. Because of you, I’ll be clean for one more day.” I run the sleeve of my jacket along my tear-stained face. The people in the room are cheering me on, congratulating me on my decision to stay clean. I lower myself into an empty seat and the moderator takes the floor again.
He addresses the room, “Thank you all for sharing today. I say this every week, but it takes loads of courage to stay clean. So, before we head on back to our regular lives, let’s hold hands again and say the closing prayer.” Everybody shuffles to their feet and joins hands.
Just then, a deep voice speaks up from the back of the room.
“Wait – wait—I have something to say.”
I pivot in the direction of the door to see Spencer approaching the front of the room.
Chapter 23
My face flushes deep, deep red.
My mind is racing, I’ve been found out. My secret is out of the bag. Spencer will report me to Mr. Moretti and I’ll lose my job. No other firm will ever hire me. My career is over before it’s even begun.
Spencer approaches the front of the room. As he passes me, his eyes float over my face. He’s wearing an expression that I can’t identify and yet again, I want to fade into nothingness.
He fiddles with his tie. He looks so much less confident than he usually does. He clears his throat and pushes his fingers nervously through his hair before he speaks.
“My name is Spencer – Spencer Harrison – and I’m a real estate developer.” I hear a low grumble resonate throughout the room. Spencer hears it too but he continues anyway. “I run a company that builds up condos for wealthy people all over the world and I’ve put in a bid to buy this building.” Rage is bubbling in the room, just beneath the surface. Spencer pauses as the moderator coaxes the room to simmer down. He swallows a lump in his throat before continuing. “I told you that I’m a real estate developer, but more importantly, I’m human – Three years ago, my wife, the woman I’d been in love with since I was 15 years old, she died. She was carrying my baby – I went from being a blissfully happy husband and excited would-be dad to being broken and alone in the wink of an eye.” His voice cracks and his eyes mist over. “The pain was too much. I needed to be numb. That’s why I started taking the anti-depressants...And the sleeping pills because no matter how tired I was, I could never sleep….I know you think I’m the enemy, that I’m trying to steal this building away from the community to move a bunch of snobby rich people into the neighborhood, but the truth is, that’s not my intention at all.” He looks me square in the face. Tears gather in my eyes and spill down my face as his revelation rips through me. I pull my knuckles across my cheek to wipe them away. “You see, when I was alone and broken and addicted to prescription medication, this place saved my life. This institution saved me so there’s no way I could tear it down…My name is Spencer Harrison…and I’m an addict too.”
In Your Arms Tonight
(The Esquire Girls Series)
Amber (book 2)
Cassie-Ann L. Miller
In Your Arms Tonight (The Esquire Girls Series) – Amber (Book 2)
Copyright © 2014 Cassie-Ann L. Miller
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents appearing therein are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be interpreted as real. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status of the various products referenced in this work.
Table of contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 1<
br />
We spent the night, skin to skin, bodies intertwined, breaths in sync. Yesterday brought me closer to Spencer than I’ve ever been to any person in my entire life – from his unexpected confessions during the meeting to our earth-shattering sex back in his suite to the way he held me, with his face nestled in my hair while I slept.
But now it’s morning time – time to leave the fairytale behind and return to reality.
And our particularly bleak reality is that he is one of my firm’s biggest clients and, if anyone finds out that we’ve shared a bed, my career will be over before it’s even begun.
I can hold on to the fantasy for just a few more hours, though.
Before heading back to New York, there is one last meeting Spencer must attend, the most important of them all. A one-on-one with Jean-Pierre Gaston. This is Spencer’s last chance to try and convince Gaston to accept DisSpence Group’s bid to purchase the Notre-Dame-de-Saint-Marc Rehabilitation Institute, a property that Spencer is beyond determined to own. While all the other bidders are vying for the property with the intention of demolishing the rehabilitation center and replacing it with condos, Spencer intends to keep the treatment center open for the benefit of its patients. That’s a decision I support 100% given that the center has had such a big impact on both of our personal lives.
This meeting is a big deal for Spencer. I can see the anxiety painted all over his handsome face as he prepares.
I lay back on the bed, admiring his reflection in the mirror as he sits at the edge of the mattress skillfully looping a black and grey satin necktie into a perfect knot. The tie is worn and has started to tear a bit at the edges. I’ve seen him wear it before.
I ease myself up and crawl next to him. I place a kiss behind his left ear. “Why are you wearing that silly old tie to this important meeting?” I whisper as I smooth out a wrinkle in the fabric of his light blue shirt, “Don’t you have something else that isn’t so…worn?”
He doesn’t look at me. “It’s my favorite.” His tone is curt. His words, sharp.
“But you’re a billionaire,” I tease sticking my tongue into his ear.
“How do you know that?” His voice is becoming testy.
“Because Forbes magazine says so,” I respond sheepishly, shifting away to put some distance between us. I think I’ve struck a nerve in him.
“Well, Forbes is very presumptuous.” Irritation coats his every word.
What the fuck is his problem? I think to myself, It’s just a fucking tie! I scoot away from him, retreating to the far side of the bed.
He heaves a dense sigh and turns to face me. “Chloe gave me this tie. I wore it the day I closed my first deal. It’s my lucky tie.”
