Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Amber
“ G ood luck with the baby,” I say as I get out of my Uber in front of Willow’s office building. “I’m sure it’s gonna go great. Don’t forget to send me those pictures!”
“I will!” Amir says, smiling widely as he pulls my suitcase out of his trunk. “And have fun in New York. Remember, anything can happen in The City That Never Sleeps!”
“You think?” I say, getting shivers from all of the exciting possibilities.
“I know ,” he says as he hands me my luggage. “Good things are in your future, Amber, I can feel it.”
I know it’s probably uncommon to hug your Uber driver at the end of a trip, but me and Amir have been through a lot in the past hour long car ride. He told me all about his pregnant wife and how excited he was for the baby to come along. How could I not hug the guy?
“Bye, Amir,” I say as I open my arms. “It was nice meeting you.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” he says as he gives me a warm hug. “And don’t forget to leave a review.”
“Five stars,” I promise as he gets back into the car.
We give each other one last wave as he drives away. I watch him merge into traffic and then look around with a deep breath, wondering what this city has in store for me.
Right now , I think as I turn and look up at the towering skyscraper in front of me, what’s in store for me is a long ass elevator ride .
This is probably the tallest building I’ve ever seen up close. I crane my head all the way back and I still can’t see the top.
I look at the paper in my hand and grin. Strickland Innovations Group. 480 Eastmont Center, Floor 47.
It’s time to see where my sister works.
I open the glass doors and walk into the empty lobby that I’m sure was teeming with busy men in suits and women wearing the finest corporate fashions only a few hours ago.
But it’s nearly ten o’clock at night and the only person in here is a skeptical old security guard looking at me over his glasses.
With my shoulders back and my chin in the air, I roll my suitcase right up to the front desk and give him my most winningest smile. “Hello.”
“Bathrooms are for employees only,” he grunts.
“What about sisters of employees?”
His frown deepens. “Come again?”
“I’m Willow Fletcher’s sister.”
I’m expecting that frown to turn into a smile after my sister’s name drop, but it stays frozen on his unamused face.
“Willow Fletcher,” I repeat. “She works here at SIG. COO of Strickland Innovations Group. She’s kind of a big deal.”
“Everyone in this damn city thinks they’re a big deal,” he says.
“Not me,” I say with a grin. “I’m a tiny deal. Not really a deal at all. More full price.”
“Huh?” he says as my metaphor goes off the rails.
“I’m here to grab a key,” I say, reeling my crazy back in. “My sister left it on her desk upstairs. I’m cat-sitting for her while she’s in Hawaii and it’s kind of time-sensitive. Munchies is on a very strict medical timetable.”
“Munchies?” he says, blinking for the first time.
“I know right?” I say, leaning in. “I suggested Meowzart, but no one ever takes my opinion.”
The corner of his mouth twitches up. Just for a second.
“So, can I grab that key? She said she left my name with one of your colleagues.”
He sighs as he opens a file and starts cycling through some papers.
“Name?”
“Amber Fletcher.”
His eyebrow raises. “You got ID?”
I grab my driver’s license and hand it over, waiting for him to comment on my pink hair. It was a phase. An ill-advised one. I really wanted my head to look like cotton candy, but I’m back to my natural brown now.
“Alright,” he says as he hands it back to me with a visitor pass. “You got one hour. Don’t touch anything you don’t have to.”
“You got it,” I say as I grab my suitcase and head to the gate. “Hands to myself. Eyes only. Very professional. I can do that. At least, I’ll try really hard. No promises.”
He shakes his head like he’s rethinking his decision, but there’s a buzzing click and the security gate slides open. I walk over to the big luxurious elevators, swipe my visitor pass, and head up to the forty-seventh floor.
“Wow,” I whisper when I step out into Strickland Innovations Group. If the strategy is to look rich and successful, they’ve succeeded admirably.
A huge, gold-plated sign of their boring logo greets you over the empty reception desk.
I look around, peeking down the hall at all of the glass doors to the many offices and conference rooms where big deals surely happen on a regular basis.
They have to in order to afford a place like this.
