Her Best Friend

Who could resist this man?

Amy looked at Quinn, standing there with his dark hair shining in the light from the streetlamp. He had been her knight in shining armour tonight, riding up out of nowhere and vanquishing her enemies. Her heart swelled with old, foolish emotions.

Even though it wasn’t the smartest thing to do given her unrequited crush, Amy pressed a kiss to Quinn’s cheek. His arms came around her, and the next thing she knew she was clamped against his chest. His wool coat was as soft as silk beneath her hands, his body beneath it big and strong. Amy closed her eyes and inhaled the smell of expensive wool and subtle, woody aftershave.

A rush of warm emotion washed over her. One look, one touch and she was thinking about all the things she’d never have. It was too hard. Too cruel. Yet still she wanted him.

Dear Reader,

This book was inspired by my good friend Helen’s recounting of how she and her husband moved from friends to lovers. They were renovating an old theatre, and through the long hours of talking and working together they fell in love. Naturally, such a great real-life story got my imagination ticking over. When I closed my eyes, however, I kept picturing an old cinema rather than a playhouse, and thus the Grand Picture Theatre was born.

I have always loved Art Deco architecture. There are some truly amazing old cinemas in my home town of Melbourne, and when I visited Florence, Italy, a few years ago I fell in love with the Odeon Cinehall, a stunning Art Nouveau cinema that just took my breath away. If you are ever in that neck of the woods, I highly recommend a visit—they play lots of English language movies and watching a film there makes you feel like royalty.

I hope you enjoy Quinn and Amy’s story. I love hearing from readers, and you can find my e-mail address at my website, www.sarahmayberry.com.

Until next time,

Sarah Mayberry

About the Author

SARAH MAYBERRY lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her partner, who is also a writer. When she’s not gazing off into space thinking about the characters in her latest story, she loves going to the movies, yoga, meditation and shoe shopping (not neccessarily in that order!). she’s hoping that by the time you read this she will be the proud owner of a new puppy—breed yet to be decided.

HER BEST FRIEND

SARAH MAYBERRY

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

This book would not exist if I did not have

Chris by my side.

Having his story smarts and endless patience

on my side makes all the difference. Love you.

I also want to thank Helen for sharing the story

of her real-life romance with me—thanks for

giving me Amy and Quinn!

And last, but never least, thanks to Wanda.

Bless the day I ended up on your desk.

CHAPTER ONE

AMY PARKER SLOWED her steps as she approached the Grand Picture Theatre. The setting sun painted the old cinema’s crumbling white Spanish Mission facade pink and apricot, and for a moment—if she squinted and really used her imagination—she could picture the Grand as it had once been: elegant, beautiful, a testament to a bygone era.

Four more days.

Then the sale contract would be signed off and the Grand would be hers and she could start making the image in her mind a reality.

Amy stepped closer to the double glass doors at the entrance. The front windows had been covered with newspaper for years, but a section on the right door had peeled away. She stood on her toes and shaded her eyes with her hands so she could see through the gap. Inside, the marble parquet tiles were dull with dirt and grime while crumpled newspaper, old boxes and dust balls dotted the floor. The once stunning concession stand was scarred with age, the mirrors behind it tarnished and chipped. It would take weeks to set things right in there. And the foyer was the least of her problems. Way down on her To Do list.

The roof needed fixing, the stucco on the facade had to be renewed. The plumbing was shot and the whole of the interior smelled of damp and mold. She had her work cut out for her, that was for sure.

She smiled. She couldn’t freaking wait.

“Amy. There you are. I tried you at the store but your mother said you’d left already.”

It was Reg Hanover, council chairman. Even though he was wearing yet another of his truly hideous ties, she beamed at him. On Friday, this portly middle-aged man and his fellow council members would be signing over the Grand to her in exchange for her hard-won savings and a sizable bank loan. Right now, she loved him, ugly tie and all.

“Reg. Hey there. I was just drooling,” she said. “Prematurely, I know. But I couldn’t help myself.”

Reg’s face was pink from the walk from her parents’ hardware store.

“Yes. Well. About that.” He cleared his throat and smoothed a hand down his tie. This one was beige, with a picture of a black horse rearing on it. Really bad, even for Reg.

She shifted her attention to his face. There was something about the way he couldn’t quite make himself meet her eyes. And the way he kept swallowing nervously.

“Is there some kind of problem?”

“Amy, there’s no point in beating around the bush. I’m just going to say it—we’ve had another offer. And we’re going to take it.”

Amy blinked a few times, trying to make sense of his words. “I don’t understand.”

“Ulrich Construction has come in with a last-minute offer. The council needs to think of the whole community, and we believe this is the best outcome for everyone.”

He sounded stiff, as though he’d been rehearsing his speech in his mind.

