man got a glint in his eye when he bought a ring like one of these for his woman—whether it was the thrill of surprising her with something over the top or the pride that came with being able to afford something that only.01 percent of the population could, the men usually showed some emotion.
Mr. diPietro was as cold and hard as the stones he regarded.
“Is there something else I might show you?” James said, deflating. “Some rubies or sapphires, perhaps?”
The client reached inside his suit jacket and brought out a thin black wallet. “I'll take the first one you showed me for two million even.” As James blinked, Mr. diPietro put a credit card on the desktop. “If I'm giving you my money, I want you to work for it. And you will be discounting the stone, because your business needs repeat clients like myself.”
James took a moment to catch up with the fact that a transaction might actually occur. “I…I appreciate your discerning eye, but the price is two million, three hundred thousand.”
Mr. diPietro tapped the card. “That's debit. Two million. Right now.”
James quickly did some math in his head. At that price he was still making about three hundred and fifty thousand on the piece.
“I believe I can do that,” he said.
Mr. diPietro did not sound surprised. “Smart of you.”
“What about sizing? Do you know what size your—”
“The seven-point-seven carats is the only size she's going to care about. We'll take care of the rest later.”
“As you wish.”
James typically encouraged the staff to engage with a client as he went back to set a purchase into its box and print out the valuation for insurance purposes. Tonight, though, he shook his head at them as Mr. diPietro palmed a cell phone and started dialing.
As James worked in the back office, he heard Mr. diPietro talking on the phone. There was no teasing, “Darling, I have something for you,” or suggestive, “I'm coming to see you.” No, Mr. diPietro was not calling his soon-to-be fiancé, but rather someone named Tom about some kind of land issue.
James swiped the card. As he waited for authorization, he steam-cleaned the ring again, periodically checking the green digital readout on the card machine. When he was told to call the bank's twenty-four-hour line directly, he was not surprised given the purchase amount, and as soon as he got on with them, the representative requested to speak to Mr. diPietro.
Transferring the call to the phone on the desk in the viewing room, James put his head through the door. “Mr. diPietro—”
“They want to talk to me?” The man extended his right hand, flashing that watch, and picked up the receiver. Before James could come and take the line off hold, Mr. diPietro did it himself and started talking.
“Yes, it is. Yes, I am. Yes. Yes. My mother's maiden name is O'Brian. Yes. Thanks.” He looked up at James as he put the call on hold again and the phone back in its seat. “They have an authorization code for you.”
James bowed and went back to the office. When he reappeared, he was carrying a sleek red bag with satin handles and an envelope with the receipt in it.
“I hope you will call on us again if we may be of service.”
Mr. diPietro took what he now owned. “I plan on getting engaged only once, but there will be anniversaries. Plenty of them.”
The staff stepped back to get out of his way and James had to hustle to open the store's door before Mr. diPietro came to it. After the man breezed through, James relocked the thing and looked out the window.
The man's car was gorgeous as it took off, its engine growling, the bright lights of the street lamps reflecting off black paint as glossy as still water.
As James turned away, he caught Janice leaning into another window, her eyes sharp. One could be quite sure she wasn't measuring the car as he had, but focusing on the driver instead.
Odd, wasn't it. That which you could not have always seemed more valuable than what you did, and maybe that was why diPietro was so removed: He could afford all of what had been shown, so to him the transaction was no different from buying a newspaper or a can of Coke to the average person.
There was nothing that the truly wealthy could not have, and how lucky they were.
“No offense, but I think I'm going to take off.”
Jim put down his empty and grabbed for his leather jacket. He'd had his two Buds, and one more was going to put him into DUI territory, so it was time to pull out.
“I can't believe you're leaving alone,” Adrian drawled, his eyes going over to Blue Dress.
She was still standing beneath that ceiling light. And still staring. And still breathtaking. “Yup, just me, myself, and I.”
“Most men don't have your kind of self-control.” Adrian smiled, the hoop in his lower lip glinting. “Kind of impressive actually.”
“Yeah, I'm a saint, all right.”
“Well, drive home safe so you can keep polishing that halo. We'll see you tomorrow at the site.”
There was a round of palm slapping and then Jim was making his way through the crowd. As he went, he drew looks from the black-chained and spike-collared, probably in the same way all these Goths did when they were out at a mall:
Guess Levi's and a clean flannel shirt offended their leather-and-lace sensibilities.
Jim chose a path that kept him far away from Blue Dress, and once he was outside, he took a deep breath like he'd passed some kind of test. The cold air didn't bring quite the relief he wanted, though, and as he walked around to the back parking lot, his hand went to the pocket of his shirt.
He'd quit smoking, and yet a year later, he was still reaching for the Marlboro Reds. His frickin' habit was like having an amputated limb with phantom pain.
As he made the corner and walked into the lot, he went past a row of cars that were parked grilles-in to the building. All of them were dirty, their flanks spackled with salt from the road treatments and months-old white-snow grime. His truck, which was way down at the end of the third row in, was exactly the same.
He looked left and right as he went. This was a bad part of town, and if he were going to get jumped, he wanted to see what was coming at him. Not that he minded a good fight. He'd gotten into a lot of them in his younger years, and then been trained properly in the military—plus, thanks to his day job, he was in rock-hard shape. But it was always better to—
He stopped as a flash of gold winked at him from the ground.
Crouching down, he picked up a thin gold ring—no, it was a hoop earring, one of those guys that plugged into itself. He cleaned the grunge off and glanced over at the cars. Could have been dropped by anyone, and it wasn't very expensive.
“Why did you leave without me?”
Jim froze.
Shit, her voice was as sexy as the rest of her.
Straightening to his full height, he pivoted on his work boot and stared across the trunks of the cars. Blue Dress was about ten yards away, standing under a security light—which made him wonder if she always chose spots that illuminated her.
“It's cold,” he said. “You should go back inside.”
“I'm not cold.”
True enough.
“Alone?” She came forward, her high heels tracking across the pitted asphalt.
The closer she got, the better-looking she became. Shit, her lips were made for sex, deep red and slightly parted, and that hair of hers…All he could think about was it falling over his bare chest and thighs.
Jim shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He was much taller than she was, but the way she walked was a sucker punch to the solar plexus, immobilizing him with hot thoughts and vivid plans: Staring at her fine pale skin, he wondered if it was as soft as it seemed. Wondered a whole hell of a lot about what was under that dress. Wondered what she would feel like beneath his naked body.
