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 The Text

Juli Hill

Juli Hill & Sara Pruitt

 Copyright © 2022 Sara Pruitt

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real
persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in

any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,
without express written permission of the publisher.
 Contents

Title Page
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINTEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
EPILOGUE AMBER
EPOLOGUE NOAH
Books By This Author
Mailing List
 CHAPTER ONE
NOAH

I’m bored and don’t want to be here. Why did I let them talk me
into coming?
I’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t been able to spend time
with my brothers outside of work. They’ve been riding me for weeks
to go out, and they finally wore me down. I broke. Never should
have let it happen.
We’re in the VIP section of the Ruins, where anything goes for
those who can afford it. And we can afford it.
Blake and Rob sit across from me, each with a girl on their laps.
And each of a certain type: blonde, big-chested, full-lipped, both
wearing next to nothing. They’re also easy and know the score—
because they’ve been told—there are no promises. We’re here to
have a good time, and that’s it. No strings attached. They always
agree.
I’m on the couch across from them with a girl on either side of
me, both willing to do anything. But I’m not feeling it. Not in the
mood.
That’s because my head is back at the office going through
numbers on whether we should purchase a luxury hotel in Atlantic
City. It’s an important deal. I shouldn’t be here.
The girl on my right puts a hand on my thigh, hoping to gain my
attention. She’s everything I look for in a companion: ready, willing,
and able. She settles her hand on my cock and massages.
I stop her. “Not tonight.”
She studies me with disbelief, then nibbles my ear and whispers,
“You want me to go down on you? I’ll suck you like a vacuum.”
Not that long ago, it would have taken me a half a second to
accept her offer, but now I’m not interested.
I push myself off the couch and head for the exit.
“Hey,” the girl hollers.
 Then one of my brothers calls, “Noah!”
I don’t look back and walk out the door and past the line of people
loitering to get in.
My driver, Ted, is patiently waiting outside the club. “Mr. Dalton.”
He opens the back door of the town car.
“Thanks, Ted.”
I glide in, and he closes the door, scurrying around the hood of
the car and hunkering down behind the wheel.
“Take me home, Ted.”
I don’t miss the cocked eyebrow he gives me before pulling into
traffic. “What? It was too loud in there. The noise gave me a
headache.” He probably wants to know the real reason why I’m
leaving so early. I’m not going to tell him.
He casually mentions I work too hard and that maybe I should
take some time off. “Does a person good, you know?” Like I have
time. I unlock my phone and check for messages. I might be getting
too old for this.
In my mid-twenties, I could go all night and be ready for work the
next day, easy. Now I’m in my thirties and would rather spend a
quiet evening at home reading a book or watching sports.
I lean my head back against the seat. I need to relax. Maybe a
lifestyle change is in order. Vacation? We’ll see in another twenty
years.
At the moment, I’m working on too many things. Plus, there’s my
mother’s birthday coming up. Need to stay the course. Maybe when
some of the bigger projects are finished, I’ll take time off. Maybe.
What I should do is hand off more responsibility to my brothers.
They’re ready. I’m just having a hard time giving it up. Control
issues? I don’t know. Dad’s always telling us not to forget about
family. That work isn’t all there is. But, hey, he isn’t always right.
The car rolls to a stop in front of my building. Ted puts it in Park
and reaches for the handle.
“I got it, Ted,” I tell him, and pop the back door. “I’ll be working
from home tomorrow, so take the day off.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Enjoy your Saturday off.”
 “Thank you, sir.”
I unfold out of the back seat and close the door. Tap the roof of
the car, giving Ted the all-clear. Smooth the sleeves of my custom-
made suit. Pants and coat are charcoal-colored and made of
cashmere. I like cashmere.