“But we had a deal. A contract.”

“No, Amy, we had a conversation. A conversation is not legally binding.”

She gaped. She couldn’t believe he was being so slippery.

“We negotiated a contract, Reg. I have a copy at home. You were going to sign it at this week’s meeting.”

“I’m sorry, but we had a better deal come in, and we took it. I know you’re disappointed, but that’s the way these things go.”

He checked his watch then glanced up the street, as though he had better things to do than break her heart.

“Have you signed off on the deal yet?” she asked.

“No, but we will on Friday.”

“I want to talk to the other councillors,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and lifting her chin.

“Fine. They’ll all be at the meeting. Members of the public are welcome.”

Members of the public? Yesterday the council had been ready to sign over ownership of the Grand to her and today she was a member of the public?

She was still trying to find something to say that didn’t contain the words sneaky rat fink when Reg reached out and patted her arm.

“It’s probably for the best. It was unlikely you were ever going to be able to restore this big old place on your own, anyway.”

He walked away. Amy stared at his retreating back. She was at a loss as to how to respond, how to feel, what to think.

For more than ten years she’d lived and breathed the dream of buying the old theatre that her great-grandfather had built. She’d lain awake on more nights than she could count regilding the decorative moldings in her mind, reupholstering the sectional seating, polishing the floors, imagining how glorious it could all be if she could only scrape together the money to purchase the theatre from the local council.

She’d invested the small legacy her grandparents had left her and saved her wages from working in her parents’ hardware store and taken any extra work that had come her way, planning for the day when she’d have enough for a deposit.

And finally she’d made it. At least she’d thought she had.

The shock was beginning to wear off. She didn’t understand how another offer could come out of the blue. The Grand had been an eyesore on the main street of the small Victoria, Australia town of Daylesford for years. It had ceased operating as a cinema in the eighties and had been empty for a long time, ever since the antiques dealer who’d been renting the space had found better premises. No one except Amy had seemed to give a toss about the old place. And yet suddenly the Grand was a hot ticket?

She needed to know more. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed her friend Denise, who worked at the municipal office. If anyone knew the details of this other offer, it would be her.

“‘Nise, it’s me. I need some inside info. But only if it won’t get you in trouble.”

“Fire away. I’m all yours, babe,” Denise said.

“Ulrich Construction has put in a last-minute bid on the Grand. I need to know what their prop says.”

“But the Grand is yours! I typed up your contract myself.”

“It’s not signed yet, ‘Nise.”

“Oh. Crap. The meeting’s this week, isn’t it? Give me five minutes, I’ll call you back.”

Amy paced in front of the Grand while she waited, arms crossed over her chest. It was late April and it was getting darker and colder by the minute, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t leaving this spot until she knew for sure what was going on. That her dream really was over.

Seven minutes later, her phone rang. It was Denise, and when she told Amy what she’d discovered, Amy literally felt dizzy with shock.

Ulrich Construction wanted to buy the Grand and knock down everything but the facade, replacing it with a four-story apartment block. They wanted to destroy the intricate plasterwork on the domed ceiling inside the theatre, smash the marble stairway to the balcony section, scrap the Murano glass wall sconces. They would pay lip service to preserving the Grand while wiping out everything that made the theatre so unique.

“You want me to come pick you up and pour some wine into you?” Denise offered when Amy was silent for too long.

“No. Thanks for this, ‘Nise. I have to go.”

Amy ended the call and pressed her palm against her forehead.

She needed to think. She needed to get past the panic that was making her heart race and her stomach churn.

She needed a lawyer.

Yes. Absolutely. That was definitely the first step. She needed a smart, sharp mouthpiece in a suit. Someone formidable who could arm her with the necessary information.

She started searching her phone contacts for a number she hadn’t dialed in months.

There had been good reasons for that, of course. Sensible, sanity preserving reasons. But this was an emergency. All bets were off. Her old school friend Lisa dealt with property law all the time in Sydney. She’d know how to handle this. She’d tell Amy if there was any way she could stop this disaster from happening.

Amy found the number as an unwelcome thought slunk into her mind: What if Quinn answers instead of Lisa?

Amy froze, staring at the number on the screen.

After all these years, she still couldn’t think of Quinn Whitfield without feeling a skip of excitement, closely followed by a thump of dread.

Dumb. And dangerous. He was married. They were married. Her two best friends.

Which was why she’d been deliberately trying to distance herself recently. Not returning phone calls. Being lazy with e-mails. Freezing them out.

But it wasn’t as though she’d gone to school with a million lawyers. It was either Lisa or a lawyer chosen at random from the phone book—an arrangement that would come complete with a hefty bill her tight restoration budget could not afford.

