“I think it’s actually the Ukraine,” Brighton murmured back.
He kissed his way down her neck and starting working on her blouse buttons. “Did you try the strawberries?”
“Nope.” The thin, soaked silk of her blouse clung to her skin. “But they can wait.”
She could feel his smile against her cheek. “Go get one.”
“I’m otherwise engaged right now.”
He eased away from her, ducked out to the bedroom, and returned seconds later with a strawberry. “Taste.”
She took a tiny, tentative nibble, then devoured the rest of the berry in one bite. “Oh my God.”
He nodded, vindicated.
The strawberry was sweet and juicy and delicious, more so than any strawberry she’d had before. It tasted like summer. It tasted like sunshine. She had to close her eyes and support herself with one hand on the marble counter. “That is . . . I can’t even . . .” When her taste buds finally settled down, she admitted, “Those were absolutely worth twelve dollars.”
“I’m glad you like them.” He peeled off her blouse and got to work on her bra.
“Did you do something to them?” Brighton ran her hands along his back muscles. “Like infuse them with dopamine?”
He quirked one eyebrow, confused. “What?”
“Never mind.” She stepped out of her skirt.
He slipped off her bra, followed by her panties. Then he took her hand and tugged her toward the shower.
Her hand flew to her throat. “My necklace.”
“Leave it on.”
“These are hanadama pearls,” she protested weakly, even as she put one foot into the shower. “I hand-strung them myself. Soap and water erodes the nacre.”
He turned his smolder all the way up. “But you look so good in them.”
Brighton couldn’t resist him, couldn’t stop touching him—but she knew an opportunity to gain leverage when she saw one. “Tell you what: I’ll get in the shower and I’ll do all kinds of depraved things to you and I won’t say a word about nacre.”
“Best marriage ever.”
“If you let me do some work on your watch when you’re finished.”
He regarded her with renewed interest. “You want to fix my watch more than you want to save your pearls?”
“I want to fix that watch bad,” she informed him with a sultry pout. “I’ll do anything.”
He turned on the shower. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Mrs. Sorensen.”
• • •
“Pass the Gatorade, please.” Brighton settled in for a long night in Jake’s bed. She leaned back against the padded headboard, snuggled into his worn blue T-shirt, and stared down at the laptop propped up on a pillow.
Jake handed her a fresh, cold bottle. “Do you need a snack?”
“No thanks. Now, quit stalling and pick a color: brown or black.”
Her pearls were in ruins, the bedclothes were on the floor, and the only light in the room came from the faint blue glow emanating from the laptop’s screen.
His gaze flickered over the photos displayed on the Web site. “I don’t care.”
“Let’s go with brown.” Brighton tapped away at the keyboard. “It’ll match your eyes.”
He made some growly, unintelligible noise deep in his throat.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She scrolled through the site for contact information and nudged him with her foot. “Okay, now you call and place the order.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” he pointed out.
“Which means it’s business hours in Switzerland.”
“Can’t we just run to Target and pick out a watchband?”
“I am going to pretend I did not hear that.” She clamped her hands over her ears. “‘Patek Philippe’ and ‘Target’ do not belong in the same sentence.”
“You’re such a snob.”
“Less talking, more dialing,” she said crisply. “And by the way, I haven’t changed my name. I’m still Ms. Smith.”
“You don’t want to be Mrs. Sorensen?”
She paused for a sip of sports drink. “It’s not that I don’t want to be; it’s that it seems wrong to call myself that when we’re not serious about this marriage.”
“You seemed pretty serious about it in the shower.”
She ignored this. “Besides, I built my professional reputation as Brighton Smith.” She shot him a sidelong glance. “Does that bother you?”
He shook his head and surveyed the clothes littering the rug. “Did you buy anything new to wear?”
“Nope. I kind of lost track of time while I was working on the ring today. I kind of lost track of everything.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
“What?” she finally said.
“You love it.”
“‘Love’ is a strong word.” She felt a bit panicky at the mere mention. “It lets me use a different part of my brain. It reminds me of some good parts of my childhood. But it’s not like I can’t live without it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“True story.” She put the laptop aside and drew her knees up to her chest. “I can stop anytime I want.”
He put one hand beneath his head and used the other to trace the curve of her back through the soft, thin cotton shirt. “If you don’t love this work, if you can live without it . . .”
She glanced down at him. “Yes?”
“Why do all this to my watch? Why do you care?”
“Because that watch is special,” she finally answered. “It’s rare and it’s valuable and I want you to recognize what you have.”
“I’m aware,” he assured her. “That’s why I bought it in the first place. Well, that, and too much scotch.”
“That’s not enough—I want you to care.” She was surprised at the conviction in her voice. “I want you to invest emotionally, not just financially.”
“In a watch?”
She nodded.
He patted her hip. “I hate to tell you this, but that’s never going to happen.”
