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He may have also done a little creeping- er- digging, in which he paid some very unsavory character to find out the finer details of Amberina’s life. She was still single. She owned her own business, Ingenuity & Imagination Event Planning. She was the sole employee as far as he knew.
Trey told himself this was just a nice way to make his father pay. He also wanted to see Ambi and apologize. He’d never been able to properly tell her how sorry he was. For everything.
He knew she wouldn’t listen. Ambi was Ambi. She was gorgeous, compassionate, kind, and also, tough as nails. He figured she’d rather kick him in the balls by way of an apology than listen to anything he had to say. Hell, he might just let her try.
Trey adjusted his tie for the millionth time. He had a cheque in his hand, compliments of Sandy in accounting. Ten percent and the six grand Ambi demanded for her services. Sarah was more than a little shocked when he’d breezed by her desk that morning and told her he’d be handling the event planning from here on out. She’d gladly passed over a yellow lined page with the few details she scrawled down and told him the event planner, someone named Annie, was going to be dropping by at three for the deposit.
He’d told her to show Ambi to their board room, stressing that her name wasn’t Annie, even if it was a dick move.
It was ten after three and Sarah had just called his office to inform him that his appointment, Ambi, was there. At least she’d got her name right. He’d thanked her and hung up while she was still talking. He then proceeded to pace the hallway outside the board room for a good five minutes, the check growing sweaty and clammy in his palm.
He could practically smell Ambi’s scent lingering in the hall. She hated perfume and only wore natural products. She disliked deodorant and chose instead to use lemons- yes, real lemons. It was crazy, but it worked for her and she always smelled delicious. Clean and fresh with the underlying scent of lemon and the floral tang of her natural shampoo. Mixed with her own special blend of pheromones and whatever else she was putting out there, she was always this heady, intoxicating mix of perfection.
Finally, he took a deep breath, one he swore was lemon tinged, squared his shoulders, and pushed open the solid door to one of their larger meeting rooms.
The thing was fully stocked with its own coffee bar, large screen TV mounted on the wall, projector, a massive table surrounded by at least twenty expensive leather office chairs, and a myriad of abstract art purchased straight from some gallery in New York that neither he nor his father gave a shit about.
His house was pretty much the same story. Entirely soulless. Put together by a designer more interested in a commission than in what he truly wanted.
Trey had just a second between the time his hand left the door handle and Ambi’s head jerked up from the notepad in front of her to observe her.
She’d always had this incredible head of raven black hair. She hated haircuts and it was pretty obvious that she still had that strange opinion that hairdressers were akin to the devil. A river of sleek silky hair flowed down her back, spilling over the table and chair in long blue-black currents. She was dressed professionally, at least from what he could see of her above the table. A black dress that was tight enough to show off the fact that she had nice breasts, but not tight enough to be in bad taste for a business meeting. It nipped in at her narrow waist. She’d always looked good in dark and bright colors and she’d paired the dress with a fire engine red cardigan and a vintage gold necklace with a bold pendant that boasted a cluster of jade stones.
“Miss Danby,” Trey said, letting the words roll off his tongue, smooth and delicious like burnt sugar.
Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice. It only took about three seconds for her beautiful features- and god, she was beautiful- to contort in horror. Her huge blue eyes nearly popped out of the sockets. Her dark brows shot straight up her forehead. A bright flush of pink appeared on her delicate skin right above the high slashes of her cheekbones. Her nostrils flared and her perfect bow lips, done in a shade of bright red to match her sweater, parted in shock.
“You!” She exclaimed, half accusation and half slur before she scrambled to push her chair back.
The thing was huge and Ambi flailed as her feet kicked, which was a mistake, given that the chairs were ergonomic, obscenely expensive and all that bullshit. They were quite springy at the back and instead of holding up Ambi’s weight and stalling her momentum, the chair kicked back, sending her tumbling head over heels straight to the floor.