Hopefully Lisa would pick up and not Quinn. And if it was him … well, Amy would deal with it. She pressed the button and listened as the phone rang.

Come on, Lisa, pick up. Pick up, pick up, pick up.

A click sounded and suddenly Quinn’s voice was in her ear. Her stomach tensed—then she realized it was only a recording.

“Hi, there. You’ve called the Whitfields. We can’t get to the phone right now. Leave a message and your contact details and we’ll do our best to get back to you as soon as we can. Unless you’re selling life insurance, then you know what you can do.”

It had been nearly eighteen months since she’d spoken to Quinn, but he sounded exactly the same. She could even imagine the slight smile he would have been wearing when he recorded the message. Self-aware, wry. Charming as all hell.

The answering machine beeped and she took a quick breath.

“Lisa and, um, Quinn. Long time no speak, huh? Lis, I was actually calling to talk to you. I need some legal advice and it’s kind of urgent—”

“Amy. Hey. How the hell are you?”

Amy’s heart banged against her rib cage as Quinn’s deep voice sounded down the line. Not a recording this time. The real thing.

“Quinn. Hi.”

She closed her eyes. He sounded so good. And so pleased to hear from her.

And why not? She’d been the “best person” at his wedding. They’d grown up next door to each other. He’d taught her how to fish, and she’d taught him the best way to climb the apple tree at the bottom of her parents’ yard. They’d learned to ride their bikes together, and they’d been punished together any number of times for too many pranks to count. Rotten eggs in the air-conditioning vent at school. Releasing Quinn’s pet ferret in class. Filling the neighbor’s exhaust pipe with water from the garden hose.

Their exploits had been legendary. Then Lisa moved to town the year of Amy’s fourteenth birthday, and everything changed.

“I’m good, thanks. How about you?” she said.

“Keeping body and soul together. Man, it’s been a long time since I heard your voice.”

“Yeah.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. Wondered if he guessed she’d been deliberately pushing him away, or if he thought it was just time and distance that had come between them.

“I was thinking about you the other day, actually,” he said.

She’d been about to ask if Lisa was home, but his words caught her by surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah. I was thinking about the wedding. The night before, actually. How you and I went down to the lake and drank all that beer. Remember?”

“I remember.”

How could she forget? She’d matched him beer for beer, desperate to prolong every last second with him before he stopped being her best friend and became one half of Mr. and Mrs. Quinn and Lisa Whitfield.

Would it have been easier if Lisa hadn’t been her close friend, the third musketeer? Would it have hurt as much if Quinn had fallen for a stranger from out of town?

Amy would never know.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. This was why she’d hesitated over calling. So many memories, all washing over her.

Time to get this conversation back on track.

“Listen, I, um, don’t want to keep you too long. Is Lisa around? I need to ask her advice on a legal thing.”

There was a short pause as Quinn registered the abrupt shift in conversation. She’d been too sharp, too quick to cut him off. She held her breath, waiting for him to ask the questions that were bubbling beneath the surface of their conversation.

Why did you stop returning my calls?

Why aren’t we friends anymore?

What did I do wrong?

“Lisa’s not around at the moment. Is it anything I can help with?”

“It’s fine. I’ll wait for her to call me back.”

“What’s the problem, Ames? Lisa might have gotten better marks than me but I made partner before her.” Quinn was joking, but there was an edge to his tone.

Because, of course, Quinn was a lawyer, too. One of the many things he and Lisa had in common. He could just as easily answer her questions, yet Amy had made a point of asking for Lisa, of thinking of Lisa and not him when she’d realized she needed legal advice.

“It’s not that. I didn’t want to bother you,” she said quickly.

“But you’re happy to bother Lisa?”

Because I haven’t been in love with Lisa for more years than I can count. Because talking to her doesn’t make me think about all the hours I’ve spent aching over you, wishing you loved me instead of her. Making myself sick with jealousy and guilt and lust.

“No. It’s just we haven’t spoken for a while, and I don’t want to be one of those fair-weather friends who calls out of the blue and hits you up for a favor because I need some legal advice.”

Quinn made an impatient noise. “For Pete’s sake, Amy. We grew up together. You’re my oldest friend. Tell me the problem.”

She hesitated a moment longer. But he was right. She was being stupid. She’d always been stupid where Quinn was concerned.

“I’ve been negotiating with the council for the past few months to buy the Grand. We have a contract all ready to go—”

“Whoa. Hold on a second. You finally got the money together to buy the Grand?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Ames. That’s fantastic. What an amazing achievement.”

It scared her how much his praise meant to her, how much it made her chest ache.

“Well, I’m not there yet.”

“Right. You’ve got a contract …?” he prompted.

Over the next few minutes she briefed him on the situation. It made her feel sick and angry all over again as she thought about the peremptory way Reg Hanover had delivered the news. As though she was a pesky child to be shooed from the room.

