Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
We turned onto my street and my heartrate began to pick up. I didn’t want to say no, but I didn’t see how I could say yes.
“Can I think about it?” I asked him.
He chuckled. “If that’s what it takes. Let me have your number.”
“Actually, why don’t you give me your card.” I didn’t know what my UK number would be, and there was no point in giving him my US cell, which I was afraid to turn on for fear of incurring massive charges.
He pulled his business card out from his inside pocket. Even if I never called him, I’d have a memento of him asking me.
We pulled to a stop outside my flat and before I had the chance to say goodnight, Dexter had slipped out, rounded the trunk and was opening the door.
“Thank you,” I said as he helped me out of the car. “For the ride. And the offer of cheese.”
He chuckled. “I hope you call.” He lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it.
Despite my brain telling me I never would, another part of me, the part that believed anything could happen, hoped I did too.
Four
Dexter
I’d never been one of those businessmen glued to his phone. Like my father, I believed business was personal and better done face-to-face. But this morning, I must have checked my mobile a thousand times.
“Are you waiting for a call?” Primrose asked as she sat opposite me and pulled out her tablet.
“No.” I slid my phone into the top drawer of my desk. Perhaps not having it in my hand might be a start at ignoring it. “How are the designs coming along? Seeing the wedding tiara last night was a reminder of how good we have to be.”
“I was sorry to miss the reception. How was it?”
“Sorry?” I asked. “Don’t be. It was an awful industry event. You did the right thing to escape.” In many ways it hadn’t been as bad as I had expected it to be. Remembering things I’d forgotten and hearing things I didn’t know about my parents—like how my mother had been courted by all the high-end jewelers but had stayed working with my father—was both wonderful and reassuring. If I hadn’t gone last night, I would have missed out.
But seeing David’s name, and worrying about running in to him? That was beyond uncomfortable. I had no idea what he was doing on the list of attendees. As far as I knew, he was still working the back office of a bank. Why would he attend last night?
Then there was Hollie.
Meeting her had been an experience. I eyed the top drawer of my desk. I needed to get a grip. Even if she called in the next few minutes, she could wait. I was in a meeting.
The fact was, I’d expected her to call by now. Frankly, I was pissed off with myself for not insisting on taking her number.
“It was my thirty-third wedding anniversary—I wasn’t escaping. I heard you ran into Ben Lewin.”
Ahhh, the chap who liked my father’s laugh. “Yes, he was one of several people I talked to. How the hell do you know that?”
Primrose tapped the side of her nose. “You might have been avoiding London jewelry circles all these years, but this old bird knows most things that go on in this town.”
Primrose had been born in the same month as my mother. She lived for this business in the same way that I did, the same way my parents had. It wasn’t work. It was passion. And that’s why Primrose felt like family. She was built the same way.
Unlike my brother.
He couldn’t wait to be out of the family business after our parents died, so why was he going to industry events?
“I didn’t see a single person from the organizing committee. There was no need for me to have gone at all,” I said.
Primrose sighed. “Do we have to go through this again?”
“I don’t see why we can’t just design the shit out of some jewelry. Pick the best stones in existence, cut them like motherfuckers and win this award.”
“Dexter,” Primrose said, her voice deep and chastising.
“Sorry, cut them like the best in the fucking business.” Primrose tolerated my bad language, but motherfucker was where she always drew the line.
“We are going to do all those things,” she said.
“Then why all the cocktail parties and dinners and charity luncheons?”
She laughed. “For the first time in your life, you’re going to have to play by someone else’s rules. You’ve snubbed this industry your entire career. You’re going to have to use some of that charm of yours and play the game if you really want to win.”
“And I do,” I replied, “really want to win.”
She nodded. “Me too. So, during this competition, you’ll shake hands, swap small talk, play nice with the other kids and not look like you thought you were too good for these people all these years.”