by Holly Rayner
“Well,” he says, lowering his reading glasses and peering at me over them. “Our records show that the ring you seek is indeed within the vault, along with a set of terms of inheritance, as set out by the former owner.”
“What are they?” If I lean forward any more, I’m going to fall right off the chair. I’ve been waiting so long for this.
He clears his throat and begins reading aloud. “To begin the process of acquisition, the Meijer heir must use the ring as part of a proposal of marriage. The ring will be considered to be ‘on loan’ throughout the couple’s engagement, and only legally become theirs on the occasion of their marriage.”
The words tumble around me. The creaky old lawyer did everything slowly since entering the office. Why, now, is he suddenly reading fast?
“Could you say that again?” I ask.
“The Meijer house heir—that’s you, Julian Meijer—must propose with the ring.”
I barely have time to process those words before he’s moving on. “Then, it will be on loan—you won’t actually own it, you see?—through the couple’s engagement.”
Proposal. Engagement. This is not going to be as straightforward as I assumed…
He goes on. “Very unusual, these days, to see such specific clauses in a will, but times were different back then. This ring has been with us for a very long time indeed. I’m surprised you’ve come for it, after all these years!”
“I’ve been searching all over Europe,” I say quietly. My ears are ringing.
“I see. Well, congratulations on finding it, my boy. I’m sure you weren’t expecting the…additional specifications, but I’m afraid there isn’t a great deal we can do about it.”
“It’s all right,” I say.
I can’t believe how close I am! A few outdated rules aren’t going to stop me now. I need to improvise…
“I’m actually planning on proposing to my girlfriend with the ring,” I go on, “which is why I’ve been searching so intently. There’s no other ring that I’d rather give her. It has to be the Meijer Ruby.”
Both old men raise the corners of their mouths into smiles.
The banker speaks first. “Wonderful!”
“Congratulations!” the lawyer chimes in. “I’m very happy for you. Nothing better than a young couple finding love. That being the case, I will be happy to release the ring into your possession.”
I jump up from my seat. The banker extends his hand, and I grasp it excitedly. Next, I move on to the lawyer. I’m pumping his bony hand up and down when his next words hit me like a punch to the gut.
“We’ll just have to meet her first,” he says, and I feel my handshake slow. “To validate the legitimacy of the relationship, of course. All that is elaborated on in the will. Very specific, thoughtful rules!”
I pull my hand away. “Meet her?”
Maybe my fib wasn’t such a brilliant idea after all.
“Yes. A short interview. Just a formality, of course; I’m sure you understand,” the lawyer says.
“How about early next week?” the banker offers. “Monday, two p.m. Will that work for you?”
I’m too stunned to answer.
The lawyer misreads my open-jawed expression. “It does seem like a long way off, doesn’t it? But not to worry. Your ring is safe here, Mr. Meijer. And we will be delighted to meet your soon-to-be wife.”
I force my mouth closed and try to lift my lips into a smile. “Yes, and she will be very happy to meet you both.”
We share handshakes all around again, and the two men show me out to the lobby. I make my way in a daze out the front doors, into the bright sunshine. It’s not until I’m on the highway, heading back to Amsterdam, that the dazed feeling finally clears away. I’m left with a sudden sense of clarity. My little fib might have just cost me the priceless treasure I’ve been searching for all this time.
How in the world am I going to produce a fiancée in one week? I don’t even have a girlfriend!
Single, and screwed. What am I going to do?
I tap a button on my steering wheel, and voice-dial my PA.
“Hey, hey,” he answers cheerily.
“Max, my man. I have a scheduling request for you.”
“Shoot.”
“I need you to clear my schedule next Monday. Starting at noon.”
“You got it, boss. Hey, are you coming into the office today? There are some details that I’d like to iron out for your big meeting tomorrow afternoon.”
“Right. The rebranding pow-wow. I’m just driving back from The Hague, and I don’t think I’ll make it in today. Email me and I’ll answer when I get home.”
“Will do, boss. I’ve sent out itineraries to all of the executives on the list you gave me, but I can’t find the contact info for the U.S. head of marketing.”
“That’s because it’s a new hire. I don’t have the info either, but hit up the marketing branch of Canada’s H.Q. They were involved in the interviewing process, so I’m sure they have an email address.”
I’m trying to read road signs as I talk, because I know my turn-off is coming up soon. Was that it? A black and white sign zips past my peripheral vision.
I need to pay attention. “Hey, I gotta go, man. Message me any other questions that you have.”
We sign off, and I start merging just in time to make my exit. After finding my way onto the stretch of highway that will take me home, I find myself thinking about the interview again.
I need to figure something out, in just a week, if I want to get my hands on that ring.
What am I going to do?
Chapter 2
Shelby
Vermaak N.V.
The metal letters are royal blue, eight feet tall, and carved in a modern font.
Bold. Handsome. Unique.
Just like the brand itself. Not to mention the founder and CEO.
There’s no doubting that I’ve arrived in the right place. I step out of the cab and sway backwards on my heels as I look up at the towering letters and the even more impressive setting just beyond them.
