by Lee, Nadia
I take that as good acting. She has to know that I value her skills too much to transfer her anywhere. My annual feedback for her was complimentary, and I even told Joe to fuck off during the call—albeit very professionally, of course. Besides, accounting is boring. I wouldn’t force that on anyone. But even if accounting were the most exciting department at Sweet Darlings, she still wouldn’t be going there. Still, I don’t stop teasing. “That depends on whether or not you’re going to rebel against me. Stage a departmental coup.”
“I’m not. I’m a very staid, middle-of-the-road kind of person,” she says quickly, like she has to deny what I said because either she likes it too much or she’s terrified of it. “I always follow instructions. Like you saw… Well, you didn’t see, but I was very careful with the chocolate lava cake because I wanted to make sure it was good, especially after the awkward…you know…” She clears her throat. “Saturday.”
I knew she was holding some kind of grudge about what happened. “So because of Saturday, you decided to…?” I swallow the rest of the words. Calling the cake a murder attempt is being kind. But I’m afraid of what she might concoct if I say that out loud. I don’t want to have an arsenic apple pie next. And I don’t believe for a second she followed any human recipe for that thing.
“I decided to what?”
“Nothing. Here we are.” I open the door for her, and we walk into the opulent marble and glass interior together.
A sandy-haired sales clerk in a crisp black and white suit comes over. “Sir. Ma’am. Welcome,” he says in a modulated tone, his words lightly accented. Probably European. He looks at us with a warm but not overly familiar smile, his pale blue gaze attentive.
“We’re looking for an engagement ring,” I say, placing a hand over Erin’s shoulder so we look like a couple in love.
Erin stiffens under my touch. Is she surprised or offended?
Not wanting her to feel uncomfortable, I start to pull away. But she puts an unexpected hand on my back, stopping me. Is she okay with all this or not? Maybe she’s finally getting into the spirit of the thing. And that means she won’t fight too much about the cost. Nobody who buys here haggles over price.
“Something nice and not too…eye-catching would be good,” she adds.
The man smiles like it’s every day a couple comes in together to buy an engagement ring. Which, of course, it probably is for him. “Certainly. We have several classic pieces if you’re interested in something along those lines,” he says. “By the way, my name is Hans. I’ll be taking care of all your needs today.”
We walk past spotless glass cases displaying glittering necklaces and earrings. Hans leads us to a private room with a comfortable love seat and a padded leather bench. The lights are strategically placed to shine on a table in front of the seat.
“Please.” He gestures at the couch, and we sit down. Erin perches on the edge, while I lean back and pat her tense shoulder comfortingly. I’m okay with however much we spend here.
“Would you like some refreshment? We have a selection of wine, specialty beer and more.”
“Champagne.” I turn to Erin. “You?”
“The same,” she says to me with a nod, her eyes wide.
When Hans is gone, she sits back so she can lean close enough to whisper. “He’s offering even before we bought anything? Is he trying to get us drunk?”
“If that’s what we want…” I say, half teasing. Masako Hayashi wouldn’t let any of her patrons get shit-faced drunk, certainly not before a purchase. And not after, either. The woman runs a classy operation, and her patrons are expected to behave. Otherwise you’ll end up on her blacklist, like the obnoxious cocaine-high heiress who screamed and got into a fight with her fiancé in the store.
“Is it because they want us to be too intoxicated to buy within budget?”
I almost laugh. “Budget? People on budgets don’t shop here.”
“But Da—”
Hans returns, cutting her off. A clerk with a nametag that says TRAINEE hands us our drinks, then leaves, while Hans sets down a tray of rings.
“I’ve selected a few classic designs and a few of Masako’s more contemporary and unique pieces. Of course, if you don’t mind waiting, she can always create a commissioned piece. But the ones she does purely to satisfy her muse are also exceptional. Everything she makes herself is art for the most discerning clientele.”
