CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

NOAH

I hold her like a life preserver in turbulent waters. Only the touch of her lips can calm me.

Been one of those days. Meetings that have tested my steel. We’re purchasing an old hotel in New Orleans, and until this morning, I thought we had a deal. Now they want an extra hundred and fifty thousand. That won’t work for us, and I gave them until the end of the week. “Take our offer, or we’re out.”

Sure, I’ll be disappointed if things don’t go our way, but life will continue. We have another team researching a second option in case this deal falls through. New Orleans is a profitable locale. We have a hotel there already, and the revenue is spectacular. We want to double it. And we will.

I’ve been getting calls from my mother, asking about my plus one for her party. Somehow, Farrah Conner has gotten wind that I’m bringing someone, and she wants to hear all about her.

Farrah’s a conniving, no account… She rubs me the wrong way and has since childhood. Always nicey-nice around my parents. They don’t have a clue.

“Be careful around her, Mom,” I always tell her, and she always retorts, “Oh, Noah. Stop it.”

She doesn’t want to see the gold digger my brothers and I see. Farrah Conner’s father is losing money faster than they can print it, and there’s a lifestyle change in Farrah’s future that isn’t all that appealing. The only way of avoiding it is to find a rich man. Dalton rich, preferably.

I did get a dose of welcoming news when Tom let me know they hired Amber. He said she was just what they were looking for, and she would fit right in. That’s good. A win for everybody.

“Thanks, Tom.”

“You bet, buddy.”

I knock on Amber’s door, and she opens it. Steps out into the hall and greets me. I go in for a kiss right away. Her lips are soft against mine, and she moans. I run my hand down her spine and rub her ass. I want her more than anything, but it needs to wait. It just does.

I pull away. Her eyes sparkle. “We should go, or we’ll be late.”

She gives me a bitter smile.

I caress her cheek. “You want to grab your purse?”

“Wait here.” She goes back in and shuts the door. Really doesn’t want me to see inside her place.

She comes back out. “Ready.” She closes the door, inserts a key, turns the lock.

“You look beautiful this evening,” I tell her.

“Thank you,” she answers. “Where are we going?”

“Surprise.” I take her hand. “How was your first day of work?”

“Great. People are nice there.”

“It’s an excellent company. Tom’s a good guy. I think you’ll like it there.”

“I think I will, too.”

We step out of the building, and the driver opens the back door of the Lincoln. “Evening, ma’am.”

Amber slides in. I follow, and the door closes.

“Thank you for helping me get the job.” She kisses my cheek.

I feel like mauling her. “I didn’t do much. Just set up a meeting, and you took care of the rest.”

She intertwines her fingers with mine. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

We get out of the car.

“Meet you back here in two hours,” I tell the driver.

“Yes, sir,” he answers and pulls out.

“I haven’t had a chance to visit Central Park yet,” Amber says. “This is nice.”

“It is.” I clasp her hand and walk.

We stroll on. The foot traffic this time of day is mostly couples, and they all seem so lovestruck. Holding hands. Sneaking glances. Stealing kisses. I can’t help myself. I stop and gaze into Amber’s eyes. Plant one on her. Her lips are soft and sensual. Her tongue magical.

She wraps her arms around my neck.

I bring my hands to the small of her back.

The world disappears. Just her and I.

“Get a fuckin’ room, man,” says some smart-ass in a group of boys.

His buddies chuckle, and Amber pushes away, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“That’s all right.”

I give the miscreants a wave, and Amber and I move again. Before long, we reach our destination.

“Tavern On The Green.” Amber can barely contain herself. “Wow.”

We’re escorted to an outdoor table.

The waiter shows up and asks, “Would you care for anything to drink?”

“A glass of Cabernet for me,” I answer. “Would you like one, Amber?”

“Water for me, please.”

“You sure?”

“I have work tomorrow, and I want to be at my best. This job is important to me. Do you understand?”

“Of course.” I look at the waiter. “Two waters.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” I motion for the waiter to be on his way.

Amber takes in her surroundings. Lights are strung everywhere. Candles on tables. Trees and shrubs.

She smiles and shakes her head. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

I reach across the table and take her hand. “Thanks for coming.”

The waiter brings us water and takes our order. We’ll start with chopped vegetable salad and roasted garlic shrimp. The main course for me is a dry-aged NY sirloin with a side of lumpy mashed potatoes. Amber orders braised short ribs and shoestring fries.

“Very well.” The waiter heads for the kitchen.

“I’m sorry for not asking before,” Amber says. “But how was your day?”

“Fine.” She doesn’t need to hear the intricate details. And I don’t want to repeat them. Might become agitated if I do.

People sing Happy Birthday, and a server carries a chocolate cake with one flaming candle in the center to a large table. The birthday girl is eighty, if not a day. The whole family appears to be with her. Children and grandchildren. Possibly grandchildren.

Now I think of my mother and her birthday that’s coming up. I need to work on being a better son.

The waiter brings our appetizers, and we begin. It’s excellent, as expected. Conversation is light when he brings the main course. By the time we reach the end of the meal, I’ve finished telling her about my day. How did she get it out of me? Maybe she’s the one who needs to close the New Orleans deal for us. It’s a thought.

The waiter returns and asks if we care for dessert. I try to talk Amber into ordering something, but she refuses. “Way too full.”

I decline as well because I don’t want to be a pig.

“Very well.” The waiter gathers the empty plates. “I’ll get the check.”

He walks away, and I say to Amber, “Have you thought about coming to my mother’s birthday party with me?”

She sips her water. “It’s tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“You think that’s a good idea?”

“I do. Be much more enjoyable with you there.” I’m groveling again. I don’t understand it. “So, what do you think?”

She taps her glass with a fingernail. “What time?”

Yes!