I feel like I’m looking at the entrance to a college campus, not a brewing company. The manicured courtyard, lawn, and pathways lay the groundwork to several imposing brick buildings. The old-fashioned brickwork is interlaced with modern, vast expanses of glass, giving the whole scene a hip look. People zip around on bikes, messenger bags over their shoulders.
I wish I had a bike as begin to make my way across the main courtyard, just beyond the blue letters. My feet ache, and my neck hurts even more. The neck pillow I purchased before my red-eye from Massachusetts was supposed to help me sleep through the long flight. Instead, it gave me a crick in my neck that just won’t go away, no matter how many stretches I perform.
As I walk, I eye the happy employees riding past. From a distance, I swear, most of them look like the man I want to see.
The man I’ve been thinking about ever since I applied for the position with Vermaak N.V., three months ago.
Who am I kidding? The man I’ve been thinking about for the past fifteen years.
At a distance, I see a tall, handsome blond man biking towards me and my heart leaps into my throat. But as he nears, I’m able to regain my composure. That’s not him.
I spot a map in the middle of the courtyard and pause long enough to try to figure out where I’m supposed to be headed. I’ve never been the best with maps, and after spinning in a full circle and squinting off into the distance, I think I spot the right building. My brain feels foggy with fatigue.
It’s a good thing that I’ve arrived early; maybe once I get my bearings, I can find some sort of canteen or coffee shop.
I make my way into the building, my heels clicking across the polished, black marble floor. I approach the front desk, and a woman behind the desk greets me with a friendly smile.
“Welcome to Vermaak! How can I help you?”
“Hello,” I say, pulling the print-out of an email I received just the day before out
of my purse. I place the sheet on the desk and scan the instructions for the name of the meeting room. “I’m looking for the Van Eyck room…?”
I’m sure that I’ve butchered the pronunciation, and the woman’s expression confirms it. I see her stifle a smile.
“Yes, ma’am. Can I ask you your name? I’ve been instructed to check in the attendants as you arrive.”
“Yes. I’m Shelby Bright. Head of marketing for the U.S. territory.”
The woman scans a list and then makes a quick note with her pen. “Ah! Ms. Bright. Welcome to Amsterdam! I see you’ve flown in from Massachusetts—how was the trip?”
“Long.” I give her a wry smile. “Actually, I’d love to find some coffee before heading up to the…meeting room.” I decide not to attempt the name again.
She pulls out a little map, and quickly shows me a route to the nearest employee cafe. Great, another map! I step back out into the bright sunshine and look at the paper in my hands while I walk down the steps, back out to the courtyard.
She said turn left, didn’t she? I think so.
Head still down, tired but determined to find coffee one way or another, I begin to march down a pathway to my left.
I’m squinting at the map, wishing I had a pair of sunglasses with me, when I bump into something solid.
Solid, but forgiving.
A person—whose outstretched arms catch me before the collision sends me toppling backwards. I look up into sparkling, light blue eyes. A handsome face. A confident grin.
I step backwards.
It’s Julian. The man I’ve been waiting to see!
Does he recognize me? His eyes seem to dance with mine as I study him. He’s grown. I knew this, from the pictures I’ve seen of him online. In person, he seems even taller and more muscular than the man in the images. He’s dressed in a suit, and his finger-length blond hair is combed stylishly up and over to one side. His grin is as playful as ever, and his neat-and-tidy urban look is offset by casual layer of stubble.
I see him studying me, too. I want to rush forward and embrace him, and cry out: “Julian! It’s been forever!”
But what if he doesn’t recognize me? That would practically be assault! I should offer my hand and reintroduce myself. The thought of doing this with my long-lost best friend makes my heart ache.
But it has been fifteen years. Just as he’s changed over the last decade and a half, so have I.
I begin to stick out my hand, when at last, he steps forward.
“Shelby!” His voice is deeper than I remember. His eyes twinkle with warmth. “I can’t believe it! You’ve completely caught me off guard! I was just…”
His voice fades from my mind as he wraps his strong arms around me. My face presses against his muscular chest. Hello! He is tall. He smells like aftershave. I feel his perfect jawline of stubble graze my forehead. I’m in heaven.
The hug is over way too soon.
“…over this afternoon.” He seems to finish a sentence.
“Hmm?” I say. Is it the jet lag that has me so spacey, or has his hug actually made me brain-dead for the last thirty seconds? “Could you…um, repeat that?”
He chuckles. “I said that I’m just heading to my office and then to a meeting this afternoon. But that’s not important. I don’t know why I’m talking about me…what are you doing here?”
“I’m here for a meeting, too.” I say. I can’t take my eyes off of him. “I was just hired as the marketing executive for your U.S. offices.”
“You’re the new hire from the States? I had no idea!”
I know I should say more: how excited I am to work for his company, what drew me to the position, how qualified I am. Years of climbing the corporate ladder has taught me better than to stand in front of a CEO, tongue-tied.
My “Women in Business” mentor from college would have slapped me.
But in this moment, I’m not a woman in business, clawing her way to the top, out to impress the head-honcho. I’m a girl of fifteen, standing across from her best friend—her first love.
