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“Your back?”
She hums, her lips twitching as she fights back a smile. “My back.”
I don’t bother to hold my grin back. “I’m glad I could help.”
She gives me a small nod and then turns to her laptop, fingers moving at lightning speed as she tackles an inbox I can only assume is as lawless a place as my own. She’s got a magnetic quality to her, something that keeps dragging my gaze away from my laptop and back to her before long.
I could watch her all day. Every time I glance up, I notice something new. Like the way she bites her bottom lip when she’s really concentrating, that makesmewant to lean in and bite her lips, to discover if they’re as luscious as they look. Or the soft sigh she huffs out every now and then. And before long I’m wondering what I’d need to do to coax those kinds of sounds out of her.
She looks up at me and frowns. “Did you need something?”
You.
The thought comes out of nowhere and plants itself front and centre in my mind. I shake my head and turn my attention back to my laptop, forcing it to stay there even when I can feel her curious gaze on me.
* * *
The club is filledwith strangers. It’s odd going from the pleasant quiet that Amber and I have cultivated over the last few weeks to hearing the constant thrum of conversation and movement from the workers shuffling in and out.
Amber spends less time in the office these days and I miss her presence. She’s busy overseeing the never-ending list of tasks assigned to her small army of contractors. If it’s not checking that they’re using the right wallpaper on the second floor, she’s printing off floor plans and pasting them on the walls or rushing between the warehouse and the club, occasionally bringing smaller pieces of furniture or decorations with her to see how they’ll look in the space.
I’m so busy organising the launch event and conducting online interviews for the property manager position that we’ve barely spoken or seen each other this week. So it brings me more than a little bit of joy when she steps into the office and plops down onto her beanbag with a soft groan.
She threads her hands through her hair and rubs at her temples. “I swear it’s like everyone wants a piece of me today.”
“Everything all right?” I ask, although I know the answer is no. The stress is evident on her face.
She nods, then shakes her head, and then groans loudly again. “Tiny scheduling mix-up. I’ve got the chandelier for the reception area being delivered now, but the electricians aren’t coming ’till Friday to work their magic and hook it up. So we’re going to have a chandelier that costs three thousand pounds just lying around for two days, which only makes me nervous.”
“You think someone will take it?”
She snorts. “No. I think someone willbreakit. But I’ve asked Ric to clear a small corner downstairs, so at least it should be out of the way.”
“It’s a giant chandelier,” I say. “It’s not like someone’s going to accidentally step on it.”
“You’d be surprised.” She shifts a little on her beanbag so she’s facing me. She’s wearing a skirt again — I think she’s worn one every day since that Saturday in the pub — and the sight of her long legs makes my throat close up just tiny bit. Is she doing this on purpose? Teasing me? Or should that be taunting?
“I once had a guy break a sofa in two.”
“How’d he manage that?” I ask with a laugh, happy for the distraction.
“No idea. I just came downstairs and the sofa was cut clean in two.” She rolls her shoulders and cocks her head to the side. “How’s your day going? Put out many fires?”
“I think I’ve settled on a property manager. She’ll be coming in next week to check things out.”
“Nice.” She grins at me like she’s genuinely happy I’ve been able to tick this off my to-do list. “And the planning for the launch? All going well?”
“For now,” I say with a shrug. “Invites are going out this week. I’ve got entertainment lined up. Just need to sort out the menu.”
“Well.” She clears her throat and looks away. “Let me know if you need any help. Event planning isn’t really my thing, but there’s definitely some crossover there, so…”
I think this might be the first time she’s ever offered to help me with something. “Thanks. We’ve got an events team back in New York who are helping me out as much as they can, but—”
A thundering crash makes us jump. There’s dead silence for a second or two, and then somebody downstairs starts shouting.
“Shit.” Amber leaps up from her beanbag and scrambles for the door. “The chandelier. Shit. Shit. Shit.”
I follow her as she races downstairs, a stream of frustrated curses flowing from her mouth.
