All That Glitters

by Laura Westbrook

  “I did,” Blake said. “You could say I was surprised by our sudden purchase. We need to have a talk in the office, Lori.”

  Lori swatted a hand in his direction. “Don’t be such a worrier, Blake. They’re beautiful cases and they’ll look fine in the showroom. Don’t worry. I’ll arrange for a crew to get them installed. You won’t even have to worry about it.”

  “Trust me, I am worried. We need to discuss things before doing them, especially when it comes to purchases, and especially right after we’ve been robbed.”

  Lori ignored the office invitation. “The insurance will take care of it.”

  “In months, yes, and that’s assuming our coverage is dollar for dollar. We can’t count on it until it’s in hand.”

  “You said you wanted to grow sales and revenue, and I’m doing it. How is this not the sort of thing you want?”

  “Something like it is, but not this exactly. And I’d never make a purchase, especially a large one, without consulting you first. We are partners, after all.”

  Lori made a loud noise by blowing air between her lips. “Well, this doesn’t feel particularly constructive, so I’m going to head back out, Blake. I’ll see you tomorrow as usual.”

  And just like that, she was gone. Blake rubbed the bridge of his nose and went into the back office. He stayed there for quite a while.

  Chapter Eight

  Blake must have had something edible stored in the back office, because he didn’t even come out for lunch. Stacey guessed that he was working hard to undo what Lori had done. He probably had everything invested into the jewelry store, and when Lori made decisions on a whim, it could cost them both dearly. Communication was important in business, and clearly that had broken down somewhere.

  Before she knew it, the clock read five p.m. She’d earned a decent amount of commissions for the day, mostly in that first purchase, but she felt half the joy missing because of Blake’s somber mood. He tried to put on a happy face, but she could tell he was worried. So she carefully returned the sapphire necklace to the cabinet where it had been earlier that day and clocked out, making sure to wish him a good night before she left.

  When she got home, she was greeted by her cat. He purred, as usual, for a meal. She decided to cut back his portions, as he was getting a little chubby.

  “Hello, Harrison. It was a good and bad day at the same time. Today was rough on Blake today. I hated to see it.”

  Harrison only paid attention for a few moments before wandering off to do cat business while he waited for dinner. He wasn’t exactly the best listener, but at least he never judged her. Or at least, not in a way she could hear.

  “I know, feeding time. I haven’t forgotten. Once I get changed and put sweatpants on, then I’ll take care of it.”

  People who talk to their cats are only crazy if they hear a response, right?

  She changed into her favorite fluffy socks. For a moment, she considered the socks where they wrapped around each toe, but those ones were only for the really bad days, along with full-calorie ice cream with the big spoon. These fluffy ones were the ice cream version of socks.

  Harrison followed her, regularly reminding her that it was time for his tuna in brine with beef croutons. It was a weird combination from a fancy cat food company who loved to make unusual concoctions—his other favorite was beef and parsley with chicken crisps. When Stacey had first placed that flavor in front of him, he’d nearly tried to eat the bowl along with it.

  Stacey finished changing, then went to the kitchen and pulled the can open. The cat danced around in a semicircle, now sweeping his tail so it swept her legs, his gaze fixed on the bowl far above him. And then, as if by magic, the meows turned into loud purrs as he nibbled at his long-awaited evening meal.

  Now settled in for the evening, she picked up her cell phone. Even though they’d known each other for years, she still had to look Tiffany up in the contacts. Stacey never remembered phone numbers anymore, other than her own and that song from the eighties.

  “Good timing,” Tiffany said. “I just walked in the door.”

  “I do have good timing. You’re right. How was your day?”

  “Another tiring shift, but not too bad. Yours?”

  “I feel so bad for Blake. He has this robbery to deal with, and now he’s getting into it with his partner. Business partner.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way to cheer him up. Did you ever find out if he’s married?”

  “I was going to try to figure out a way to ask him today, but it didn’t work out.”

  “Work out? Girl, you need to call him up and ask him today. Text him if you know his number. You need to know before you go crazy. Why did he get into it with her?”

  “Lori went and spent a lot of money to replace the jewelry from the robbery. And then some.”

  “Lori the maybe-wife, right?”

  “Yeah. She didn’t talk to him about it first, even though they’re partners. When he saw it, he got really quiet. It was awful to see his expression change like that. She can’t even see what she’s doing to him.”

  “Can’t or doesn’t care?”

  “One of the two. Whatever he is to her, she shouldn’t treat him that way.” She leaned back against the cushions. “Sorry. I hope I’m not taking this out on you.”

  “It’s okay. It’s just how you feel. You’re simply stating facts. It’d be different if they owned a garden store and she bought some tomato plants, but to go out on a whim and purchase high-ticket jewelry…that’s something else entirely. He must have been devastated.”

  “He’s not one to fly off the handle, but it hit him pretty hard. And she never asked him what he thought. She didn’t even stay around to make sure things were okay. She was there in a flash to check on the jewelry, and then disappeared like a magician, even though it was clear Blake was bothered. I’ve just never been able to understand how people can be so…” She trailed off, not wanting to label Lori any more than she already had.

