by Dakota Lee
“I won’t lie to you again, Jordy. I can’t, if I want to win your trust back.”
“No.”
“Yes. I’m going on the trip. I wasn’t sure how much fun I’d have, because not everyone here sees art the way I do, but now that I know you’re going…” He smiles as if I’ve just made his year.
“We won’t be spending any time together, so you can go back to being disappointed at your buddy choices.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
“Because of what I did? Or because of what you did, afterwards?”
Whipping my head around, I say, “I didn’t do anything to you.”
He leans closer, nuzzling my ear. “Jordanna, four days ago you let me kiss you, and finger you, and then you left me hard as granite.”
I shrug, letting him know that’s not my problem.
“And you’re sitting here now, letting me lean in close, knowing how badly I want you. That Jordy, is doing something to me.”
“Then maybe you should take your own advice and stay away from me.”
“Believe me, Jordy, I’m fucking trying.” With that admission, he moves to a new seat.
* * *
Noel is waiting for me at the end of the meeting. He pulls me into a hug when I get to the front of the auditorium. We walk away chatting about the upcoming trip, and I thank him again for mentioning it. Even if Logan is going, I won’t let that ruin my plans. Speaking of Logan, he’s already at the cafe when we arrive. I slip into a booth on the opposite side of the room while Noel goes to get our orders.
Sighing, I ignore the chime on my phone. I know who it is, and I don’t want to deal with him right now. This is exactly how things started the last time. He was a jerk and then flipped everything on its head and started being nice to me. All this positive attention only means he wants one thing. Sex, and I’m not giving it to him. The alert sounds again and I make the mistake of looking up. Logan’s staring at me. The heat in his gaze so palpable that it takes my breath away.
This time when the alert goes off, I look.
* * *
Give me one reason why I shouldn’t come to your room and slip into bed with you tonight to finish what we started
* * *
Because you’re not invited
* * *
That’s what your brain says, but does your body agree?
* * *
It does not agree. I feel a pull towards him, even though I know this is all a game. I’d buried this attraction to him below layers of hurt over the winter break, but I opened it back up that night in his studio.
Pepper says to embrace my weakness. I know I’m too nice, too sweet, and still too innocent to wade through these waters without a life jacket, and if I let my guard down, Logan’s going to swallow me whole. Drumming my fingers on the table, I try to think of way I can use this situation to my advantage.
I’ve already seen that there’s no limit to how far he’ll go to get what he wants, but he must have a breaking point. How far am I willing to go to find out what it is? An idea skirts the fringes of my mind. It’s risky, but can I do it?
Noel sits my drink on the table and takes the seat across from me. I chance another look at Logan. His eyebrows are pulled in a straight line, and he’s glaring at us. I don’t think he’s hearing anything his friends are saying. Noel gets to him in a way most guys don’t. I noticed that last semester, and I’m using it now. That parts easy. The rest of the plan that’s loosely coming together in my head is a gamble. You didn’t start this to lose. All in, Jordanna.
Exitus Acta Probat. The result justifies the deed. That’s truly the BP’s motto. Seeping from their pores as they go through life, showing time and again they don’t give a fuck about anyone else. It’s time for me to embrace that mindset as my own.
The chartered buses are like a home on wheels. They remind me of tour buses with a kitchen, sleeping area, and television in the back. We have two planned stops on the road. It’ll take about five hours to get to New York City, but at least everyone will be comfortable during the ride. We leave campus at five in the morning and most of the students on my bus get in the bunks. Some of them get in one bunk, together. Two people is a lot. Three has to look like a human game of Jenga. I’m sitting by the window, listening to music while I journal.
Logan travels to the city whenever he wants, so I was hoping he’d change his mind about this trip, but he was on the quad at quarter to the hour just like everyone else. He’s on a different bus so I’m not being forced to share such close quarters with him. I’d have to lock myself in the bathroom, just to get some peace.
I told Pepper this trip is about more than the museum or other exhibits we’re scheduled to see. I have a lead on the compact that I want to follow up on. I found an article about a shop, an hour outside of the city that’s been family owned and operated for almost a hundred years. I’m hoping they might have some information on other jewelers in the area from the early nineteen hundreds.
She was so excited about my planned detour; she rented me a car and driver, and insists it’s mine to keep for the weekend. I appreciate the car. It will save me time and money on the commute, but I plan to reimburse her for it. She’s already done so much paying the difference in my tuition and providing me with a living stipend. This goes way past being benevolent.
Our first stop is our hotel to store our luggage, and after a quick lunch, we’re off to the museum. I’m in the back of the group, taking my time to study the portraits and sculptures. Stopping occasionally to take pictures.
As we travel down a narrow corridor with dim lighting, I think back to the last time I was in a museum. I stop in front of a gold leafed painting. The depth created by the colors and shadows gives it a three dimensional look, which beckons me to touch it. My gaze lands on Logan when I turn to join the group. He’s staring at me with a cryptic look on his face. Is he remembering our museum trip too? Or is it the weekend we spent at the Vale before I learned the truth?