Erin bites her lower lip. It’s her habit when she’s nervous or mulling things over. I know because I’ve seen her do it numerous times. I don’t think she’s aware of it, though. She sometimes does it even soon after applying a new coat of lipstick.
Sipping my champagne, I watch her look at the rings. Her eyes light up when she notes a particular platinum one that has a huge ruby surrounded by diamonds.
I like it, too. There’s something fiery and intense about the color, barely restrained by the cool blaze of the diamonds.
Erin lets out a small sigh, tears her gaze from the ruby ring and looks at others. They aren’t as unique as the ruby, but they’re classy—solitaire diamonds or three-stone rings. Some of the stones are larger, some smaller. The bands are the key point because they have interesting designs, many incorporating cool twists of pink and yellow gold.
She points at a simple band with a single moderately sized brilliant-cut diamond. “Maybe this one…?” She says it brightly, but I can sense the wistfulness of someone taking a second choice because she doesn’t think she should have what she really wants.
And I don’t like it. She should always have what she really wants.
Her gaze flickers to the ruby again. The movement is so quick that I would’ve missed it if I weren’t watching so closely.
Hans smiles. “An excellent choice. The diamond is of the first water.”
“Mmm.” Erin sounds like she’s trying to make herself feel better about the consolation prize.
No, no, no. I don’t care how much the ruby ring costs. Erin should demand more. She might think she shouldn’t because she’s the one who proposed this fake engagement. But I agreed, and so it’s not just her deal now, but ours. She should never have to settle. Ever.
“I think the ruby is far superior,” I cut in before Hans can pluck the ring from the velvet and put it on her finger.
“Also an excellent choice,” he says, beaming.
I wonder if his vocabulary is limited to “excellent” and “choice” every time a client indicates some merchandise. There’s no comparison between what I picked and what Erin did.
He continues, “That’s the latest project Masako just completed.”
Erin looks at me, her eyes darting between me and the ring. “It’s ruby. It isn’t going to work.” She’d be more convincing if she didn’t sound like an ice cream addict who’s just learned she’s become lactose intolerant.
“Sure it will. There’s no law that says you have to have a diamond,” I say.
“You’re drunk.”
“Nobody gets drunk off one glass of champagne.”
She sets her chin stubbornly. “Everyone has diamonds.”
“Not everyone. Anthony Blackwood commissioned a pearl ring to propose to his wife,” Hans puts in quickly. “Masako designed it. It’s quite stunning.”
I start to like Hans better. “Seeee?”
“But…” She looks back at the ruby. “It’s really…red.”
“Of course. Pigeon’s blood. And an exquisite shade, neither too dark nor too light. Your fiancé has discerning taste in jewelry.”
Hans is on a roll now. Keep the praise coming…
“It’s a ruby. It’ll look great on you. Really pop.” I can visualize it already on her long, slim finger. It’ll sparkle like a star when she’s typing on her computer…when she’s holding her phone…when she’s taking notes in meetings…when she’s drinking coffee… Then I think about how it’ll look if she wears that flaming red dress again.
Holy shit.
“Then everyone’s going to see
, right?” Erin murmurs.
“Well, yeah. That’s kind of the whole point,” I say. “Who wants an invisible engagement ring?”
Hans inclines his head in an I have no choice but to agree gesture.
“Conventional is boring. Everyone does it. You should stand out, Erin. You deserve to.”
Erin searches my eyes for a moment, then looks down at the rings on the velvet tray. Finally, she lets out a sigh. “Okay. Let’s do the ruby.”
I smile, happy she got what drew her eye the whole time, rather than the boring one she didn’t really want.
“I’m sure you’ll be delighted with it. Masako called it a ring for people who don’t realize how special they are yet,” Hans says with a broad smile. “Now, let’s size your finger, shall we?”
Chapter Sixteen
Erin
David plucks the ring from the tray and slides it on my finger. Even without sizing, it fits perfectly.
