Amber Nights - The Esquire Girls Series - Amber's Story (Books 1, 2, 3 & 4) - Box Set Read online

  Amber Nights

  (The Esquire Girls Series)

  Amber’s full story

  Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  Up All Night – Amber (book 1)

  In Your Arms Tonight (book 2)

  Live for the Night - (book 3)

  When the Night is Over - (book 4)

  Other stories in the

  Esquire Girls Series

  By Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  Madison’s Story

  Waiting, Always (Madison – Book 1)

  Yours Always (Madison – Book 2)

  Loving You Always (Madison – Book 3)

  Always & Forever (Madison – Book 4) – (The conclusion to Madison’s story)

  Or get Madison’s full story, all in one boxed set: For Madison, Always (Madison – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)

  Ruthie’s Story

  Desire, Untamed (Ruthie – Book 1)

  Blinded by Desire (Ruthie – Book 2)

  Desire Ablaze (Ruthie – Book 3)

  Beyond Desire (Ruthie – Book 4) – (The conclusion to Ruthie’s story)

  Or get Ruthie’s full story, all in one boxed set: Ruthie’s Desire (Ruthie – Books 1, 2, 3 & 4)

  Hailey’s story

  Moment of Weakness (Hailey – Book 1)

  A Moment in Time (Hailey – Book 2)

  Beyond this Moment (Hailey – Book 3)

  Esquire HEAT Series

  By C.A. Miller

  A Very Eager Intern

  A Very Frustrated Attorney

  Coming April 26th, 2016…

  Click here to pre-order your copy for $0.99 today! It will be $3.99 on release day.

  Up All Night

  (The Esquire Girls Series)

  Amber (book 1)

  Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  Up All Night (The Esquire Series) – Amber (Book 1)

  Copyright © 2014 Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents appearing therein are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be interpreted as real. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status of the various products referenced in this work.

  Table of contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 1

  The tension is so thick, you can cut it with a knife.

  Mr. Moretti taps the bejeweled tip of his solid-gold pencil softly against his smooth-shaven chin as the index finger of his left hand scrolls across the stack of loose papers sitting atop his imposing dark mahogany desk. He furrows his brow before slipping the first page aside and continuing his scan on page two.

  Unable to contain my curiosity, I lean forward discreetly to peer at the sheet of paper he’s studying.

  I recognize the documents under scrutiny as my resumé and the cover letter I had submitted when I applied for the summer internship here at the law offices of Cartwright Moretti Stevenson seven months ago.

  To be honest, Cartwright wasn’t my first pick – it’s a respectable firm. Still, with only 40-something lawyers here in its New York office, it’s a relatively “small" law firm with no noteworthy megastar attorneys – but with the current state of the job market, I’m just happy that any firm is willing to hire a lackluster candidate like me.

  However, based on my first forty-five minutes on the job, I’d bet there’s a backroom somewhere in this office where they torture kittens – this place is truly shaping up to be a front for hell. I can already tell that I’ll be needing to thicken up my skin…fast.

  I had been exactly four minutes late to the first session of the “summer associate orientation” this morning. But Pam Shenk, the firm’s human resources coordinator, was not willing to let it slide without a snarky comment. “Getting to court even four minutes late could mean a default judgment for a client and put the firm at risk for a malpractice suit,” she had warned.

  A bit melodramatic, I think.

  Nevertheless, a few of the seven other summer associates seated around the long oak veneer conference table had thrown disapproving glances my way, making me turn beet red and reminding me of just how out of place I am in this world. And if that wasn’t unnerving enough, out of nowhere, Michaelo Moretti, the firm’s managing partner, showed up in the conference room, pulled me out of the orientation, ushered me down the hall to his lavish corner office and is now forcing me to bear witness to his painful reevaluation of my less-than-stellar credentials.

  Sensing my inquisitive stare, Mr. Moretti glances up at me. His frown lets me know that he doesn’t appreciate my snooping. Embarrassed, I sink back into the dark leather armchair where I’m sitting and force a contrite smile.

  My stomach lurches and panic sets in. My mind flashes immediately to the semester-long sabbatical that I had taken in my second year of law school. That break is a gaping hole in my resumé and the reason that law school will take me a whole four years to complete.

  Shit!

  Maybe Mr. Moretti is reconsidering the employment offer I just accepted earlier this morning. I wonder if he can rescind the offer and send me packing. After all, the signature I inked onto my employment contract probably hasn’t even dried yet.

  Ohgosh! Ohgosh! Ohgosh! Maybe there’s a clause that allows him to terminate the contract before the ink dries, I think to myself…I take a measured breath and try to push that silly thought from my mind.

