Page 41

I walk back into the dining room and see that Amber has not only finished her wine, but she’s halfway through mine as well.
“I’m sorry,” she says, shrugging cheekily with the glass at her mouth. “It jumped into my hand. What’s a girl to do?”
“It’s fine,” I say, and even I can hear how absentminded I sound.
“Drake… Are you okay?” she asks, all playfulness gone.
“I don’t know. Do you—” I lean back and study her face for a long moment. “Do you think I’m a good man?”
“I absolutely do. One of the best I’ve ever known. Sometimes the fact that you seem to like me is the only assurance I have that I’m not a terrible person. And our friendship is sometimes the only thing that makes my life tolerable.”
It’s a bleak statement and completely at odds with the stylish, charming persona she projects to most of the world. Depending on her mood and who she’s with, she can come across as an ice queen, a bitch, a charismatic hostess, or a tireless fundraiser. But so few people see this side of Amber James—the side that lives with constant pain.
“That’s a terrible thing to say, Amber. Lots of people like you.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like they really know me.” The husky sound she makes could be interpreted as a laugh if you weren’t looking into her eyes. “Not like you do. And the irony is that I can’t even tell Elijah the truth. I’m only sorry I dragged you into it.”
I reach across the table and take her delicate hand in mine. “You didn’t drag me into anything, and Elijah loves you andhe always will, no matter what. Now, can I talk to you about a woman?”
Her gorgeous eyes widen, and her perfectly made-up lips curve into an O of surprise. “Oh darling, of course you can. I’ve been waiting years to hear those words come out of your mouth.”
Steeling myself, I take a deep breath, then I pour my heart out to my sister-in-law, telling her all about the woman who haunts my every waking thought.
Chapter
Nineteen
AMELIA
I’ve been dreading today with an absolute passion. I considered calling in sick or resigning. I even considered sourcing a fake identity and moving to Costa Rica. But here I am, ready for the James and James New York office’s annual team-building day. Hooray. Go team.
It’s all being held at a swanky hotel in Long Beach, and everyone else seems thrilled about it. Free room, free food, free booze—I mean, what’s not to like? Everything else, that’s what. Like the fact that Linda from HR has given us all tasks to complete and we’re all required to give presentations about our work. Worst of all, everyone is expected to take part in “trust workshops.” What does that even mean?
I was complaining to Kimmy about it on the phone last night. “Come on,” I said. “I can’t be the only one who thinks it’s crazy.”
“I think you’re being very cynical, Amelia,” she replied, glasses clinking in the background. She was, unsurprisingly, at a bar. “It sounds to me like you’re not being a team player.”
“Maybe I’m not a team player. Maybe you wouldn’t be either if it involved spending a night in a hotel with Linda from HR.”
“We all have a Linda from HR, my love, they come with the office space. Show her some love, she’ll open up like a little flower.”
I snorted in response to that. “Yeah. One of those carnivorous flowers that eats secretaries for breakfast.”
“An Amelia flytrap?”
“Exactly,” I replied, folding a pair of socks and adding them to my overnight bag.
“Will there be men there?” she asked. “Or women, of course, if I can persuade you to be a little more open-minded.”
“It’s not about being open-minded, and you very well know it. I’m just not sexually attracted to women.”
“More’s the pity. It doubles your dating pool. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes, Kimmy, there will be men there. And no, Kimmy, I’m not planning on fucking any of them. And bye, Kimmy, I’ve got to go finish packing. Or get takeout from that place that gave us horrendous food poisoning last March. That might be less painful.”
The last sound I heard was her laughter as I hung up, which did at least make me smile. I told myself Kimmy probably had the right attitude. I shouldn’t be taking this too seriously. And anyway, it might be fun.
But now I’m here. And so far, it is not fun. The name tag I was given at registration only serves to remind me of Emily’s wedding, thus tanking my already sour mood.