Beauty mixed with pain. That’s the impression I have of the city now, but I’m determined to change that because this has always been my dream city to live in. I won’t let him take that away from me, too.
When we get back to the hotel, I’m one of the last people to get my room key. I’m sharing a room with a freshman who’s holding onto one of those thick tourist books and three brochures like lifelines. They’ll probably come in handy tomorrow when we have some free time to explore on our own.
Logan’s standing on the other end of the guest services desk. I hear someone ask what’s taking so long to get his key. I’m getting ready to tune out the conversation when he mentions the staff is still cleaning his room, since he’s upgraded to a single.
I finish at the desk, just as four chicks walk up, boldly asking what room he’s in and what time they should show up. I force my feet to walk past him, an amused smirk on my face, letting him know I don’t give a shit how he answers.
Ditching my friends, after the guided tour part of are itinerary was over, was harder than I thought it would be. I stuck around long enough to eat lunch, then told them I needed to run an errand for my mother. I watched their eyes glaze over when I mentioned the word antiquing and had the driver meet me a few blocks away, so they wouldn’t get suspicious.
During the drive, I jot down what I saw today on the tours and making notes about some of the students. Noel and Sterling occupy most of today’s entry, because it’s the first time I’ve seen them outside of school or a formal event. They have that same heir of authority that Logan does. They interact with the staff like they’re used to giving orders, and while most of the students on the trip are trying to get closer to Logan, I can see there’s a faction that’s team Noel.
“We’re nearly there, miss.” The driver says, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.
“Thanks.”
I look out the window as we pull off the highway. Talk about a hidden gem. Drive too fast down t
he highway, and you’ll miss the exit. Once you get off the ramp, there are a series of signs directing you to food, lodging and gas on the right. The town is eight more miles to the left. We have to drive through what I can only describe as a dirt road paved straight through a forest to reach it.
The driver drops me in front of the store and goes to find somewhere to park. A tiny chime dings overhead as I step through the door of Grenier Jewelers. Directly to my right and left are display cases. The shop is around the size of one of those jewelry stores you find at a mall, but without that commercially feel.
A voice calls out from the back that they’ll be right with me, so I take time to look around. Exquisite. That’s the thought I have when I peer into the first display case I pass and see the aquamarine, diamond accented engagement ring on an 18k white band. I snap a picture, knowing I’ll never see anything like this again.
“That’s one of my favorite pieces.”
I turn towards the customer service counter. The woman standing there is around my mother’s age. She’s wearing a cashmere turtleneck and skinny jeans.
“What brings you in today? Pre-engagement shopping? Or a gift for a special someone?”
Engagement? Yeah, that plan got derailed when I met Logan. “I’m actually doing research on an item and was hoping you could help.” I walk closer, pulling the compact out of my purse.
She looks down at the clamshell in my hand. “May I?”
I pass it over, watching as she carries it to a workstation in the corner, and flicks on a lamp. “This looks very old, with a technique that I assume was entirely hand crafted.”
“It is, but I did some research on shops in the area, and your store came up as one of the oldest in the state. I was hoping you might have some information on who might have made something like this.”
“I’m afraid I’m way too young to be of much help, but my grandfather might.” She picks up a phone and dials, telling whoever is on the other end that her grandfather has a visitor. When she hangs up, she says, “He’ll see you now.”
“He’s here?”
“He can’t stand on his feet for long periods of time so, I run the front of the store and he still does custom jobs in his work area downstairs.”
“You’re not suggesting he may have been the jeweler for this, though, right?”
“Oh, no. Each person leaves a signature behind. This isn’t his or anyone in our families, but Grampy knows a lot, and he can probably get you closer to an answer than the internet will.”
She escorts me to the back of the store and down a flight of stairs. After a quick explanation of what I’m after, she heads back to the front of the shop, leaving me with her grandfather.
The kind gentleman offers me tea and I sit while he rehashes his time helping customers find the perfect gift and how he misses interacting with people. I have to ask him several times about the makeup case to get him back on track. He holds it up to the light, rubbing his thumb over the inscription. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“It’s very old.”
“But in pristine condition.” He glances up at me. “Where did you say you got it?”
“I didn’t.” So he won’t think I boosted it from someone’s house, I clarify, “My mother found it in a bunch of stuff we had in the attic at my grandmother’s house.”
“I’d date this back to the early nineteen hundreds. Maybe late eighteen-eighties at most. It’s exquisite workmanship with hand etched details you don’t see anymore.”
“Do you know of someone who would have made something like this back then?”
He lowers his magnifying glass. “Possibly…” He goes to the back of the room and comes back with a leather-bound book that looks like an accounting ledger.