It’s spectacular, but I just wish it had some big tropical plants, or some funky art on the bland walls, or something with a bit of character.
It’s corporate chic in here and it’s boring as hell.
This place is probably buzzing with ambitious, motivated people just like my sister during the day, but right now, it’s completely empty.
I run my fingertip along the reception desk as I saunter past it, looking for Willow’s office.
If I know my sister, she’s got the corner office, so I head there first.
I grin when I see her name etched onto the glass door. Willow Fletcher. Chief Of Operations. That’s my girl! I love it.
The door is locked until I swipe my visitor pass on the keypad and it clicks open. So high-tech. Super cool.
Willow’s office is unreal. It’s the corner, just as I expected, and the view of the city is incredible. I can see the Statue of Liberty from here and I give her a little wave.
My sister is so impressive. She always has been. Valedictorian in high school, star volleyball player in college, and now this . She never ceases to amaze me.
I smile as I walk in and run my finger along her polished desk, not a speck of dust in sight.
My sister built this from nothing. No shortcuts, no rich parents greasing wheels.
Just ambition, caffeine, and pure, relentless Willow-ness.
I don’t know how she does it. I couldn’t accomplish a tenth of what she does, even if I was trying my hardest.
But at the same time, I wouldn’t want to. That’s why I’m not jealous of her accomplishments. This life is great for her, but it’s not a life I would ever want. One month of being cooped up in this intense corporate environment and I’d be trying to open the windows to swan dive out.
I pull out her luxurious leather chair, plop into it with a soft oompf , and swivel around to face the stunning view.
It’s my first time in New York and I’m excited to see it all.
And holy shit.
New York City stretches out like a dream—twinkling lights, honking taxis, all that energy pulsing through the streets below like veins. My heart does this fluttery thing. Like it knows something’s coming. Something good.
I toss my legs up on the desk, crossing them at the ankle like a true boss.
Then, I grab Willow’s highlighter and puff it like it’s a big fat Cuban cigar.
I don’t want Willow’s life, but the fantasy is fun.
I picture myself as a high-powered executive, but I know I’d be horrible at it. I’d be constantly getting into trouble.
I’d hand out raises like Oprah on a season premiere and cancel all meetings before 10 a.m. I’d fill the office with bean bag chairs and therapy puppies and I’d place a giant jar of peanut M&M’s on the reception desk.
The dress code would be non-existent and of course, everyone would have Fridays off.
I puff on my cigar highlighter as I stare at the spectacular skyline.
“Who the hell are you?”
The voice is deep. Sharp. 100% not amused.
I freeze mid–highlighter puff and slowly turn in the chair, feet still propped on the desk like I own the place.
And wow.
There he is.
The grumpy boss. The terrifying Mr. Cranky Pants himself.
The man that Willow has complained endlessly about every time I’ve seen her in the past five years. The man who’s shaved years off her life. The man who’s about to get an earful from her overprotective younger sister.
“Amber,” I say as I stare into his dark brown eyes. “And who the hell are you?”
“The owner of this company,” he says in a razor-sharp tone that would have most people scrambling in panic. I’m not most people. I stay nice and relaxed as I hold his bullying gaze.
“Well, whoop-de-doo for you,” I say between puffs of my highlighter cigar.
He steps into the office and holy hell this man is a looker.
Mean, but a looker nonetheless. His suit is fitted like a glove on his tall, muscular frame.
His tie is loose—the only thing loose about him—and I get an urge to take it off and slide it from his neck.
Or, maybe I’d like to hang him with it. I’m not sure yet.
Those scorching brown eyes are something though.
Deep, intense, a little bloodshot, and focused right on me.
From there, it just gets better with his perfectly styled brown hair and the subtle wisps of gray mixed in, his symmetrical facial features, and his five o’clock shadow that gives his sexy jaw a nice shade of darkness to match his soul.
His back straightens as he steps into the office, glaring at me.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
I grin at him. “I get that a lot.”
He stares, silent. Calculating. Like he’s trying to figure out if he should call security or toss me over his big broad shoulder and throw me out himself. I’d prefer the latter.
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” I say, batting my eyelashes at him. “I’m just here to pick up a key from my sister.”