“See? Fated. It was made to sparkle on you.” David sounds unbearably smug, but I can’t even get upset with him because the ring is just too stunning.
The deep red seems to swallow my gaze, and the stone’s cut beautifully. The color looks amazing against my rather pale hand, and pleasure flutters in my heart. The diamond ring I chose would’ve been fine, but it didn’t call to me like this one.
On the other hand, I feel slightly guilty that he’s going to end up spending way too much on it. The other one has to be cheaper. And even if he’s doing this to maintain his image, nobody but us would know that there was a more expensive ruby ring we could have chosen.
But from the way he signs the credit card slip with a smile, you would never guess he’s bothered by the price. Maybe he honestly isn’t because he’s so rich.
I tip the flute back and down the rest of the champagne. Not because I necessarily need a drink but because I want David to get his money’s worth. One of the first things I learned in life was that there is no free lunch. The champagne is built into the ring price.
“Shall I put it in a box for you?” Hans asks, gesturing at my finger.
Wait, he thinks I might want it in a box? I make a tight fist with my left hand automatically and pull it close to my body. Then I shoot a glance David’s way. Am I expected to…?
David looks at me, then smiles. “Look how happy she looks. Taking it away from her would be cruel.”
“But of course.” Hans puts a black velvet box in a discreet shopping bag with the elegant MH logo on it and walks us out.
Once we’re out on the sidewalk, after the boutique door has closed behind us, I start to giggle.
“What?” David says.
“Him escorting us out.”
A corner of David’s mouth quirks up. “He probably didn’t want us getting lost in the store.”
That makes me laugh harder for some reason, especially since the store isn’t particularly large. “Actually, it reminded me of what you said on Saturday. About a serial killer pouncing on his unsuspecting victim. Maybe Hans was trying to protect his customer base.” Then I lower my voice. “Does he get a commission, you think?”
David shrugs. “Maybe. Why?”
“Just curious. I thought he could be looking for a repeat customer.”
That’s probably why he was flattering David and siding with him so much, since it’s obvious who’s got the money to patronize such an expensive place. And I’m not sure if I really believe what Hans said about the pearl ring. I have no idea who Anthony Blackwood might be. For all I know, it’s somebody Hans made up. But people are just going to assume he’s telling the truth. It isn’t like anybody’s going to look this Anthony Blackwood up and call him to check. And a man in a crisp suit who speaks with a European accent does come across as a trustworthy fellow, unfair as that stereotype might be.
“Anyway, it’s only for a few months,” I say to myself, looking down at the ring again. It’s like my eyes are magnetized to the thing. I’m going to be sad when I have to return it, but I’ll enjoy it while I can.
“Exactly,” David agrees after a beat. “Nothing to worry about.”
He totally missed my point, but I decide not to argue. He looks too pleased with the purchase. And if I’m honest with myself, I’m too in love with the ring to protest much.
His phone vibrates. He pulls it out his pocket and frowns.
“Anything wrong?” I ask.
“It’s the people who went to check on your place. They’re saying it’s surrounded by reporters.”
I gape at him. “Really? How did they know where I live?”
He sighs. “It’s not really a secret, trust me. They probably want to know more because they thought you were Fordham’s fiancée or whatever, but now…you’re not his fiancée, but mine.” He shifts his weight, scratching his earlobe impatiently.
Air feels tight and thick in my throat. I can’t imagine a repeat of what happened outside the office lobby. “So. What do we do?” I ask. He always has ideas.
“Do you have a friend you can stay with for a little while? That would get the reporters to give up and try for other leads.”
I look away, embarrassed. I know people like Bev, but I’m not close enough to impose on them like that. “Not really,” I mumble.
“What?”
Guess I need to announce my shameful status more clearly. “I don’t have anybody I can stay with.” Before David can conclude that I’m a friendless loser, I quickly add, “I haven’t had a chance to go out and make a lot of close friends. We haven’t been in L.A. for that long.”
