Suite Embrace
Anita Bunkley
MILLS & BOON
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To my husband, Crawford, my hero.
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 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 1
Skylar Webster counted the zeros on the pale blue check for the tenth time, reluctant to hand the valuable piece of paper over to the man sitting across from her at the conference table. She had never seen a check for four million dollars before, and certainly never one with her name on it!
On her way to Tampa Commerce Bank this morning, to finalize her investment portfolio and deposit the money into her bank account, she had stopped at a nearby copy center to make a copy of the check for her records, and to prove to anyone who might not believe her story, that she had once possessed such a sum.
Now, the numbers shifted and blurred before her eyes, making her feel slightly dizzy and she wasn’t sure if this sudden sense of euphoria was from the two aspirin she had taken earlier or the four cups of coffee she had drunk. Or maybe she was just overly excited that at last, her claim against Dorchester Elevators was settled and she could get on with her life.
It had been nearly a year since the accident, although it seemed like yesterday to Skylar, a paralegal who had been in and out of the Hillsborough County Courthouse thousands of times without ever thinking twice about stepping into its aging, temperamental elevators. For eight years, she had worked with many of the court-appointed lawyers and knew the building and its staff very well. In fact the courthouse had been like a second home to her, where she sometimes spent ten to twelve hours a day.
But her comfort level changed drastically on a cool December morning when she delivered a routine envelope of documents to Judge Flores on the tenth floor. After dropping off the package, she had chatted briefly with the judge’s secretary and then entered the tenth floor elevator, expecting to head back into the courtroom. But she never made it back to work that day. As soon as the double doors slid closed, the car had rattled and jerked a few times and then spiraled downward, crashing to the basement floor, taking Skylar and six other terrified passengers to the bottom of the shaft.
One man had been killed, a teenage girl’s legs had been so badly broken that she would never walk again, and the other passengers had suffered serious cuts and bruises, emerging shaken, but alive. Skylar, who had escaped with a shattered elbow and a fractured pelvis, knew she should feel relieved that both of her injuries had healed without complications—unless being unable to carry a child to term could be called a complication.
Now, after eleven months of sheer hell, the accident remained a nagging blur that she struggled to keep out of her mind, one that caused migraine headaches that her doctor insisted were a result of stress, and not from any of her injuries.
“Okay, Mr. Ray, where do I sign?” Skylar asked, coming back to the moment as she accepted a pen from her financial consultant.
“At the top. On the back, Skylar,” Mr. Ray replied, watching as she turned the check over and wrote her name in a flowing script across the top part of the check.
Sitting back, Skylar let her body go limp, sighing aloud, as if expelling a tiresome burden from her soul. “So, I’m all set?”
“You sure are,” Mr. Ray replied in a satisfied tone. “Your after-tax settlement of three and a half million dollars is now safely invested in a diversified portfolio that will keep you financially healthy for a long time to come. Your condo is paid for, as is your car. You have no outstanding credit card debt, and you have seventy-five thousand dollars in your personal checking account.”
Leaning forward over the table, Skylar pressed out her lower lip, narrowed her smoky black eyes at Mr. Ray and propped a fist under her softly rounded chin. “So, I can hit the mall and shop till I drop when I leave here, huh?” she joked, eager to shake off the unsettling seriousness of the meeting. Ever since the accident it seemed as if she had had nothing but one serious, angst-filled discussion after another with a stream of doctors, therapists, lawyers, insurance representatives and bankers. Finally, the negotiations were over. She could believe that the money was hers. She had actually received a mind-blowing settlement from Dorchester for all of her pain and suffering.
“Well,” Mr. Ray stated, studying Skylar over the top of his small rectangular glasses. “Yes…you can go shopping, but you do need to be prudent in your long-term spending. You’re only thirty-five years old, Skylar, and you’re going to be around for a lot of years. A settlement of several million dollars doesn’t last as long as most people think. The money will grow if you let it, but not if you spend as if there’s no limit…or make risky investments. I know you’re a practical young lady, but even sensible people can lose sight of what’s important when they come into the kind of money you now have.”
“I know. I was just joking, really,” Skylar tossed back, giving the too-somber banker a hint of a smile as he paper clipped the check to the top of a manila folder and pocketed his Mont Blanc pen.
“I’ll be right back with your deposit slip,” he said, before stepping out of the room.
Skylar sat back in her chair, thinking about the banker’s comment. Risky investments? Nothing to worry about there. That’s not my style at all. Unless I count Lewis Monroe.
With a silent groan, she let her thoughts slip to Lewis, the man in whom she had invested three years of her life, an investment that had brought her absolutely no return. In fact, she’d been left with a hole in her heart