I walk to the front entrance of my apartment building. The glass
door is being held open by the doorman. He’s dressed like most
doormen employed by high-dollar establishments. Jacket buttoned
up to the neck. Shoes shined to a sparkle. Hat and gloves.
“Hello, Mr. Dalton.”
“Hello, Henry.”
Henry is all of seventy-five and never seems to have a bad day.
Someone asked him once if he was ever going to retire. He
answered that he hoped to die at his station. My kind of guy.
“Did you have a pleasant evening, sir?”
“Yes, I did, Henry. Thank you.” He doesn’t need to hear how it
really went. Why dump my garbage on him?
“That’s good, sir.”
“Have a nice evening, Henry.”
“You too, sir.”
I walk into the building and see Mr. Burgess—the concierge—
standing behind his counter with a pen in his mouth, looking at me
over a piece of paper. Burgess has been with us for three years. He’s
brilliant at his job, which is probably why we pay him so well.
“Mr. Dalton.” He gives me a finger wave.
“Burge.” I like to call him Burge.
“Can I get you anything?”
“No, thanks.”
“Okay.”
I move swiftly from there to the private elevator, and as I wait for
the door to open, Spence, a member of the security team,
approaches me.
“Mr. Dalton, sir.”
I turn and look at him. He’s fidgeting and his right eye is
twitching. He must have messed up big time. “What is it, Spence?”
 “You have a guest up at your place. She isn’t on the list.” He must
notice my jaw tighten, because he hurries to add, “But she was here
a couple of days ago. Said she left something in your apartment.”
I breathe deep. Want to scream as I’m choking him. There’s a
short list of people allowed onto my floor, and whoever’s up there
isn’t one of them. No doubt a random woman I slept with without
learning her name. Her getting up there is one of those things that
should’ve never happened.
“You’re fired, Spence. Now hit the road.” I glance at Burgess,
who’s been eyeing us. “Hey, Burge. You want to come with me?”
The elevator I’ve been waiting for finally arrives, and the door
slowly opens. Spence is still standing there. “Why are you still here,
Spence?”
“I thought I’d go upstairs with you and escort the lady out.”
“But you don’t work here anymore.”
“Well, I thought––”
“You thought… What did you think when she sashayed by you and
got on the elevator? And how did she get in the elevator?”
Spence looked at the carpeted floor.
“I think you’d better leave,” Mr. Burgess tells him.
“Won’t happen again.”
“No, it won’t.” I step into the elevator. “If you’re not cleared out by
the time Burgess gets back down here, you can forget about
working in this town again. A toilet cleaning job will be out of reach
by the time I’m finished with you.”
Spence takes a moment to catch his bearings because his world is
spinning rapidly.
“Do you hear me, Spence?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come on, Burge.”
Burge gets in the elevator, and we quietly ride to the top floor.
There’s a ding when we arrive, then the door opens. Burge’s eyes
bulge. The woman is posing naked on the couch. She’s put together
nicely.
I don’t recall her name, and that’s probably because I didn’t pay
any attention when she gave it to me.
 She quickly covers herself when she notices Burge.
I don’t hesitate. “Put your clothes on, please. Time to leave.”
“Well, I thought . . .”
Oh my God! Here we go again with the “I thought.”
“Just leave,” I tell her, and say to Burge, “Take care of this for me,
would you?”
“Yes, sir.”
I walk over to the custom bar and pour a glass of thirty-year-old
Laphroaig single malt Scotch. Not the most expensive brand in my
cabinet, but it’s the one I prefer when I’m cranky. And at the
moment, I am cranky.
With a drink in my hand, I ease over to the window and stare out
over the New York skyline. Burge and the woman are yakking back
and forth behind me.
I’ve nearly finished my drink when the woman rips into Burge.
“You’re a fucking dick prick!”
Huh?
I assume she’s talking to me until Burge replies, “Thank you,
ma’am. Now get in the goddam elevator… And quit fucking biting
me!”
I snicker. That’s the first time I’ve heard him curse.
The elevator door closes. I swallow the last of my scotch, look at
the glass. For a man who has everything, why doesn’t it feel that
way?
I’ll have to delve into that, won’t I?
 CHAPTER TWO
AMBER