  I fidget nervously pulling at a loose thread on the cuff of my long-sleeved ivory-colored blouse as I watch Mr. Moretti. His neatly-coiffed salt and pepper hair perfectly in place. The fierce concentration in his dark brown eyes. The formality denoted by his rigid posture. Everything about him conveys beyond a doubt that he’s the boss and I’m clinging to this job by a thread.

  After what seems like an eternity, Mr. Moretti addresses me without looking up from my job application file. “Ms. Roberts, you studied at the University of Montreal, correct?”

  “Yes. Y-yes. I grew up just outside of Montreal.” I glide my sweaty palms across the dark polyester of my pencil skirt, trying to abate my nerves.

  He looks up at me, adjusting his wire-framed reading glasses on the bridge of his nose. “And you have an undergraduate degree in French literature? You speak French fluently?”

  I nod, “Yes, sir. I’m fluent in French. Spoken and written.” I’m prepared to launch into the carefully-crafted speech I had given during my job interview. Ready to talk about how studying in Montreal has broadened my horizons, made me into a more cultured and well-rounded individual. I’m ready to mention that, because of my unique background I could be a major asset to the firm in cross-border transactions. My whole pitch is ready just in case Moretti is trying to change his mind and snatch this job away from me. I’m ready for a fight.

  Instead of challenging me, he studies me for a brief moment
before gathering the papers on his desk and slipping them into an accordion folder. He tugs at the lapel of his charcoal gray three-piece designer suit before swiveling his black office chair back. He’s on his feet. “Perfect then, Ms. Roberts,” he says, a look of amusement in his dark brown eyes. “You’re perfect for a new file that our real estate practice is working on.” I heave a sigh of relief at the tone of confidence and finality in his voice.

  It looks like my first day at Cartwright may not be my last after all.

  Chapter 2

  Five seconds ago, I thought I was about to be fired. Now, I’ve just landed my first mandate! Yes!

  Mr. Moretti takes long strides across the highly-polished hardwood floor, he pulls his heavy wooden office door open and gestures towards me. “Follow me, Ms. Roberts,” he says, sounding almost jovial while still managing to maintain his painfully formal demeanor.

  “Ms. Harvey. Note pad.” he says to the petite white-haired woman stationed at a tiny cubicle just outside of his office.

  “Yes, Mr. Moretti,” the administrative assistant says, springing to her feet and quickly stretching a large pad of yellow lined paper in Mr. Moretti’s direction. He continues his stride down the corridor gesturing for me to take the paper from Ms. Harvey’s hands. I grab the pad and offer a grateful smile to the assistant before scurrying down the hallway behind Mr. Moretti. “And call Stella Goldberg down to conference room two,” he tosses at Ms. Harvey before turning the corner.

  Mr. Moretti briefs me on the file as we bustle down the corridor. “So, this client –Spencer Harrison – he’s a young real estate developer. Very ambitious businessman. Impressive portfolio. He’s only been in the business for a few years but already, he has multi-million dollar condo development projects all along the east coast. He’s also just hammered out a few deals in Dubai. One in the Bahamas as well. He’s got a few deals in the works for Vancouver too. At the moment, however, his focus is on Montreal – He has his sights set on a small project in some god-forsaken slum in Montreal.” Realizing that he has momentarily lost his composure, Mr. Moretti pauses, adjusts his tie and straightens his posture before continuing, “Anyway, we’ve run into tons of problems. Regulatory issues. Mortgages. Difficult seller. All kinds of roadblocks. And no matter what I say, I can’t get him to give it up and move on to something better.”

  Mr. Moretti stops abruptly and sticks his head into an open office door. “Matteo,” he calls out. A striking man in this late 20s looks up, startled. His intense brown eyes shift to Mr. Moretti in the doorway before fixing on me. I recognize him from the firm’s website. He’s Mr. Moretti’s son. A third year associate in the firm’s real estate department. His lips turn up into a one-sided smile revealing his gorgeous dimples. Wow – he’s intensely good-looking. “Ms. Roberts and I are meeting Mr. Harrison in conference room two right now.” Before Matteo can answer, Mr. Moretti has continued his hurried trek towards conference room two.

  Damn. He walks fast for a guy who’s barely five foot eight inches tall.

  “Okay. I’ll be there in five,” Matteo calls out to his father, his eyes raking over my body lustily head to toe, a mischievous glint in his eye. I shift uncomfortably before resuming my pursuit of Mr. Moretti.

  Finally, Mr. Moretti stops just outside of a large stained oak door. He adjusts his tie once again and clears his throat before pushing the door open.

  I quickly smooth over my jet-black bangs and ponytail as I follow closely behind him.

