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An evening with Harper could do wonders for her, but it would only be a temporary fix. It pained her to turn him down. “I said I can’t.”
“Baby, what’s wrong? You sound all nasal.”
“I’m fine. It’s just…allergies. Terrible hay fever.”
What a stupid lie. But maybe he’d buy it.
“Take an antihistamine then. And get yourself all prettied up and come to my place for dinner.”
Can’t he take a hint? “Harper, if you want sex, I don’t think—”
He laughed. “Of course I want sex, Amber. You’re hot, and I like you. But that’s not what this is about. Just say you’ll come. Please?”
“I really can’t.”
“You won’t regret it, I promise.”
Of course she wouldn’t regret it. She’d never regret spending time with him. But she was screwed up right now. Her eyes were swollen and her nose red. She glanced at the clock beside her bed. Two.
“What time?”
“How does six sound?”
Four hours. Could she get herself together in that amount of time? God knew she needed something to get her mind off the mess she was in. She couldn’t accomplish anything toward her goal of twenty grand on a Sunday evening. Why not spend it with Harper?
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
“Great! I can’t wait to see you. Bye now.”
“Bye.”
She turned her head back into her pillow and cried some more.
* * *
An hour later she steeled herself and rose from the bed. A quick look in her bathroom mirror and she considered calling Harper to cancel. She looked like death, to put it bluntly. Not death warmed over.
Just death.
Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks and hair matted with tears and snot, her skin pasty and gray, her nose so red she could double as Rudolph.
Like an idiot, she’d neglected to get the web site information and password from Blake Buchanan, so she couldn’t do any research on her little problem. He hadn’t left a number, just said he’d be in touch.
Asshole.
She turned on the shower and cranked the water as hot as it would go. She needed heat, and then she’d splash her face with cold when she got out. Hopefully that would avert some of the swelling.
She washed her hair twice and conditioned it with a hot oil treatment. When she dried off and looked at her face, she was pleasantly surprised. She splashed several handfuls of cold water over it, and she looked almost normal. Eye drops got rid of the red eyes. Her eyelids were still slightly swollen, but probably not noticeable to anyone who didn’t know to look for it. Now if she could just keep from crying until after she got home from Harper’s.
That’s all it took—just that one thought and tears started to flow. She gulped them away. Nope. Had to stay strong at least for tonight. Heck, for tomorrow too. She had to go into work. She needed all the money she could make right now.
She dried her hair and pulled it into a high ponytail. The stretch would make her face look less cried out. Well, it was a thought anyway. She put on just a touch of makeup and lipstick.
She dressed in a denim miniskirt and silk blouse. She slid on navy mules and pronounced herself fit—as well as could be expected—for human eyes.
She had an hour before she needed to leave, so she got her tablet out and Googled Rachel’s. Time to find out what might be going on.
Marta. That was the woman’s name. She was European—German, or Austrian. Amber never knew which one. She went only by Marta. She wasn’t stuck with a stupid stage name like Ambrosia Love.