“Your sister?”
“Willow Fletcher. Do you know her? Blonde. Brilliant. Currently on a plane to Kauai looking like she just escaped a hostage situation. Ring any bells?”
“Of course, I know Willow!” he snaps. “I hired her.”
“Then what the hell is your problem?”
“ Excuse me?” he says, rearing back in shock.
I glare at him as I grind my highlighter cigar onto the desk, stubbing it out on the expensive oak.
“You work her too much.”
He scoffs.
I slowly rise, digging my fists into the desk as I glare at him.
“Do you get off on working your employees to the bone?”
“Do you know how much Willow makes in a year?” he shoots back.
“I’m not talking about money,” I say. “I’m talking about basic human decency. She’s a human being, and unless this office runs on human sacrifice, you might consider letting her leave before midnight once in a while.”
His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. No sound comes out.
I just stunned the dragon.
His mouth is in a straight line, but oh my god, does he look good not smiling. The tension in his jaw is practically vibrating. He’s got that whole stormy silver fox alpha thing going—dark tailored suit, silver at his temples, that perfect mix of old-money polish and simmering rage.
“Do you know what she does when she gets home at those ungodly hours?” I ask now that I have him on his heels. “She scarfs down a protein bar, watches eight minutes of a trashy reality show she’ll tragically never finish, and then falls asleep sitting up like a Victorian ghost. That is your fault.”
“ My fault?” he says, staring at me in shock. “You make it sound like I’m forcing her to be here. She loves this job!”
“Sure,” I say with a fake smile. “The way people say they love marathons. Or colonoscopies.”
His lips press into a hard line.
I take a step closer, head tilted. “Look, I’m just saying… if someone looks that tired all the time, maybe the boss shouldn’t be proud of it.”
“I’m not—” he starts, but I raise a hand.
“It’s fine,” I say, smiling sweetly. “I’m not here to unionize. Just picking up a key. But for what it’s worth, if I see her name in a company Slack message timestamped after midnight, I will fly back here and stage an intervention. Possibly involving glitter.”
He stares at me. Still not speaking. But his ears have gone pink.
And I think… oh .
I got to him.
Mr. Iceberg-in-a-Tom-Ford-suit is on his heels.
I tear my eyes off him and look for the key because I shouldn’t be noticing how the fabric of his shirt stretches across his chest just right. Or how the sleeves of his jacket cling to his arms like they were custom-tailored for the sole purpose of testing my devotion to my sister.
I spot the key next to Willow’s nameplate and grab it, swinging it in circles on my finger.
“You got it all wrong,” he says as he steps forward. “Willow is an essential part of the company.”
“Sure,” I say with a breezy nod. “So essential she’s apparently not allowed to sleep or see the sun. Or eat food that didn’t come from a foil wrapper.”
His eyes narrow. “I don’t?—”
“She’s too ambitious or polite or brainwashed by this place to say it,” I cut in, stepping around the desk, “so I’ll say it for her. Whatever pace you’re setting around here? It’s too much. You’re gonna drive my sister into an early grave. Just a heads-up. If you care.”
I walk right up to him, staring the six-foot monster down with zero fear. I swear, he actually leans back an inch.
That’s what’s got him so thrown. I’m not scared of him.
And that might be the most confusing thing that’s happened to Logan Strickland all year.
I offer a small, innocent smile. “It’s okay. Not everyone knows how to take care of people. You strike me more as a spreadsheets-and-profits-over-feelings type.”
“I’m not?—”
“You are,” I say, sweetly cutting him off again. “But hey, someone has got to pay for this stunning view and that ugly-ass gold-plated sign in the front. I get it. So what if your employees’ health is the trade-off, right? It’s all worth it for those sweet dolla dolla bills ya’ll.”
I swing the key around my index finger and then catch it in my fist.
“Nice meeting you, Mr. Cranky Pants. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an old diseased housecat to medicate.”
I give him an exaggerated smile, give him a wink because I know it will drive him crazy, grab my suitcase, and then head to the door.
Behind me, there’s nothing but stunned silence.
Poor Mr. Logan Strickland has no idea what just hit him.