“But I don’t want a husband who can’t emotionally invest. In his watch,” she hastened to add. “But then, you probably don’t want a wife who sent a bunch of photos of your private jet to her ex.”
“Eh. I’ll deal with it.”
She sighed and wrapped her arms around her shins. “There’ve probably been a hundred women just like me in this bed already.”
He smiled that heart-melting, amnesia-inducing smile. “There has never been a woman like you in this bed. Ever. I can promise you that.”
“That’s nice of you to say.” She let the subject drop and picked up the laptop again. “Call Switzerland. Make sure you get the steel buckle.”
“Got it.” He groped for his phone on the nightstand.
“Tell them I’m e-mailing photos of the original watch right now. They’re going to be so excited.”
“They’re going to emotionally invest?”
“You mock me now, but one day soon, you’re going to weep tears of poignant joy over this watch,” she said. “Wait and see.”
He reached over to commandeer the laptop. “While we’re waiting, let’s order you some clothes.”
“My black suit’s not doing it for you anymore?”
“Oh, it’s doing it for me. That reminds me, I’ll order you some new pearls, too. A lot of pearls.”
“You have a boardroom fetish now?”
“I guess I do.” He reached for her. She reached for him.
His phone rang, startling them both.
“Who do you know with such terrible timing?” she asked.
He glanced at the screen, got up from the bed, and left the room without another word.
Probably a work call, she told herself. A sand-related crisis in Saudi Arab
ia.
She picked up the computer and scrolled through some online clothing stores while she waited for him to return. And waited.
And waited.
Finally, after at least ten minutes had passed, she tiptoed out to the hallway and peered over the railing. Pale moonlight flooded the vast, empty space between the first floor below her and the rafters above her.
“Jake?” she called softly. The sound bounced off the smooth white walls and varnished wood floors.
He’d left. She was all alone in this huge, empty house.
She crept back to the master suite, waited a few more minutes, and then dialed Kira’s number.
“Hey,” she whispered when Kira answered. “Can I come over?”
“Of course.” Kira sounded drowsy. “Do you need to talk?”
“No.” Brighton couldn’t imagine how to explain the situation she’d found herself in. “No talking necessary. I just need to sleep.”
chapter 13
“You do not look well rested,” Lila declared the next morning when Brighton straggled in at seven thirty wearing Kira’s white denim skirt and cobalt blue T-shirt. “You look completely exhausted.”
“Sorry I’m late.” Brighton gratefully accepted the cup of coffee Lila offered, then sat down at the design table. “Slept through my alarm.”
The brunette studied Brighton with rapt interest. “So how was your night?”
“It was . . .” Brighton could feel her cheeks flushing. Even though her marriage was a total farce and less than a week old, she realized that she didn’t want to admit failure.
“Words fail you?” Lila looked as though she had about a thousand follow-up questions and was barely suppressing the urge to ask them. “Good for you guys.”
“Oh, we weren’t . . . you know . . . all night.”
Lila held up her hand. “No judgment from me. You are newlyweds, after all. And he is Jake Sorensen.”
Brighton tried to smile the way she would if she had actually spent all night with him. “We stayed up past midnight ordering watchbands from Switzerland.”
Lila looked a bit dismayed. “Really?”
Brighton nodded. “I’m trying to get him to invest a little bit. Emotionally.”
“How’s that going?”
“Well, he Googled a question about how watch hands work when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. I’m optimistic.”
Lila shook her head. “You should see your face when you talk about that watch.”
“What do I look like?”
“Like you’re falling in love.”
Brighton ducked her head. “Oh, well, I . . .”
“No wonder Jake whisked you off to Vegas.” Lila raised her coffee cup in tribute. “It’s about time he met someone who could keep him entertained outside the bedroom.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Whoops. Let me start over.”
“No need to start over; let’s move on.” Brighton gazed down at the white leather display cases. “I’m excited to work on the ring. It’s been a long time since I actually got my hands dirty.”
“Speaking of your hands . . .” Lila peered across the display case. “You still don’t have a ring.”
“File under: ‘Let’s move on.’” Brighton held out the sketch she’d worked on the day before. “So what do you think? Are we ready to move on to the CAD?” The CAD, or computer-aided design, would render a virtual, three-dimensional prototype from which they could create a wax mold and eventually the ring itself.
Lila studied the sketch. “This looks great. Really great. The detail work is amazing.”
“Sometimes being an obsessive control freak works in my favor.”
“No kidding.” Lila’s gaze turned cagey. “Are you sure I can’t persuade you to stay for the rest of the summer?”
“Tempting, but no.” Brighton grimaced as she remembered she was supposed to be at her office in half an hour. “In fact, I need to call my boss right now.” She took a deep breath, stepped into the back room, and mentally prepared herself to stay strong against a barrage of begging, wheedling, guilt tripping, and threats. She’d never taken two weeks off. Especially with no notice.
What if her boss yelled at her? Worse, what if he cried like Colin had?
