Her Sweet Surrender: The First Crush Is the Deepest. Nina HarringtonЧитать онлайн книгу.
she replied in disgust. ‘I seem to have an inbuilt boy repellent at the moment. One taste and they run. Unlike some people we know. Come on, Amber. What’s the latest on that hunky mountain man we saw you with in the celeb mags?’
‘History. Gone. Finished,’ Amber replied and took a sip of wine before passing it to Saskia. ‘But I live in hope. If I ever get out of this powder room I am going to start fund-raising for my friend Parvita’s charity in India and, you never know, I might meet someone over the next few months. I visited the orphanage with her a few months ago and I promised the girls that I would go back if I could.’ Her eyes stared over their heads at the large white tiles. ‘It is the most fabulous place and right on the beach,’ she added in a dreamy faraway voice.
Then her shoulders slumped. ‘Who am I kidding? Heath would be furious with me for even thinking about going back to India.’
‘Heath? You mean, as in your stepbrother Heath?’ Kate whispered. ‘Why should he object to you going to India?’
Amber took a breath and looked over at Saskia and then back to Kate. ‘Because he worries about me. You see, I didn’t just fall over my suitcase and break my wrist. I had just got back from India and I sort of collapsed. There was an outbreak of...’
The sound of raucous laughter cut Amber off mid-sentence as a horde of noisy chattering women burst into the ladies room. Their voices echoed around the tiled space in an explosion of sound.
Amber pressed both hands to her ears. ‘Sounds like the speeches are over and I have just heard the word karaoke.’ She gestured towards the entrance. ‘We might be able to sneak out the side entrance if we are quick. My apartment is the nearest. Then I’ll tell you what really happened in India and why Heath is as worried as I am.’
‘Tell me what you know about Bambi DuBois.’
The question hit Sam Richards right between the eyes, just as he was swallowing down the last of his coffee, and he almost choked on the coarse grounds in the bottom of the cup.
Frank Evans strode into the corner office as though he had a hurricane behind his back and waved a colour magazine in front of Sam’s nose.
Sam sniffed and gave his new boss a one-handed hat tip salute. Frank had made his name in the media company by being one of the sharpest editors in the business who only worked with the best, but Sam had already been warned that Frank had not earned the editor’s desk through his personnel skills.
‘And good morning to you too, Frank,’ Sam replied. ‘And thank you for your warm welcome to the London office.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Frank shooed a hand in Sam’s direction and pointed to the desk. ‘Take a seat. Monday madness. Worse than ever. You know what it’s like. The chief is on my back and it’s not nine o’clock yet. Time to rock and roll. You talk. I listen. Let’s hear it. Show me that you’re not completely out of touch with the London scene after all those years out in the wilderness.’
Sam stifled a laugh. So much for an easy first day in the new job.
Frank settled the seat of his over tight suit onto the wide leather chair on the other side of the modern polymer table and ran his short stubby fingers through his receding grey hair before drinking down what must now be cold milky coffee.
His cheap tie was already tugged down a couple of inches and his shirt sleeves had missed the iron, but in contrast his eyes sparkled with intelligence as he leant his arms on one of the cleanest and most organised desks Sam had ever seen.
Bambi DuBois? The shock of hearing her name kept Sam frozen to the spot, cup in hand, before his brain kicked in and he frowned as though thinking about an answer. A few manly coughs gave him just enough time to pull together a casual reply to the editor who he had previously only spoken to twice on the telephone.
The editor who had the power to decide whether he had a future career in this newspaper—or not.
This was definitely not the perfect start to his dream job that he had imagined!
Lowering his cup onto a coaster, Sam assumed his very best bored and casual disinterested journalist’s face. His career depended on this man’s decision.
‘Do you mean Amber DuBois? English concert pianist. Blonde. Leggy. Popular with the top fashion designers, who like her to wear their gowns at performances.’ He shrugged at the newspaper editor and new boss who was staring at him so intently. ‘I think she was the face of some cosmetic company a few years ago. And I would hardly call Los Angeles the wilderness.’
Frank slid a magazine across the desk. ‘Make that the biggest cosmetic company in Asia and you are getting close. But you seem to have missed something out. Have a look at this.’
Sam took his time before picking it up and instantly recognised it as the latest colour supplement from their main competitor’s weekly entertainment section. And any confusion he might have had about Frank’s question vanished into the stiflingly hot air of the prized corner office.
The cover ran a full colour half page photograph of Amber ‘Bambi’ DuBois in a flowing azure dress with a jewel-encrusted tiny strapless bodice.
The shy, gangly teenage girl he had once known was gone—and in her place was a beautiful, elegant woman who was not just in control but revelling in her talent.
Amber was sitting at a black grand piano with one long, slender, silky leg stretched out to display a jewelled high heeled sandal and Sam was so transfixed by how stunning she looked that it took him a microsecond to realise that his new boss was tapping the headline with the chewed end of his ballpoint pen.
International Concert Pianist Amber DuBois Shocks the Classical Music World by Announcing her Retirement at 28. But the Question on Everyone’s Lips is: Why? What Next for ‘Bambi’ DuBois?
Sam looked up at his editor and raised his eyebrows just as Frank leant across the desk and slapped one heavy hand down firmly onto the cover so that his fingers were splayed out over Amber’s chest.
‘I smell a story. There has to be some very good reason why a professional musician like Amber DuBois suddenly announces her retirement out of the blue when she is at the top of her game.’
Frank aimed a finger at Sam’s chest and fired. ‘The rumour is that our Amber is jumping on the celebrity bandwagon of adopting a vanity charity project in India to spend her money on, but her agent is refusing to comment. As far as I am concerned, this is a ruse to get the orchestras begging her to come back with a solid platinum hello. And I want this paper to get in there first with the real story.’
Frank sat back in his wide leather chair and folded his arms.
‘More to the point—I want you to go out there and bring back an exclusive interview with the lovely Miss DuBois. You can consider this your first assignment.’
Then Frank shrugged. ‘You can thank me for the opportunity later.’
The words stayed frozen in the air as though trapped inside an iceberg large enough to sink his new job in one deadly head-on collision.
Thank him?
For a fraction of a second Sam wondered if this was some sort of joke. A bizarre initiation ceremony into the world of the London office of GlobalStar Media, and there was a secret camera hidden in the framed magazine covers behind Frank’s head which were recording just how he was reacting to the offer of this amazing opportunity.
Sam flexed out the fingers of both hands so that he wouldn’t scrunch up the magazine and toss it back to Frank with a few choice words about what he thought of his little joke, while his normally sharp brain worked through a few options to create a decent enough excuse as to why Frank should find another journalist for this particular gig.
Sam inhaled slowly as each syllable sank in. It had taken