Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
“Do you have any idea who took it?”
“None. But thank God we moved the other diamonds from here a while ago.”
The other diamonds.
Holy moly. I did not expect Willow to hand me confirmation of our suspicions. “Other diamonds? Here?” I pointed to the floor like she might mean anywhere else.
Willow nodded and leaned close, placing her hand on my back and lowering her voice even more. “We used to have a lot here but not anymore. You can’t be too careful. I do hope you’re keeping the stone that Eli gave you safe.”
“Of course,” I said on autopilot as I tried to make sense of this new information while the surprises kept pummeling me. “I should go.”
“Let’s do this another time,” Willow said, rebounding to the upbeat woman I had originally met. I agreed and exited the gallery, nearly stumbling and breathless with confusion.
Jake leaned against the brick wall of the souvenir shop, right where I’d told him to wait.
Was I wrong in my assumption that Jake had taken my gem? Everything was topsy-turvy, and I desperately needed to get Jake alone.
36
MR. SMITH AND MY CONFESSION
Ruby
I hardly knew which way was up anymore. I wanted to trust Jake so very badly. I didn’t think he was playing me, and while I was tempted to strip him, blindfold him, and then check his pockets, I also needed to be an adult.
Be direct, like Devon had said. My friend was right.
With everything I’d learned at the gallery—and in the alley where I found out that Jake had swiped that honey from the breakfast tray because it made him think about me—it made less and less sense that Jake had stolen my diamond.
He wasn’t hiding any of Willow’s diamonds from me—they hadn’t been there to find.
He hadn’t pilfered Willow’s stone last night—I was his alibi.
That meant I’d suspected Jake unfairly.
That also meant someone else had taken my gem, and we couldn’t talk about that critical detail until I was direct and honest with him. But god, honesty was hard. As we walked to my room, my stomach churned. Honesty was part of trust, but it was painful.
Putting yourself on the line was like diving into a bracing sea. But there was only one way to do it.
Jump in.
The second the door to my room shut, I turned to Jake.
“The jar of honey…” I began. “That was the only thing you took from the room this morning, right?”
He gave me a baffled look. An I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about side-eye. “What else would I have taken?”
I dragged a hand through my hair, then took the leap. “I need to know if you took my—”
But before I could explain myself, someone knocked at the door. Jake and I exchanged a glance, and I called, “Who is it?”
“This is the hotel manager.”
There was another look between Jake and me, this time with a shrug. “I’d better answer that,” I said.
In the hall stood a tall, red-haired man in dress slacks and a suit jacket with a brass name tag that said Alfredo.
“Hello, Ms. Ashley,” he said politely, nodding to me. “So sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to make sure you received the delivery yesterday, and everything was in order.”
I frowned, a small kernel of worry tightening inside me. “Delivery? I’m not sure what you mean?”
Jake joined me at the door and draped an arm around my waist. The comforting and reassuring gesture was welcome, but I didn’t deserve it after doubting him the way I had. “What was delivered?” Jake asked.
The manager’s brows knotted in worry. “The envelope of documents?”
“I didn’t receive anything,” I told him. “And I wasn’t expecting anything either.”
Jake seemed on high alert. I could feel his tension everywhere we touched. “What time was this?”
The man scratched his chin as if recalling the details. “Yesterday evening, around six o’clock, a man came to the front desk and asked if he could deliver some urgent paperwork to your room.”
“And you let him?” Jake asked, thoroughly protective.
“Absolutely not. We do not give out our guests’ room numbers for any reason. But the man insisted it was urgent, so my clerk took the envelope and brought it to your room himself, leaving it on the desk at around six-fifteen. I came to confirm you had received it.” He paused awkwardly. “But obviously, you did not.”
I gulped nervously and glanced behind me in case I’d somehow missed the envelope—but the desk was bare. Wild ideas and worries swam through my brain.
Jake went to the desk and looked around and under it, then reported, “Nothing.”
The manager sighed. “I’ll check with the clerk—”
“Did he give his name? The man who dropped the envelope off?” I asked, not caring if I was rude. “What was it?”
Alfredo cleared his throat as if owning up to something embarrassing. “Ahem. Mr. Smith, I believe,” he said. “I’ll go inquire with the staff.”