But putting it off would just make it worse. She dialed. She tensed. She closed her eyes and rehearsed a brisk, businesslike speech in her head.
Two minutes later, she hung up the phone and sagged against the wall as a dizzy spell hit. She stumbled back into the shop with her palm pressed to her forehead and a sick feeling in her stomach.
“What’s wrong?” Lila grabbed a bottle of water and offered it to her. “Are you okay?”
Brighton collapsed into the nearest chair and fought a rising wave of nausea. “I called my office. I told them I’d be taking two weeks off. I was very calm and professional about it, but very firm because I’ve never taken time off before.”
“Wait. You worked there how long?”
“Three years.”
Lila whistled. “And you never took any vacation time?”
“Not even a sick day.” Brighton paused, thinking about all the awards she’d won and bonuses she’d received. “I had no idea how my boss would react when I told him.”
Lila crouched down next to her. “Was he really upset?”
“You know, I thought he would be.” Inhale, exhale. “I expected a fair amount of pushback. A huge guilt trip at the very least.”
Lila’s eyes were huge. “So? What happened?”
“Nothing.” Brighton made a faint, hoarse sound in the back of her throat. “He was fine with it. He said business was slowing down for the summer and I could even take an extra week or two if I needed it.”
“Well, that’s great!” Lila exclaimed. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes, but . . .” Brighton struggled to put this into words. “He let me go so easily.” She stopped talking because she realized how ridiculous she sounded. Of course the huge corporation she worked for could survive without her for ten business days. She should be grateful she wouldn’t be inundated with work while she was eating twelve-dollar strawberries with the hottest man on the Eastern Seaboard.
And yet.
If Colin could let her go so easily, and her boss could let her go so easily, what did that say about her?
She let her hand fall away from her face. “Now my screw-up summer is actually screwed up.”
Lila got up and did a little jig of glee. “Screwed up? What are you talking about? This is great! Now you can work for me. This is fate, I tell you. Meant to be!”
Brighton stared numbly at the carpet.
“Can I at least persuade you to cover for me this Saturday and Sunday?” Lila asked. “My mom is going to be in New York City and I’m hoping to meet her there. We’re going to hit up a bunch of vintage clothing boutiques in Manhattan and Brooklyn.”
Brighton shook off her stupor and tried to rally. “That sounds fun. Where is she visiting from?”
“Depends on the week.” Lila grinned. “She’s a buyer for a vintage clothing dealer, so she’s kind of a jet-setter. She hasn’t been stateside for months, and I’d love to go spend some time with her. So, what do you say? Can you hold down the fort?”
“I’d be happy to hold down the fort if you think I can handle it.”
“You can handle it,” Lila assured her.
“I’ve never done the retail side of this job.”
“Selling’s the easy part. Just remember: Jewelry is emotional. People who come in here already know what they want; all you have to do is listen and give them permission to do whatever they’ve already decided.”
Brighton looked around for a pen and paper. “Should I be writing this down?”
“No, you’ll be fine. Some of them will be very upset—they need the money, but they hate t
o part with a diamond ring they’ve worn for twenty years. I always try to give them a fair price.”
Brighton started taking notes on her smartphone. “Of course.”
“The customers looking to buy are different. For some of them, especially the summer residents, jewelry is competitive.”
Brighton glanced up. “Competitive how?”
“You’ll see. Just remember: When in doubt, always suggest a larger carat weight.” Lila brightened as a gray pickup truck pulled up to the curb in front of the shop. “Hey, it’s your husband.”
Brighton focused on her phone. “Mmmm.”
Lila suddenly remembered a pressing task she had to attend to. “I’ll give you two a minute alone.”
As Lila ducked into the back room, Jake strode through the front door. Without preamble, he offered his hand to Brighton. “I’m sorry.”
Brighton looked at his hand but made no move to take it. “What happened to you last night? Where’d you go?”
His jaw tightened. “I got a phone call.”
“That much I know. Who was calling?”
“A longtime associate.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Is that code for something?”
“No. I didn’t want to take the call, but I had to. It was rude and I’m sorry.” When she still didn’t stand up, he grabbed a chair and sat next to her. “Where’d you go?”
“My friend Kira’s house.” Brighton set aside her phone and gave him her full attention. “I don’t like to be in your house all alone. It’s so big and quiet, it’s like a massive mausoleum.”
“I’ll be sure to put that on the listing when I sell it.” He smiled wryly. “Again, I’m sorry. I will make it up to you. Let me take you out on Friday night. Black-tie thing. We’ll have fun.”
She softened but refused to give in so easily. “I’ll consider it.”
“Great.” He reached over and took her hand. “So I’ll see you at home tonight?”
The sensation of his skin against hers made her crave more contact. “I already made plans with Kira.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Possibly.” She pulled her hand away. “Unless I have to take a phone call from a longtime associate.”
Put a Ring On It Page 11
