I sense fireworks. Pheromones flying, fire—panties flying through the air.’
‘Well, there was fire,’ I admit, glancing briefly to the window and the brilliant views.
‘I knew it!’
‘But he also acted pretty weird. He was hot and cold.’
‘And then he was just hot.’ On screen, Amber fans her face before becoming serious once again. ‘He was probably conflicted, which is understandable. He didn’t expect to see you again, yet there you were. The woman he’s been thinking of. For months.’
‘Yeah, but he asked me some weird questions about my blood type and stuff, and then he yammered on about our parents.’ God knows why.
‘Rich people are allowed to be weird. Only it’s called eccentricity when you have a big bank book. Who knows, maybe he’s thinking about you as a long term prospect, and that’s why he got a little personal?’
‘I might not know what it was, but I know it wasn’t that. Just don’t go buying a hat yet. I almost feel like he was expecting someone else.’ My voice sounds small as though admitting this aloud might somehow make it real. ‘But then he kissed me.’
‘If he was expecting someone else, he wouldn’t have kissed you. Was it just a kiss,’ she asks a little more eagerly, ‘or is there more to this tale?’
‘It almost went further. But we were interrupted.’ My stomach twists uncomfortably. All I need now is news of this to get out, then I’ll be that slut—that friendless floozy that fucks the boss to get ahead! ‘And now he’s moved me out of the company accommodation into this palace!’ My gaze roams the room again, and once again, it takes my breath away.
‘Are we talking the kind of palace with towers and dungeons, and not the good kind?’
‘The good kind?’
‘You know, the kinky kind.’
‘No! There isn’t any kind of dungeon here—good, bad, or kinky.’
‘So it’s just a palace. Like, somewhere nice?’
I feel the tension leak from my body when I realise what she’s trying to convey. Is what I’m complaining about really so bad?
‘Yes, very nice. And very fancy. An apartment in the swankiest building in Monaco, the kind with million-dollar views.’ I throw out my arm as though inviting her to look, which is a little stupid, considering she’s not physically here.
‘Has he suggested he’s expecting repayment? Like, not rent. Payment in kind?’
‘No.’
‘Has he made any kind of demands?’
‘He’s bossy as fuck, but no.’
‘But if it’s upsetting you, then you’re worried he might?’
‘No. At least, I don’t think so. I haven’t even spoken to him about it. It was more like a decree from his assistant. But Amber, I kissed my boss—at work!’
‘Yeah. Me, too.’ She shrugs, her expression unrepentant.
‘This is different. I got caught.’
‘Same. We were busted by his mom, and there’s no beating that in the embarrassment stakes. I’m going to suggest something to you, but you have to promise not to blow up or even interrupt, all right?’
‘You think I should leave,’ I reply immediately. ‘I knew you’d think that was the right thing to do.’
‘No interrupting, Rose.’
‘Fine.’ On my screen, Amber’s lips purse. ‘I said fine!’
‘I think you’re frightened. I think the reality of him is scaring you. He’s not a backpacker or a tourist or a deadbeat—’
‘I do not date deadbeats!’ I protest. I learned to spot these before I was twelve years old. Learned to spot them. Learned to avoid ’em.
‘You’re right. You date pricks. Men who are emotionally stunted, which suits you just fine because you don’t want them to stick around. And now that you’ve found someone who might be a little more serious. Someone who is financially stable—’
‘Financially stable? The man is as rich as Croesus!’
‘And your point is?’
‘Rich men are dangerous, and I don’t like them,’ I reply mulishly.
‘Byron is rich. You like him.’
‘I like Byron for you.’ I don’t mention that if she wasn’t such a great friend, I’d probably hate her. Her life looks so great. ‘I can’t see me becoming a rich man’s plaything.’
Amber bursts into laughter, and though she seems amused, I begin to worry I’ve upset her. I don’t have to worry for long.
‘Well, I tell you, it’s not exactly what it’s cracked up to be. Diamonds can be pretty hard to sleep in. So lumpy.’ She wiggles her shoulders as though recalling that exact discomfort. ‘And many an evening, I’ve thought I should’ve married a man who came home stinking of sweat and beer rather than success.’
‘Hardy-har,’ I reply, unimpressed. ‘The difference is, you’re his wife. Byron has always