  A tall, brown-haired man is standing in front of the bank of floor to ceiling windows overlooking Union Square, his back to us. His broad shoulders are relaxed and his hands are tucked casually into the pockets of his tailored royal blue dress pants. The matching jacket is thrown haphazardly across the long glass conference table sitting in the middle of the room. His body language exudes an intimidating yet relaxed power that makes my stomach churn nervously. A man so confident will undoubtedly demand nothing short of excellence from his legal team.

  “Mr. Harrison,” Mr. Moretti greets the client.

  Spencer Harrison turns around and I hear myself gasp softly as his handsome face comes into full view.

  Everything about him is rugged and masculine. His strong jawline is covered in a short stubble. The sharp angles of his face are cut with an almost mathematical precision. His sparkling blue-green eyes are electrifying. His hair is light brown with golden streaks of blond and falls casually across his forehead.

  He is simply magnetizing.

  He reaches out to grasp Mr. Moretti’s outstretched hand, but his vibrant eyes stay peeled to me. “Who’s your new associate, Moretti?” he asks, moving around Mr. Moretti as if he is merely an obstruction on the path to me.

  I manage to snap out of my trance before he stretches his large hand out to me. “I’m Amber. Amber Roberts,” I say with all the confidence I can muster as I grip his hand firmly. As my skin makes contact with his, a sizzle stirs in the pit of my stomach before scattering throughout the rest of my body.

  “Ms. Roberts is a summer associate here. Actually, today is her first day,” Mr. Moretti interjects.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Amber,” he says, holding my hand for just a moment longer than necessary.

  Feeling self-conscious, I ease my hand out of his and say, “It’s great to meet you, sir,” before breaking his penetrating gaze. I’m gripping the edge of the notepad so tightly that my knuckles have turned white.

  He taps my shoulder lightly. “Please. Call me Spencer,” he says in a deep voice that resonates to my core. He tosses a glance over at Mr. Moretti who is now pulling a chair away from the glass conference table. “I’ve been trying for almost a year to get old Moretti to call me by my first name, but I’m not having any luck with that. Hopefully things will be different with you.” I swear that he just winked at me.

  Just then, the conference room door swings open. A petite woman with wavy deep brown hair flowing just past her shoulders and radiant olive skin walks in clutching a thick manila folder in her small hands. She takes brisk, confident strides towards Spencer, her free hand stretched out in front of her. “Spencer! How nice to see you!”

  “Well look at you, Stella,” he says, shaking her hand firmly. “You look just about ready to pop,” he remarks, nodding towards her stomach. She rests her folder onto the conference table and that’s when I notice the protruding stomach under her knee-length floral shift dress.

  She shoves back the lapel of her dark blue blazer jacket and runs her hand proudly across her stomach. “Six more weeks to go,” she announces with an exhausted smile.

  “And you’re working till the very last day, I see,” Spencer says with an amused lilt in his voice.

  “Only because you won’t let me go on maternity leave,” Stella says jokingly. “If you keep buying up development properties left and right, I’ll never get the chance to kick off my shoes and get in touch with my maternal instincts!” Her eyes are glowing as they dance across Spencer’s handsome face. If she wasn’t pregnant enough to burst at the seams, I would swear that this woman was flirting with him…but a pregnant woman wouldn’t do that…right?

  Mr. Moretti interjects, “Well, we’re trying to work on easing your workload going forward, Ms. Goldberg.” His words are directed at Stella. “I don’t believe you’ve met Ms. Roberts. She’s a new summer associate. It’s her first day.” Stella’s attention finally lands on me. It’s as if she hadn’t even noticed me before.

  I reach my hand out to her eagerly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say.

  “Oh, my goodness. The pleasure is all mine. You have no idea how pleased I am to have someone take some of this load off of my pregnant shoulders,” she smiles at me before turning to Spencer with a smirk. “No offence, Spencer.” He grimaces at her, pretending to be offended as she moves towards the table and eases into one of the leather executive chairs.

  Mr. Moretti continues, “Ms. Roberts graduated with an undergraduate degree in French from the Univer
sity of Montreal and she’s currently working towards her law degree at Cardozo, so she’s uniquely suited to help us on this case. She’s fully fluent in French so communicating with the bureaucrats at the Montreal land registry should be no problem. Plus, she can be the point of contact for our Montreal counsel. All-in-all, I think she’ll make an invaluable addition to this team.” Mr. Moretti is scrutinizing the client, waiting for a sign of his approval.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Spencer observing me. The expression on his face tells me that he’s impressed. “Truly. An invaluable addition.” Spencer parrots Mr. Moretti’s words, mischief dancing on his tone.

  My cheeks feel warm and flush as I bask in the attention being showered on me. This man’s gaze is intense enough to give a woman sunburn.