The subways of New York are a bear on Fridays after work.

They’re a bear anytime, really.
Never any place to sit, and we’re packed in tight. To many grabby
hands a girl needs to be careful of. You’d think it would be the
younger guys copping a feel, but the older ones are worse. Deviants.
I’m from Chicago, so I’m used to people pushing and shoving to
get by. Well, that was the minor leagues compared to here. New
York is a whole new ballgame.
We reach my stop, and I’m pushed out the door by a flow of
human traffic. The part of town where I live isn’t the best; it isn’t the
worst either. Lots of mom-and-pop shops in the area run by cheerful
people.
I lived at home with my parents for two years after graduating
from college. They thought it was a waste to spend money on
housing when I could live at home for free. But nothing is truly free,
is it?
The entry-level marketing job I had in Chicago was acceptable,
and things weren’t going too badly. Then my cousin Jackie called
and encouraged me to move to New York and live with her. “There’re
jobs here, you know,” she said. “High-paying ones, too.” That was all
the push I needed. Time to fly the nest. Way past time.
When I left home, I was certain I could find a marketing job in the
New York metropolitan area. Was I ever off about that? I’ve been
here for two months now, and I’m stuck doing temp jobs that aren’t
a lot of fun. I have some fliers out, so hopefully, a big company will
hire me soon. God, I hope they do.
The apartment I live in with Jackie is above a pizza place. Her
father’s friend owns the building. He gives us a deal on rent. The
place is old but clean. We make do with what we have. Neither of us
cooks, so we live on takeout. Which is fine because the apartment’s
kitchen doesn’t allow for much cooking. There is no stove. Only a
refrigerator and microwave. Not even room for a table. We eat our
meals on the couch.
A positive for this place is that it has two bedrooms and a decent
bathroom. The shower is spacious enough that claustrophobia isn’t a
problem.
Jackie is a good roommate. The best. She works downtown at an
art gallery. As a lifetime New Yorker, she makes an excellent tour
guide. She’s shown me all the cool places, and we’ve had a lot of
fun.
I work at Macy’s on the weekends. Tried to get on full time, but
they only needed a weekend person for their woman’s bag and
accessory section. Easy money, but some women I have to deal
with… Not fun.
I trudge up the stairs to my apartment, not knowing if Jackie will
be home tonight. She’s been spending more time at her boyfriend’s
place. Which I don’t mind; saves me money on the earplugs I had to
buy for the nights her boyfriend stays here. She’s a screamer. He is,
too, a little.
I shiver, thinking about the first night I heard them. “Fuck me,
baby, fuck meeee,” he chanted. “Harder, baby, harder,” she
proclaimed. “Faster. Faster. Faster.” Didn’t realize people liked to talk
so much during sex. Yuck! The next day, I traveled to the drugstore
and purchased a pair of earplugs, the last ones in stock. They don’t
block out the noise like I’d hoped, but at least they help.
 CHAPTER THREE
NOAH

Saturday morning and I wake up early to run in the park. My

brother Blake is waiting for me in front of our building. We each
occupy a floor with our own penthouse apartment.
“Thought you’d be too hungover to run,” I say, looking into his
bloodshot eyes.
“You can’t imagine,” he says.
I take off jogging. “Let’s go.”
We don’t go as far as normal because Blake is having a hard time
keeping up. Has to stop and heave into some bushes, but he soldiers
on. And that’s Blake for you. Never quits.
Back at the building, I tell him he shouldn’t feel obligated to hit
the weight room with me. But he won’t hear of it. “If you’re going to
lift, then so am I.”
“All right.”
We spend twenty minutes pumping iron, and I decide that’s
enough. Can’t put Blake through this anymore. His clothes are
marinated in sweat, and his face is the color of vanilla ice cream.
“I’m calling it,” I tell him.
“You sure? ‘Cause I can go all day.”
I stop myself from laughing. “I’m sure.”
“All right.”
We stroll to the elevator and step in. I punch the button to go up
because I don’t think Blake has the strength to raise his arm. I
watch him as we climb. Poor bastard.
“You get Mom her present yet?” he asks me.
Her birthday is tomorrow, and I’ve been putting off the gift
shopping. Been waiting for inspiration or an idea, but neither wants
to come. I mean, what can you get a woman who lacks nothing? I’m
asking.
“Not yet,” I answer. “You?”
 “Of course.”
That figures. “What’d you get her?”
“Stationery set. You know how old-fashioned she is. Still sends
handwritten notes, for crying out loud. Anyway, I thought she’d like
it.”
She probably will.
“I’m having trouble thinking of something,” I say and allow my
shoulders to slump. Why is this so hard?
The elevator stops at Blake’s floor. The door opens, and he steps
out. “Go to Macy’s. You can find something there.
“You think?”
“Of course.”
Blake wishes me luck as the elevator closes.
I’m going to need it.

***

I quickly clean up and begin my search for the perfect present.