  “Cold. That’s the word you’re looking for.” In the background, pots clattered against each other. Tiffany was probably making dinner. The thought made Stacey’s stomach rumble.

  “Most people have lost their minds these days,” Tiffany continued.

  “No kidding,” Stacey said. “It sounds like you’re making dinner, so I’ll let you go. I’ll probably do the same.”

  She turned on the switch, and light flooded the kitchen. She stared into the fridge, and despite being hungry, not much sounded appealing at the moment.

  Chapter Nine

  Stacey gave up on dinner. Sure, she’d eat something eventually, but nothing was jumping out at her, so she plopped onto the couch. More than likely, in two hours, she’d be so hungry that she’d eat about anything and it wouldn’t be a question of motivation anymore.

  Just as she was about to click on the TV, her phone dinged. She stared at the message for a solid minute before believing her eyes. It was Blake. He was asking if she had dinner plans. She tapped the name just to make sure it was who she thought it was. This certainly didn’t sound like a work invitation.

  Her thumbs moved across the keyboard. I don’t have any plans tonight. I haven’t eaten dinner yet.

  There, that sounded fairly neutral. Her fingers itched to show more interest, but her stomach was already in knots. Harrison hopped onto the couch wanting to be pet, but she was too focused on her phone. He received plenty of attention normally, so he could hold on for a few minutes.

  Even though she knew it was coming, she jumped when the next ding came. Is seven-thirty too late?

  With a squeal that frightened Harrison away, she accepted the invitation, and moments later, she had a dinner date with the most gorgeous man in Manhattan, at least in her opinion. She was determined that, at some point that night, she’d ask him the question her heart had to know. It gets answered tonight.

  Half an hour later, she rested her head against the cab window as it cruised down Hudson Street. It wasn’
t a part of town Stacey knew very well, but from the look of some of the places, it was nicer than she remembered. The sidewalks looked polished, and quaint lampposts dotted every so often.

  The cab pulled up to the curb, and the driver gestured across the street to the green canopy hanging from the side of the restaurant. Looking around, she didn’t spot Blake. She had no idea whether he was the type to wait outside or go in and hold a table.

  “Here’s your stop.” The cab driver tilted his head toward the door. He was practically tapping his watch. She thanked him, paid, and stepped onto the sidewalk.

  It wasn’t the busiest street in Manhattan, or at least, not at that time of the evening. There was some foot traffic, but it was hardly crowded as she stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and turned toward the intersection. She didn’t want to jaywalk when she could easily use the pedestrian crossing less than a block away.

  Is Blake already waiting, or will I arrive first? Will we shake hands when he arrives or hug?

  She waited for the signal light to change and then crossed the street with a handful of other people, but she turned left while most of them walked straight ahead. She wondered where they were headed and whether this day meant something for them too. She’d love to lose herself in the evening, but she couldn’t enjoy it until she knew his intentions, and she couldn’t ask him first thing inside the building. Each step closer to the restaurant door made her heart beat louder, and she fought the rising bout of nerves trickling through her body.

  At last she stood before the window. She acted as if she was checking the menu, which was nicely presented in a small glass case hanging on the wall. Behind it hung drapes, with only a small gap in the center of the glass. She was tempted to look through the main window and see if Blake was there, but there was no way she could peer through the gap without coming across as eager or nervous—basically without coming across as she really was.

  “Can I help you?” a voice asked behind her.

  Stacey’s head snapped around to see a man in a crisp, white shirt and a body-hugging black vest that looked to be made of silk from the way it shone softly in the overhead lights.

  “I’m meeting someone,” Stacey said. She suddenly felt like she stuck out like a sore thumb. The chill in the air vanished, and her face flushed as though she was standing before a warm fireplace.

  “I might be able to help. What party are you meeting with?”

  She glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall. “Blake did say seven-thirty.” She said it more for herself than for the man waiting for her answer.

  The doorman waved a hand deeper into the restaurant. “He’s inside, ma’am. This way, please.”

  He must come here often if the doorman knows him by his first name. She hoped he came here with friends or business associates and that she wasn’t the twentieth woman he’d taken there. Hell, she could be the business associate he was taking there for all she knew. The doorman took her jacket and hung it in the cloakroom. Then he directed her to the far end of the restaurant.

  Art deco elements were visible throughout the building, from the straight lines of the inlaid wood on the ceiling to the tubular, brass shades that highlighted the black and white photos dotting the wooden walls. The place radiated history.

  There were three steps which glowed ivory-white and led into a smaller dining area. Her fingers glided up the polished wooden handrail, and once it ended, she lifted her gaze to the far end of the room. There he was, holding down the fort at their table for two. She was relieved there weren’t more seats.

  She steeled herself as she approached, like a general approaching a battle that would decide the fate of the war. Like one might line up soldiers in the front line, she lined up topics of conversation to have at the ready. Just like that, they were alone, or at least, as alone as two people could be in a restaurant at dinner time.

  Blake pulled out her chair for her like a gentleman. “I’m happy you made it,” he said. “Given how little time I gave you.”

