Her Sweet Surrender. Nina Harrington
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CHAPTER NINE
The First Crush Is the Deepest
Nina Harrington
You never forget your first…
Sam Richards was Amber DuBois’s first crush, first kiss and first love. Until he broke her heart and left town.
Now older and wiser, world-famous concert pianist Amber is at a crossroads in her life. But the sweetheart who spurned her is back—hotter, richer and in need of a favor! Glamour, romance and old heartaches resurface, but will her first crush stand the test of time?
The First Crush Is the Deepest
“Are you offering me an exclusive?” Sam asked. “What’s the catch?”
“Oh, how suspicious you are. Well. As it happens, I might be willing to give you that interview.” Amber cleared her throat and tilted her head, well aware that she had his full attention. “But there are a few conditions we need to agree on before I talk on the record.”
“Conditions. This sounds like the catch part.”
“I prefer to think of them as more of a trade. You do something for me, I do something for you.”
“Ah. Now we have it. You know you have the upper hand so you decided to come down here to gloat?”
“Gloat?” she repeated. “Do you really think I would do that?” Her words caught at the back of her throat. Was that how he thought of her? “I haven’t changed that much, Sam. You need an interview and I have a few things I need doing, which you might be able to help me with. It’s as simple as that.”
“Simple? Nothing about you was ever simple, Amber.”
NINA HARRINGTON grew up in rural Northumberland, England, and decided at the age of eleven that she was going to be a librarian—because then she could read all the books in the public library whenever she wanted! Since then she has been a shop assistant, community pharmacist, technical writer, university lecturer, volcano walker and industrial scientist, before taking a career break to realize her dream of being a fiction writer. When she is not creating stories that make her readers smile, her hobbies are cooking, eating, enjoying good wine—and talking, for which she has had specialist training.
Amber DuBois closed her eyes and tried to stay calm. ‘Yes, Heath,’ she replied. ‘Of course I am taking care of myself. No, I am not staying out too long this evening. That’s right, a couple of hours at most.’
The limo slowed and she squinted out at the impressive stone pillars of the swish London private members club. ‘Ah. I think we have arrived. Time for you to get back to your office. Don’t you have a company to sort out? Bye, Heath. Love you. Bye.’
She sighed out loud then quickly stowed her phone in a tiny designer shoulder bag. Heath meant well but in his eyes she was still the teenage unwanted stepsister who he had been told to look after and had never quite learnt to let go. But he cared and she knew that she could rely on him for anything. And that meant a lot when you were at a low point in your life.
Like now.
Amber looked up through the drizzle and was just about to tell the limo driver that she had changed her mind when a plump blonde in a purple bandage dress two sizes too small for her burst out of the club and almost dragged Amber out of the rain and into the foyer.
She looked a little like the mousey-haired girl who had lorded over everyone from the posh girls’ table at high school.
Right now Amber watched Miss Snooty ‘my dad’s a banker’ rear back in horror when she realised that the star of the ten-year school reunion alumni had a plaster cast over her right wrist, but recovered enough to bend forward and air kiss her on both cheeks with a loud mmwwahh.
‘Amber. Darling. How lovely to see you again. We are so pleased that you could make our little get-together—especially when you lead such an exciting life these days. Do come inside. We want to know everything!’
Amber was practically propelled across the lovely marble floor, which was tricky to do in platform designer slingbacks. She had barely caught her breath when a hand at her back pushed her forwards into a huge room. The walls were covered with cream brocade, broken up by floor to ceiling mirrors, and huge gilded chandeliers hung from the ceiling.
It was a ballroom designed to cope with hundreds of people.
Only at that moment several clusters of extremely bored-looking women in their late twenties were standing with their hands clasped around buffet plates and wine glasses.
Every single one of them stopped talking and turned around.
And stared at her.
In total silence.
Amber had faced concert audiences of all shapes and sizes—but the frosty atmosphere in this cold elegant room was frigid enough to send a shiver down her spine.
‘Look everyone. Amber DuBois made it in the end. Isn’t that marvellous! Now carry on enjoying yourself. Fabulous!’
Two minutes later Amber was standing at the buffet and drinks table with a glass of fizzy water in her hand. She smiled down at her guide, who had started to chew the corner of her lower lip. ‘Is everything all right?’ Amber asked.
The other woman gulped and whimpered slightly. ‘Yes—yes, of course. Everything is just divine. I just need to check something—but feel free to mingle, darling...mingle.’
And then she practically jogged over to a girl who might have been one of the prefects, grabbed her arm and in no uncertain terms jabbed her head towards Amber and glared towards the other side of the room.
Amber peered over the elaborate hairstyles of a cluster of chattering women who were giving her sideways glances as though scared to come and talk to her.
This was so ridiculous. So what if she had made a name for herself as a concert pianist over the years? She was still the quiet, lanky, awkward girl they used to pick on.
And then she saw it. A stunning glossy black grand piano had been brought out in front of the tall picture windows. Just waiting for someone to play it.
So that was the reason her old high school had gone to such lengths to track her down with an email invitation to the ten-year school reunion.
Amber sighed out loud and her shoulders slumped down.
It seemed that some things never changed.
They had never shown the slightest interest in her when she was their schoolmate—far from it in fact. Amber DuBois might have had the connections but she was not one of the posh clique of girls or the seriously academic group. She was usually on the last table and the back of the bus with the rest