“When my grandfather ran this shop, he started keeping a list of all the jewelers who ever existed in town. Some were competition. Some were inspiration.”
He flips through the yellowed pages of the book. “He liked to put little notes next to their names to identify what they were good at.”
The book clearly hasn’t been used in years. It kicks up a nice sheen of dust that tickles my throat and makes my eyes water each time he turns a page.
“This looks a lot like the way Swinton Diamonds marked their work. And I’ve seen several variations of parts of this little marking over the years, but I never saw it grouped together like this before.”
I lean closer, looking through the magnifying glass. In the middle of the inscription is a light etching. “It looks like a swirl.”
“Yes, but the points on the ends are what makes it unique.” He flips through some pages. “The swirl was the mark for Elcor and the rose petals were…” He turns another page and runs his finger midway down the page. “Ah, yes. Cloutier.”
“Are you saying this was made in pieces by two different jewelers and then somehow welded together?”
“It could have been, but I think it’s more likely that at one point there was one business and by the time we started documenting it they’d separated. Unfortunately, my grandfather didn’t start keeping track of things until my dad was in his early twenties.”
Now I have to figure out what businesses existed before his family started keeping records of the competition. “Is there a library or local newspaper around here that may have archives?”
“We have both, though I’m not sure how much help they’d be. There was a fire at the library about sixty years ago. Peculiar thing too. Only the section of the library dedicated to the history of this town, before the boundary lines were reformed, was destroyed. As for the paper, it wasn’t around back then. In either case, they both open on Monday.”
“I’m only in town for today.” Putting the compact back in my purse, I stand to leave. “Thank you for your time and help, Mr. Grenier.”
“I don’t feel like I was much help.”
“You were. I have two new leads thanks to you.”
He follows me up the stairs and into the front of the store. As I’m heading to the door, a display case on the right catches my eye.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?”
“Is this an unfinished collection?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. My grandfather said a woman brought these and a few other pieces in, to exchange for a small loan, and promised to come back for them. She never did, but he couldn’t stand the thought of reselling them. I guess that passed down to each of us. We keep them on display, to honor the memory of my grandfather’s charitable nature. You know, I’ve often thought the reason he started keeping a list of the jewelers in the area was because of these.”
I can’t stop looking at the candle holder, because I feel like I’ve seen one just like it somewhere before. “Would you mind if I took a picture?” I ask, pulling out my phone. I snap a few photos and text the driver that I’m ready to go.
I thank him again as I reach the door, and he says, “Good luck, and if you find something, please come back and let me know. I’d love to talk about your findings and maybe, make a vintage collection inspired by your compact.”
* * *
When I get back to the hotel, I grab dinner in the restaurant, using the time to search the names Mr. Grenier mentioned. I get 1300 hits for one, 700 options for the other. When I add business owner to the search string, it gets me to the low hundreds. I specify jewelers, and I get five for Elcor and two for Cloutier. That should be easier to work with. I love research almost as much as I love painting and the progress I’ve made has me in a good mood as I finish dinner. I’ve seen the alerts in the designated group chat for our trip. A lot of students are going out tonight. The old me would hunker down in her hotel room. The me that’s looking for anything I can use against Logan and his friends will be at that club tonight.
I was fashionably late, as Marina would call it. But that’s only because even thought this is all a part of my plan to bring Logan down, I had to talk myself into showing up. I’ve had a few drinks, danced with Noel and
Sterling, and chatted with Dixon. Now, I’m in the middle of the floor with Trace Montgomery, the small forward for the New York Blaze. He thought telling me he’s a professional ballplayer would be enough to impress me, but I think I’m the one who impressed him with my knowledge of basketball stats. I’m more than just Summers’ older sister. I’m an actual basketball fan.
Logan’s in VIP. If his friends at school are the starting line-up, the people he’s hanging with tonight would be the second string, just waiting for someone to get injured or traded, so they can show what they can do.
Trace is wearing jeans and a sweater, but I can tell he’s ripped. I can feel it in the way his chest presses against my back and the corded muscles in his arms band around my middle as he holds me against him. “You are so fucking hot.” He whispers against my ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth.
I know I’m being watched from two different directions. Noel and Sterling on one side, and Logan on the other. That’s the whole point. To get his attention, so he can see I’m embracing life outside of his betrayal. He says he wants me, let’s see how much.
“Where did you say you were staying?” Trace asks, tightening his hold on me.
I roll my hips, turning my head to look at him. “I didn’t.”
“But you will, right?” He turns me all the way around to face him, pressing our hips together. He’s fucking tall. Taller than Logan, and I can feel the indentation of his dick up by my chest. I can’t help but glance down and briefly imagine it squeezed between my breasts. My hands rest against the edge of his shoulders and I crane my head back to look at him, offering my smile as my answer. No way in hell I’m telling someone I just met where I’m staying or taking them back to my hotel room.