I’m that shy and smart teen, being drawn out of her shell by the quirky, intelligent class clown. I’ve got a backpack full of books—comic, philosophy, and poetry alike—and we’re about to sneak down to our boarding school tennis courts to lay side by side and pore over the pages. Later, we’re going to the banks of the Seine, to dip our toes in the water and eat greasy pizza slices while the lights of Paris turn on all around us, one by one.
I have no idea how long I stand there, silent, lost in thought as I look up at him. He seems to be just as disoriented.
A cyclist whizzes past us, skids to a stop, and then backs up.
“Boss?”
It’s a young man, probably mid-twenties. He’s wearing thick-rimmed glasses and has a mohawk.
“Max,” Julian says.
“I was just heading to your office to bring you the rebranding folders. You want them now?” Max swings a neon yellow messenger bag around to his hip.
“No—ah…bring them to my desk. I’ll be there in five. Wait for me.”
Max looks over at me and nods hello. I smile in return. Then, he bikes off.
We’re alone again.
“I can’t believe this…” Julian repeats. “You’re working for Vermaak. After all these years. This is…great. Really great. Wow.”
I see him looking at me intently, bewilderment in his eyes. I used to know him so well. I used to be able to guess what he was thinking, just by the look he’d give me. Now, I find that I can’t guess his thoughts. Is he happy to see me?
“It’s so good to see you, Julian,” I manage to say. My voice sounds small and soft, like it did when I was fifteen.
“You too, Shelby.”
“I know you have to get going. I should, too…I think I’m going to faint if I don’t get some food and a coffee.”
He smiles, and glances down at the map in my hands. “You’re telling me you learned how to read maps?” he asks.
Suddenly, I’m pulled back into a daydream.
I’m fourteen, looking down at a crinkled, foldable map of Paris. There’s a lollipop in my mouth. I look up, away from the map, to Julian, who is walking across the bridge’s cement railing as if it’s a balance beam.
“I give up,” I say.
“You can do it,” Julian encourages me. “Here, I’ll help.”
He sits down on the cement railing and pulls me into him, so I’m situated between his legs. He leans over me, his lanky arms resting on my shoulders as he points to the compass in the map’s corner.
“North, East, South, West,” he says. He motions to the sky. “Look for the sun. Then, turn the map so it’s oriented the right way.”
I remember how surprising and wonderful it was, to feel Julian all around me. I remember laughing as he pulled the lollipop from my mouth, sucked on it for a moment as we both stared at the map, and then handed it back to me. It was in his mouth, then, in my mouth. To my fourteen-year-old mind, that was just as good as a kiss.
I developed my crush slowly, over the years of our friendship. There was no one moment when I suddenly fell head over heels in love with Julian Meijer. Instead, the fall was slow and steady, one grape lollipop at a time.
Back in the present moment, I look down at the map in my hands. “Not really,” I admit.
He chuckles. “You never could. Don’t worry, it’s not far.” He steps closer to me on the path. I smell his aftershave again. He points to our left. “Just keep going. See that row of benches? Walk next to them for a bit and then take your first right. You’ll see lots of employees going in and out. There’s one thing we all love just as much as Vermaak beer around here, and that’s a good espresso.”
“Can you…join me?” I ask, forgetting that he’s just told the young guy with the mohawk that he’ll be at his office in five minutes.
Julian shakes his head. “I wish I could. I’ve really got to go over some notes with my assistant before our meeting this afternoon.”
“Oh, right. Well, I’d love to catch up with you.”
“I’d like that, too. How about drinks tonight? I could show you around Amsterdam. We’ve got some great bars.”
I smile. “Perfect.”
We part ways, and I manage to find the coffee shop. While I sit and sip my quad-shot Americano, I try to go over my own notes for the meeting. I have some ideas for the rebranding strategy, and this will be my one and only chance at making a good first impression with many of the Vermaak executives. I’m tired and distracted by my run-in with Julian, but I also know that I can’t let any of that get in the way of my focus. I need to nail this meeting.
I take my time nursing my drink and nibble on a salad box of quinoa and roasted vegetables. When it’s time to head back towards the Van Eyck room, I feel as ready as I’m going to be, the caffeine having temporarily rewired my brain.
The front desk attendant welcomes me back, and I take elevators up to the fourth floor. When I step into the meeting room, I’m twenty minutes early, but there are a few others milling about. I recognize the head of marketing for Canada, and she’s quick to pull me into a discussion.
Soon, we make our way towards the tall, black leather office chairs situated around the circular, glass table on curving metal legs.
It’s one minute past three when Julian breezes in. Everyone stops talking as he takes a seat. His assistant, Max, enters close behind Julian and starts handing out folders—one for each of us.
Julian speaks. “Hello, hello! Thank you all for being here.”
His voice is commanding and kind. I can tell that the years have drawn his natural ability to lead out of him. He seems completely comfortable addressing all of us as a group.
“I know it was a long trip for some of you, and I hope you know I wouldn’t have required your presence in person if it wasn’t of utmost importance. Some things can be done virtually, but for this meeting, I wanted us to all be here—as the Vermaak family—working together.”
He looks around the room and I feel a shiver as his eyes meet mine. He’s good at this.