The first two stores don’t go well. The only things I leave with are
phone numbers I won’t use. I travel to Bloomingdale’s and fail again.
Why did I wait so long?
I decide to take Blake’s advice and check out Macy’s. If I find
nothing there, I’m waving the white flag.
I look around as I walk through the doors. I’m not proud to say
this, but I’m out of my element here.
Wandering aimlessly, I end up in the bags and accessories
department. Find myself looking at scarves. What the hell am I
doing? How have I sunk so low? Mom doesn’t wear scarves. She
abhors them. Shoelaces would make a better gift.
“May I help you, sir?” a voice asks from behind me.
I slowly turn and face the sales associate. She’s smiling, and it’s
not a calculating smile. This one is genuine. I like it.
She’s blonde and attractive, and her icy blue eyes have drawn me
in. She’s a little leaner than I like and not as chesty as I’m used to.
But damn. I’m feeling something here.
 There’s another characteristic about her that I find intriguing.
She’s not overly flirty. Not trying to touch me or rub up against me.
She’s standing an appropriate distance away, waiting for an answer,
which I don’t have.
“Sir? May I help you find something?”
“Trying to find a gift for my mother.”
“Okaaay. Have anything in mind?”
I shrug and shake my head.
“What does your mother like to do? Any hobbies?”
The girl is asking the right questions. She’s sincerely interested in
helping me find something for my mom instead of hitting on me.
How refreshing. And bothersome. I need her to show some interest.
Anything. I flash her a golden smile. One guaranteed to make her
melt. She doesn’t respond like she should. Seems unfazed. How can
this be?
“Sir?” Her tone is calm and reassuring.
I swallow and gain my composure. “Cooking and gardening are
what she enjoys most.”
“Excellent. That’s a start. I think I have an idea, so if you’ll follow
me.”
She walks off, and I trail behind like an obedient puppy, fixating on
her ass. Her swaying hips are intoxicating. This may be the ideal
woman for me. Which means nothing because I’m not looking for a
relationship. Who has time for that? And this girl… she’s the take-it-
slow type. I’m not into that. But if I were…
She leads me to the kitchen department. Huh? I told her Mom
loves to cook, but she has every appliance and gadget imaginable.
She and Dad also have someone preparing meals for them during
the week. I don’t know what this gal has to show me that Mother
doesn’t already have.
She glimpses over her shoulder at me and smiles, nods, and treks
along. We end up at the far end of the department, standing in front
of a display.
My eyebrows scrunch when she hands me a box. I twirl it around,
studying the sides and bottom.
 “It’s a spice gardening kit you can grow in the kitchen,” she tells
me. “Has every type of spice a gardener/cook would need.”
She shifts back and forth, waiting for my response. This is a
terrific gift for my mother. The girl is a genius.
“This is perfect,” I tell her.
She gives me a grateful smile.
“I’m glad.” She points in the direction we came. “If you’d like, we
can go back to my section, and I’ll ring this up. I can even gift wrap
it for you.”
“That would be wonderful.” I give her the box, and somebody
immediately snatches it from her hands.
“This is my department,” the girl snarls. “I’ll take care of him.”
I stand, dumbfounded. Me, Noah Dalton, a man who makes
million-dollar deals and eats nails for breakfast, is at a loss. What the
hell is happening?
“Yes, of course,” the girl who helped me says. “I hope your mother
likes the gift.”
She shuffles away, and I continue standing.
Can’t begin to explain how disappointed I am when she walks
away. I make a vow to find her later. If I can pull my head out of my
ass, that is.
 CHAPTER FOUR
AMBER

I enjoy working at Macy’s. The accessory department isn’t too

bad. We’re paid a flat hourly rate plus a percentage of sales. A tiny
percentage. Hey, I’ll take what I can get.
The girls who work here are a little catty and cliquey, which means
I have made no friends. They’re also all gorgeous. Every one of
them. So, you can imagine how I must feel when one of them
stands next to me. Less than blah.
It’s a good weekend job and better than the alternative,
waitressing in a jam-packed bar. Not that there’s anything wrong
with that. This is just easier with a lot less ass-grabbing. Here I only
have to deal with women who gripe about particular purse sizes or
scarf colors not being in stock. I can handle that.
This Saturday morning, after stocking the shelves with the new
can’t-find-anywhere-else handbags, I observe a man wandering into
my section, looking completely lost.
I study him, surprised no other salesperson has snatched him up
yet. He’s something else. Over six feet tall and fit. It takes discipline
and dedication to look that great. He’s dressed in a white T-shirt and
blue jeans. His hair is blond, which I’m normally not into but could
be for this guy.
My gaze drops to his wrist. He’s wearing a Patek Phillippe watch
and the price for one of those runs anywhere from twelve thousand
five hundred up past two million. I know this because I recently saw
an ad for them while thumbing through Cosmo. I glimpse at his
eyes, and they’re nothing short of spectacular. What a dreamboat.
He stops and combs through a rack of scarves. I walk over to him.
“Can I help you, sir?” I straighten a purse on a shelf next to him.
He turns his attention to me.
I smile.
 He takes a long moment to answer. “Trying to find a gift for my
mother.”
For some people, the closer you are, the better they look. May I
present to you exhibit A. This man is spectacular up close. And
waaay out of my league.
“Okay,” I say to him. “Do you have anything in mind?”
He shrugs and shakes his head and doesn’t answer. He seems the
type who would be more assertive and decisive. But he’s not, and it’s
kind of cute.
“What does your mother like to do? Any hobbies?”
Instead of answering, he grins, and my knees go weak. Would I
ever like to… I pull myself together. “Sir?”
“She likes to garden and cook.”
Now I need to think of something quick because if he keeps
looking at me this way, I’ll turn into a puddle of goo. An idea comes
to mind. I ask him to follow.
His eyes are boring into me as I lead him through my area and
into the kitchen department. Still wondering why one of the other
girls who work here hasn’t swooped in and stuck their talons into
him. Thought they all sensed these things.
We make it to the back corner, where I pick up the herb window
garden kit and hand it to him. I’m now second-guessing my choice.
It’s an inexpensive item and way below the price point I would
expect someone like him to pay. I wait for his decision.
He doesn’t react right away. Then he smiles, and I feel relief.
“This is perfect. She’ll love it.” That’s all the thanks I need.
He gives me the kit, so I can ring it up, but it’s immediately
snatched from my hands.
I hadn’t noticed Stacey, a senior sales associate and queen of the
mean girls’ club, hovering around us. I stand by submissively as she
tells me this is her department and she’ll be taking care of him.
Standing up to Stacey isn’t a good idea because she can make life
miserable and even get me fired.
I tell the hunk that I hope his mother likes the gift and trudge
back to my floor. He seems like such a great guy. Too bad I’ll never
meet him again.
 CHAPTER FIVE
NOAH

