BILLIONAIRE SERIES: HIS AMBER

Chapter 6: Letters

AMBER'S POV

After falling asleep last night with a full stomach right there on the couch, I woke up to the afternoon sun of Tokyo streaming through the window. I got up and went to take a look, marveling at the beauty of the view. It hadn't changed one bit. The surroundings and the colors of the penthouse had changed, but not that. Not the beautiful skyline of the city I loved so dearly.

I drew in a deep breath before I turned to Simoun's door. How long was he going to sleep? I made my way into my room and changed into something more appropriate: slim-fitting jeans and a silk blouse. I fixed my hair and applied a bit of makeup, then glanced at the clock. It was two in the afternoon. Surely Simoun would be up soon.

But as the hours ticked by, not a sound came from his room.

The penthouse was gorgeous, but I was itching to see the city. Experience the food. Walk among the kindest people I'd ever come into contact with. But I was sort of stuck until my client woke up. I was here on his time, after all. It wasn't like I could simply leave and explore of my own volition. Taking him on as a client meant I was there to await his pleasure. Abide by his rules.

Play his game, sensual or otherwise.

I stood at the window and looked out into the bustling city as my mind wandered.

What kind of lover would a man like Simoun be? Obviously a quiet one.

Was he wild? Voracious? Kinky?

Would he be the one-minute kind of man most men were? The three men I'd engaged with at the beginning of my career were the easiest men to please. A little tweak there, a little nibble on the neck. A few good pumps and they were slumping over me as if they'd run a marathon. Even the few men I have been with outside of my career were that way. I sincerely hoped a handsome man like Simoun wasn't that type of lover.

Not that I'd ever figure that out. It was as if he was avoiding me. Like last night, when he excused himself so quickly after lust flared in his eyes.

I shook the thought away. It didn't matter. I was there to do a job and nothing else. I watched a bit of television and unpacked a few of my nicer things. I made myself a small snack in the kitchen and finished off the red wine I'd ordered last night for my decadent meal. And finally, after almost half past four in the afternoon, Simoun emerged in a trim suit as he fiddled with a cufflink on his wrist.

"We'll be going out to dinner this evening," he said calmly. "Do you have appropriate formal dinner attire?"

"I do."

"Good. Because we don't have time to go shopping. I'll be working until dinner, which will be at eight. I need the time to prepare for the evening ahead. Get yourself ready. Pamper yourself a bit since there is some time to kill. I'm sure it'll take a woman like yourself some time to prepare."

I wasn't sure what that statement was supposed to mean, but I think it meant he needed me to look my best. But he didn't have to worry; I prided myself on always looking my best. As the daughter of a rich man, I had a few key pieces already in my wardrobe that were always set to stun, and I'd brought most of them along with me.

However, the word "pamper" caught my ear. I was never one to turn down a bit of relaxation.

He looked up at me briefly before disappearing back into his room, then closed the door with a thud.

I made my way downstairs to the eleventh floor where the spa services were located. I signed myself up for a nice massage and a mani-pedi, then sat in one of the plush chairs in the corner. A glass of cucumber-and-kiwi water was delivered to me, and I drew in a deep breath.

Oh, the memories this all brought back. During my mother's prime, she taught me the value of self-care. How a woman investing in herself was an investment in those around her. If a mother and a wife couldn't keep herself stress-free, she couldn't possibly help and support those around her, nor could she succeed in anything she set out to do in life. Self-care, she said, was the difference between men and women. Men grew fat and lethargic as they sat at their desks, neglecting themselves and their families for the sake of success. Real success, my mother said, was knowing how to find the balance between personal health and professional health.

I missed those talks with my mother.

"Miss Amber?"

I opened my eyes and looked up at the woman in front of me. "Yes?" I asked.

"Your pedicurist is ready for you. After that is your manicure, and then we'll finish you off with a wonderful hour-and-ahalf mass

e, complete with relaxing aromatherapies. Would you like to add any other services, such as a complimentary facial or a nice painted design on your toes or nails?"

"No, thank you," I said as I stood.

My phone vibrated in my pocket as I settled my feet into the warm water. I pulled it from my pocket and recognized the number instantly. My mother's facility was calling. My heart sped in my chest as the bubbles around my feet kicked on, and I held the phone up to my ear with a trembling hand.

"Hello?" I asked.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss Amber. But we wanted to call you the second the mail run got finished up."

"Is something wrong with my mother?" I asked.

"It seems as if someone has sent her a less-than-pleasant letter."

"Define 'less than pleasant.'"

"It's a letter we needed to report to the police, ma'am."

I furrowed my brow as the technician got started on my feet. "Send me a picture of the letter, please. Immediately."

"I've already emailed you a picture of it, but I wanted to follow it up with a phone call. Because of who you are and who your mother is, we've upped the security around the facility until the note can be resolved. I wanted to keep you abreast once the police officers left with everyone's statements."

"And my mother's all right? She's safe?" I asked.

"Physically, yes. On any other charge, let me know after you read that letter," she said.

"Thank you. I'll take a look at it immediately."

I hung up the phone without saying goodbye, my heart pounding in my chest. I navigated to my email and tapped on the newest addition to my inbox, then clicked on the image that downloaded itself straight to my phone. I studied it closely, zooming in and taking in the details.

Cursive writing.

The formal speak.

The lightly browned paper and the signature at the end.

It was identical to a letter I'd received not long after my father had died. My mother and I were still living in our penthouse apartment on the outskirts of the city. She hadn't quite spiraled as much as she eventually did, so I was doing everything in my power to keep her out of the limelight and rooted to reality.

By myself.

But when the nation caught wind of my father's disappearance and the circumstances that surrounded it, a note similar to the one that had been delivered to my mother came directly to our complex. Well, not directly to it. The postman delivered it and stuck it in our box at the front of the building.

But still, someone had been stalking us then, and we alerted the police to that fact. Alerted them to the threat on our lives the person boasted of in the letter. But with the controversy that publicly surrounded my family's name at the time the letter was delivered, the police couldn't have cared less.

They told us many more would probably show up just like it, and that we needed to get used to it.

I settled on the fact that the police didn't give a s**t about our lives after what my father had done to theirs.

I was taking care of my mother alone at that point. She was spiraling into a depression I couldn't keep up with, and I did the best I could to keep her afloat. But that one threatening letter was enough to force me to change my identity and commit my mother to the private facility she was in now. I lived in fear every day that the person behind that letter would find us. I looked over my shoulder and slept light, trying to keep myself safe after reading some of the disgusting things that the letter had in it.

And once again, the monster had found us.

Found my vulnerable mother.

My eyes scanned the note again as my hand began to tremble. Was this really happening? Had someone really been attempting to track us down? The facility's number one goal was the safety, security, and anonymity of its patients beyond what they were forced to provide. And because they were a privately run institution, the information they had to fork over wasn't much. Even though the woman reassured me my mother would be safe, I still found myself swirling with panic. Halfway around the world and I had no way to check in on her. No one to drop in on her. No way to keep track of what was happening with regard to her.

And the worst part of it was I had to pretend to be a happy-go-lucky fiancée at some idiotic business dinner full of billionaires in a little over four hours.

Sometimes, my job sucked.