“That’s true.”
I sigh with relief at his ready agreement. He doesn’t know I didn’t have any friends in Virginia, either.
“But where can you stay? A hotel?”
“No, no,” I say quickly. I can’t afford to just pop into a hotel and live there for months on end.
“I can pay for it.”
I gasp in horror. He’s already spent way too much. I can’t let him do more. “It’s okay. Really.” It’s selfish of me to expect him to fix all my problems. He’s my fake fiancé, not my assistant. “I’ll figure something out.”
“But I can’t go home when I don’t know if you have a safe place to stay.” David runs his fingers through his hair. “How about you spend the night at my place? I have six spare bedrooms. All furnished.”
I flush, even more embarrassed that he feels the need to come to my rescue because I haven’t made any close friends in town. I didn’t mean for him to offer his place when I turned down the hotel.
“The doors come with locks, too.”
Oh my God. Did my hesitation make him think I consider him a pervert or something?
“It isn’t like that,” I explain. “I’m just…thinking about the logistics. Won’t reporters be at your place too?”
“Yeah, but it’s gated.” He gives me a significant look. “And there’s a secret entrance.”
“Are you kidding? There is?”
He nods. “Installed at Dane’s recommendation.”
“That icicle?” I blurt out in shock. He doesn’t strike me as the type to offer advice, especially useful advice. Then I put a hand over my mouth, realizing I spoke out loud. “Sorry,” I say against my palm.
David laughs. “It’s fine. He is an icicle, and you’re an excellent judge of character. Anyway, his cousin is Ryder Reed, so his family can be a bit funny about privacy. I basically did it to humor him. And because Kathleen also told me to.”
“Well…now it will come in handy.”
“Yeah. Anyway, I have spare toothbrushes, toothpaste, basic soap and stuff, but we can stop by Target on the way and grab what you need for the night. Lotion and”—he makes a vague gesture—“whatever else you might want.”
I wish there was another choice, but it doesn’t seem like there is. “We don’t have to stop anywhere. I always carry a small bottle of lotion in my purse,” I say, not wanting to impose on him any more than I already have. I should also have a couple of emergency
tampons in my bag as well.
“Okay. Then let’s just grab dinner and head home.”
I don’t bother to correct him that it isn’t home for me. It sort of feels nice to hear somebody say it, though, like I have somebody who cares about me enough to share a living space. The last person to let me know she cared was Mom.
It’s been so long since I felt this way.
But getting nostalgic right now would be silly. I should just follow David to his place, and make sure to remind myself that it’s only temporary until the reporters go away.
Chapter Seventeen
Erin
David’s secret entrance is a shed-cum-garage that’s big enough to house two cars. The door rises automatically as he approaches, and David drives straight into the dark space. I follow. As soon as the door behind us closes, lights come on, showing a wide tunnel sloping downward to create an underground passageway.
David rolls down the ramp, and I follow, feeling like a kid in a special hidden wonderland. We go through a tunnel for what seems to be a couple of blocks and then there’s another ramp back up to ground level. We end up inside his garage.
I park my car and get out. “Wow,” I say. “It really is secret!”
He grins, shutting the door to his Lamborghini. “Cool, huh?”
“Totally. It’s like Batman.”
“Or James Bond. But better because it’s real.” He winks.
I laugh. “Definitely.”
I look around. I’ve never been in this part of his mansion before. A couple of fancy European cars are parked—a gleaming silver Maserati and a black Rolls-Royce. Then I see it in the corner—a Harley.
“You ride a motorcycle?” I ask, shocked.
“Used to. During my rebellious phase.”
Rebellious phase? “I’ve never seen you ride it to work.”
“Mom didn’t like it. She said it was a deathtrap. I told her it couldn’t be a trap because I wasn’t strapped into it, but that didn’t help.”
I shake my head, then laugh. “Of course not. Your mom was just worried. Every mother’s job.”