I want to rip the box out of this girl’s hand and go find Amber.
That’s what her name tag said. I wasn’t just staring at her chest.
While making our way to the kitchen area, I imagine her on her
knees, naked in front of me. Me grabbing her bare ass and pounding
into her. I’m hard thinking about it. No woman has ever turned me
on like this before. And her face… flawless.
Fucking Stacey. She’s a beautiful woman and dresses to stress her
figure. But she’s a poser and way too touchy-feely. I can’t wait to get
away from her and find Amber.
“Would you like this gift wrapped?” she says after chasing Amber
away.
“Just ring it up.”
She bats her fake eyelashes and leads me to her register. Takes
forever from there.
I feel dirty, the way she’s looking at me.
“That will be twenty-five dollars.”
I hand her my black Amex card. It’s the only thing I have; don’t
carry cash. She looks from the card to me and back again. Rings me
up. Has me sign a receipt and then holds out my card.
I reach, and she pulls it back to her bosom. Licks her lips. “You
busy tonight?”
This is why I don’t shop. “I have a girlfriend.”
She rubs my card between her cleavage. “You sure?”
“I’m sure. Now, can I have my things?”
She slides the card and receipt across the counter and covers
them with her hand.
“Listen. I don’t have time for this.” My voice carries an edge.
“Could you please give me my box of spices?”
She huffs and bags the box before she hands it to me. I take it
and march off. She doesn’t wish me a pleasant day.
 I head back to where I first met Amber. She’s helping an older
woman find a purse. I loiter for five minutes until she’s finished, then
walk over to her. I haven’t had butterflies in years, but they’re
banging around in there now.
“Hey, Amber. I was wondering if you could wrap this for me?” I
give her the bag, and our hands touch. Tingles run up my arm.
She points at herself, surprised I know her name.
“Your name tag.”
She touches it, and her cheeks flush.
“My name is Noah, by the way.” I offer her my hand, and she
takes it and smiles. The room lights up, and something deep inside
me stirs. “So . . .” I point at my mother’s gift.
“Sure, I can take care of you.”
My mind instantly turns dirty. Shame on me.
I thank her and watch her work. Her hair is in a ponytail, and her
shirt is buttoned to the top. Unlike Stacey’s, whose blouse is
unfastened to the navel.
There’s something about Amber’s understated beauty. She wears
little makeup. Her lips are natural; no heavy lipstick, just a touch of
shimmer on them. I desperately want to kiss her.
“Here you are, sir.” She hands me Mom’s gift, wrapped with a bow.
“Noah, remember.”
Her lips twitch, holding back a smile. “Sorry, Noah,” she purrs. “I
better get back to work.” She turns to leave.
I grasp her hand. “Would you care to have a coffee with me?
Maybe on your break?”
She bites on her lip. “I don’t think so. My next break isn’t until
lunch, and I already have plans for that… Thank you, though.”
Thwap! That stung.
She watches me fumble for words. I’d leave, but my feet are glued
to the floor. She shows me mercy. “Hope your mom likes her
present.” She tweaks her head to the side. “I really need to get back
to work.”
I think I nod but can’t be sure. My brain no longer functions.
Being turned down is not a pleasant feeling.
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