Understanding washes over me as he utters his wife’s name. I feel like such a superficial idiot. “Oh…” I say in a small voice. The silence between us is heavy as he turns back to the mirror, his shoulders rigid, his expression somber. I scoot back over to him and rub his shoulders, coaxing him to relax. “So, I guess the frays on your tie are proof that you’ve had lots of luck.” His lips curve slightly into a soft smile. “Today will be perfect,” I whisper reassuringly. He reaches up and places his hand on mine. He squeezes it softly. His lips touch my forehead lightly before he grabs his briefcase and is out the door.
Chapter 2
I’ve been waiting at the coffee shop nearly forty minutes for her to show up. Granted, she does have a baby to tend to and she does have to drive almost two hours to get here. But that doesn’t change the fact that my older sister is always late.
“BAMBI!” she squeals as soon as she spots me in the crowded coffee shop. I stand to greet her as she barrels towards me like a freight train and thrusts herself into my arms. I step back quickly out of concern that the embrace will crush my six-month-old nephew, Dylan, who is bouncing in the baby carrier strapped to her chest. “Look at you! So professional in your little business suit! Mom should be here right now! She would die!” She pulls out her cellphone and flips it open. “Wait, let me take a picture for mom!” Before I can protest, I hear the shutter click half a dozen times.
Already deflated after less than a whole minute with my sister, I slide back down into my chair. “Look at him – he’s getting so big!” I gawk at baby Dylan as I stoke his tiny foot affectionately.
“Actually, the doctor said he’s underweight and small for his age – which you would know if you called more often or came to see us every once in a while. You don’t have to be all stuck up just because you work at a big law firm in New York City now.” I catch a glimpse of the resentment building up in my sister’s chest.
“Edie, please don’t start with the guilt trip,” I plead calling her by her childhood nickname. I want this visit to be short and sweet. ‘Short’ because I’m due to meet with Spencer for our flight in about two hours. ‘Sweet’ because my Eden is known to pull out the claws and scrap viciously whenever she’s out of her element.
Eden pushes a golden tendril behind her ear and narrows her eyes. Despite her frown, she’s as beautiful as ever.
Ugh! What I would give to be gorgeous like her. I’ve always wished that I had been a blonde like my mother and my sisters. Actually, even if I had been a red head, I could at least take comfort in the fact that I’d inherited my looks from my father’s side of the family. But I stick out like a sore thumb in every family photo, never quite fitting in with my pitch-black hair and dark brown eyes. My father has never denied me of anything he’s bestowed on my sisters. Still, he’d openly questioned my paternity on many a drunken night during my childhood.
To tell the truth, I have trouble believing that I’m related to any of my family members; not only do we share no physical resemblance, but our personalities differ too. Everyone in the Roberts family is exceedingly rowdy and boisterous while, try as I might, I always come across as meek next to them.
I try to change the subject. “How’s Emmy doing?” I ask referring to our little sister, Emery, as Edie takes a long swig of the iced tea I had waiting for her when she showed up. The ice is all melted and the drink is now a diluted shadow of what it’s meant to be. As she tastes it, she grimaces before staring at the tall, transparent plastic glass with disgust plastered across her face.
Eden shoves the glass to the far end of our small rectangular table, pushes a deep breath beyond her lips and says, “Bambi, I haven’t seen you since last Thanksgiving. We have one hour together today. I don’t wanna talk about Emmy.” Growing up, Edie always had to be in control. As the oldest of three sisters, she insisted on being the boss and was always trying to ‘parent’ me and Emery while our mom and dad were off drunk-fighting somewhere. “So, spill the juice. Who are you fucking? And is he any good at it?”
Red rushes to my cheeks as I glance around to see if anyone else heard her crude questions.
She squeals at my reaction. “Ooooh! Do tell!” She leans forward eagerly and the poor baby’s head jerks backwards.
“Watch it, Eden!” I chide gesturing to Dylan’s head which is precariously close to the edge of the table.
She glances down at him and cups the back of his skull in her palms before straightening her posture. “So…spill it, Bambi,” Eden presses insistently. “Is he a rich, old lawyer? Is it your boss? Are you screwing your boss?” Her eyes twinkle excitedly.
My mind flashes to Mr. Moretti, the managing partner of Cartwright Moretti Stevenson where I work. I scowl deeply at the thought of being intimate with my 60-year-old boss. “No, Edie. I’m not ‘screwing’ my boss.”
Eden is persistent. “Well, I know you’re screwing somebody ‘cause your face has that after-sex glow written all over it!” She gently tugs a small fistful of her hair from Dylan’s grasp without looking down at him.
How do I explain my ‘Spencer situation’ tactfully? “Well, I was seeing someone casually until recently,” I offer and it’s the truth – Spencer and I have to end things before we get back to New York tonight. If not, I risk losing my job.
; Eden sighs, disappointed. “Well, that’s a shame because you look absolutely gorgeous and I know he’s the reason.”
I sigh, too. Just my luck that I have to walk away from the first guy in years who’s made me feel something. I perk up for my sister’s sake. “My whole focus is on work right now, Edie. That’s all I really care about.”
“Well, that’s too bad,” she says a frown appearing between her brows before she places a kiss on the crown of her son’s head. “You’re only young once, sis.”
Chapter 3
The knock at my hotel room door is loud and impatient.
I tie the sash of my red satin robe around my waist as I rush to answer it, my wet hair wrapped in a big towel.
Through the peephole, I see Spencer’s excited face on the other side of the door.
Amber Nights - The Esquire Girls Series - Amber's Story (Books 1, 2, 3 & 4) - Box Set Page 7