  “It was a little spontaneous, but that’s okay.” She brushed back a flyaway and resisted the urge to scoot her chair closer to his.

  As he walked back to his seat, the back of his hand brushed against her shoulder. She was very aware of how warm his skin felt. “I love this restaurant. I come here pretty often. It’s all based on the prohibition era, though I’m sure you’ve already guessed that.”

  She didn’t know that time period specifically, but it made sense. After fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth, she forced her hands to keep still. “As long as they’ve figured out how to serve drinks since then, it’s all right.”

  He gestured to a waiter, and he appeared tableside within moments. “What would you like to drink?” Blake asked her.

  “A white wine spritzer, please.”

  “I’ll have this red,” Blake said, pointing to a spot in the drink menu.

  The waiter’s pants had a particular swish sound to them as he moved away from the table. The staff seemed so good at moving quickly without making it seem like they were rushed. She didn’t imagine she’d be good at that—constantly serene while mentally becoming unspooled.

  Even though other tables blocked her view, she could see him walking away in the large mirror hanging over the center of the room. She couldn’t neglect Blake for long, though, so she turned back to him and sifted through her prepared topics. She brought up the weather, which she immediately regretted. Too cliché.

  The waiter kept a perfect balance on the medium sized tray as he lifted one drink off. He set down the spritzer first, which she was thankful for. She had her first sip before Blake even received his drink. She didn’t drink often, but she’d go for anything to calm her nerves right then.

  While the waiter was there, Blake took the liberty of ordering for them, which she thought was refreshing. He’d asked probing questions about what she thought looked good on the menu and took the initiative. Most guys she went out with, if this could be compared to an actual date, couldn’t make up their minds on their own food, much less order for someone else.

  The chill of the sparkling wine hit the back of her throat. It was always the coldest things that felt the most refreshing. “Can I ask why you invited me?” She surprised herself with how direct her question was. Her eyes glanced at the glass. The spritzer only had three sips taken out of it so far, so she couldn’t blame it on that.

  He took a sip himself and raised his eyebrows. She felt like mimicking him, but not because of the drink. He looked delicious, as always, and the spark was there, humming between them. She already knew he’d become a favorite flavor, like the best pasta one could buy, or chocolate covered strawberries, or homemade apple pie. Inside, she chastised herself for letting her thoughts wander.

  “I thought it’d be good to talk, don’t you?” he said.

  It was exactly what she wanted, but it didn’t stop her from being nervous about it. “We can do that.”

  “But right now, I think we’re both famished, and I don’t think empty stomachs will help. We have plenty of time to talk once we’ve had a few bites.”

  As if on cue, her stomach rumbled. “Okay, sure. What would you like to talk about before then?”

  “Oh, I’m sure we can find something. So, what are your plans for the future? Do you want to stick with sales?”

  “Honestly, I’ve been taking things day by day for a while now, so I haven’t given it as much thought as I should.”

  “What kind of things interest you?”

  “I really like jewelry design. That’s been pretty interesting to me. I know what you’re about to say—I haven’t been working at the store very long, but it’s something I’ve always had an eye on even with my own jewelry at home.”

  He nodded. “That’s right up my alley, sure. Although, being a dealer, I usually don’t dabble in design other than choosing which collections to sell. There are people who make entire careers on designing and customizing jewelry, and they don’t come cheap.�
��

  She grinned. “Are you trying to convince me not to work at your store?”

  “Definitely not.” He smiled, and that made the evening worth it.

  Just as it was getting interesting, the waiter arrived with the tray of food. He placed her bowl of shrimp pasta in front of her with a comment about how the outside may be hot. Blake ordered a steak, and by the look of it as he sliced into it for the first time, it cut like butter. She didn’t often eat steak, but she was a little jealous. If they were closer, she might have asked for a bite.

  “Did you have the same thing in Hawaii?” she asked.

  “I did, although it was a Ribeye. I don’t know if it was the atmosphere, but it was the best steak I’ve ever had.”

  “That good, huh?”

  He gestured with his fork. “I’m beginning to think everything tastes better in Hawaii. Definitely mangos. By the time they make the trip over, they taste pretty dull by comparison. Have you ever had mango ice cream?”

  “No I haven’t. I didn’t know they made such a creature.”

  He laughed. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tried mango ice cream. Maybe one day.”

  As dinner continued, she realized how right he was. There was no shortage of things to talk about.

  Chapter Ten

  Stacey was glad she’d chosen some decent walking shoes. Four-inch heels would never have made it to the river three blocks away, but it made the perfect setting for what she hoped would be the perfect ending to their evening together. She was surprised when Blake offered to walk along the river after dinner, but then again, she was surprised by the dinner invitation in the first place.

  The railing of one of the three-step stairs felt cool in her hand. There was a chill out, but she wasn’t about to let that stop them from having a memorable moment. The lights of the city glanced off the ripples on the water, and then she felt Blake’s hands on her shoulders. She turned and faced him, already feeling lightheaded as he took hold of her hands. His fingers clasped hold of them while his thumbs ran over her soft skin.