“If the contract wasn’t signed, there’s not much you can do to hold them to the agreement. You know that, right?” Quinn said.

“This isn’t about my contract. I need to know if there’s anything I can do to protect the Grand. It’s on the town’s heritage register. Surely that means Ulrich can’t knock it down?”

Her voice broke on the last few words and she felt immeasurably foolish.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to need some time to do a bit of research, find out more about the local heritage register and council bylaws. In some municipalities, what Ulrich is proposing is acceptable—a compromise between heritage preservation and commerce. Can I get back to you?”

“Of course.”

“Probably won’t be until tomorrow morning, okay?” “Sure.”

“Try not to freak out in the meantime.”

“Too late. And thanks, Quinn.”

She could almost see his shrug, even though he was hundreds of miles away. “No worries, Ames.”

He ended the call. She slid her phone into her pocket and started walking to her car.

She hadn’t spoken to Quinn for months, had dodged his phone calls and avoided responding to his e-mails. And he’d responded to her request for help without hesitation. Without question.

It was one of the things she’d always loved about him the most: his generosity. But then there had always been a lot to love about Quinn Whitfield. His clever mind. His kindness. His sense of humor. Then there was his body—tall and broad and strong….

Stop it. Stop it before you’re right back at the same old place again.

She had bigger fish to fry than lost loves and old regrets. It was far better to channel her energy into a battle she at least had a chance of winning.

Because she’d lost Quinn long ago.

QUINN SAT QUIETLY for a moment after he’d hung up the phone.

For the first few seconds of the call he’d thought Amy was calling because she knew, because his mother had let something slip or Lisa had made contact to tell her the big news.

But Amy hadn’t known. And he hadn’t told her.

“I’m going home now, Mr. Whitfield.”

Quinn glanced up to see Maria hovering in the doorway of his study.

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you in a few weeks,” he said.

“You have a good holiday, okay?” she said. “You work too hard. You need to rest.”

“I will. You enjoy your break, too.”

She waved her hand as though he was talking nonsense. He knew she cleaned a number of houses as well as his own. She probably never stopped working.

“And maybe you should try to eat some more while you’re away,” she said.

“I’ll do what I can.”

She gave him a last wave before disappearing and he let the easy smile fade from his lips. She was worried about him, just as they’d been worried about him at the office. Lots of hushed conversations about “poor Quinn” and how he was working too late and how much weight he’d lost. Hence the holiday. Two weeks up north on Hamilton Island, whether he liked it or not.

“Take some time off, Quinn. Look after yourself. No one expects you to be a machine,” his boss had said.

Not an order, but close enough.

Quinn sighed and raked a hand through his hair. At the moment, work was his solace. He had no idea what he’d do without it. Face the wreckage of his marriage, he supposed.

Hard to get too enthusiastic about that.

Even though his leave had officially started this morning, he’d been tidying up loose ends at home, and he saved the last draft of the Monroe contract before sending a quick e-mail to his assistant to let her know it was ready to be released to the client. Then he glanced down at the notes he’d made while talking to Amy.

He still couldn’t believe she was in a position to buy the Grand, after all these years. And that he hadn’t known about it.

She’d been obsessed with the place since they were kids. Used to drag him past it as they walked home from school every day, even though it was out of their way. It had been a clothing clearance store back then, the cinema having gone out of business years before. He used to wait beside the door while she made her way through the racks of seconds and the previous year’s fashions to stand with her head tilted back as she studied the elaborate plaster ceiling high above. He could still remember how she used to wrap her arms around her midsection as she drank it all in, as though she was scared her excitement would get away from her if she didn’t keep a grip on herself.

It felt wrong that she’d reached such a significant milestone in her life and he’d known nothing about it. But then he’d been hanging on to some pretty big news of his own, hadn’t he? He could hardly fault her when he’d just failed to tell her that he was getting a divorce.

He called up an online search engine. Given a choice, he’d rather work than contemplate his navel. Every time.

An hour later he’d accessed the local council Web site and downloaded the relevant bylaws. He’d also tracked down some recent decisions on heritage protections in the Victorian Supreme Court. It was nearly eight and his stomach was hollow with hunger. He walked to the takeout Indian restaurant on the corner and bought a chicken curry he probably wouldn’t finish.

It was cool out and he tugged the collar of his leather jacket higher on his neck as he walked back home. Two-storied Victorian terrace houses marched down either side of the street, their balconies decorated with elaborate wrought iron lacework. He stopped in front of his own terrace house, taking a moment to note the clean white paint and the glossy black trim. Wisteria climbed one of the balcony supports, and the front garden was a masterpiece of precise hedges and rounded topiary.