Mr. Knightsbridge

by Louise Bay

He laughed, perfectly satisfied with his joke.

  “That’s why I’m here in London,” I clarified. “More experience. I want to turn a hobby into a career.”

  One side of his mouth began to curl upward as if he was enjoying listening to me speak. Maybe it was my accent.

  “So, if jewelry is just your hobby, what’s your career now?”

  “I have a job, not a career. It pays the bills. Let’s not talk about it.” While I was here, I wanted to imagine that this was my only life now. The less I had to think about the worries that awaited me back home, the better.

  A hint of a frown crossed Dexter’s forehead and I longed to reach across the table and smooth it down.

  “What about you? What would you have done if you hadn’t been a jeweler?”

  “There was no other path for me,” he answered without hesitation. “I was born to do this.”

  “Because you love it or because it’s what your parents did?” It was amazing to me that anyone could be so sure about what they were meant to do with their lives.

  “Most definitely both,” he replied. “What do your parents do?”

  I groaned. “Not a lot.” I really didn’t want to talk about life back in Oregon.

  Our fondue arrived just in time to save me from the question. The waitress placed a small saucepan on the burner in the middle of the table, with an array of bread, meats and vegetables alongside. I hadn’t thought this through. This blouse was rayon, but that didn’t mean it would wipe clean. Who came to a fondue restaurant for a first date?

  “Who knows you best in the entire world?” I asked, desperate to steer the conversation away from my life in Oregon.

  He offered me the bread basket and I stabbed a cube with my long fork.

  “I have five best friends—we’ve been close since we were teenagers.”

  “Nice,” I said. “Like a pack?”

  “They’re human. Not wolves.” He growled, low and deep, and I swear I was a second away from pulling a Meg Ryan. Only I wouldn’t have been faking.

  “You tell them your deepest, darkest secrets?” I asked.

  “To the extent I have any. I’m pretty much an open book.” A hint of the frown again and my fingers buzzed with the urge to press it away.

  “I read a thing online about you,” I confessed. “Because, you know—” Obviously I was going to google a guy before I shared cheese with him. “It said you had ‘shunned the London jewelry industry’ for years. That true?” I didn’t need an internet search to tell me that—his reputation preceded him—but he didn’t need to know that.

  “Yes and no,” he replied.

  I waited for him to elaborate but he just dipped a mushroom into the cheese, popped it in his mouth and chewed.

  “Well, that’s not an answer.”

  “No. That was me saying I don’t want to answer.” His lips curled around his words and he scanned my face before adding, “In British.”

  I laughed. “I’m not fluent yet.” I met guys who kept things secret, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever met a man who was completely open about what he was hiding.

  “You didn’t tell me which one of my competitors you’re interning for,” he said, clearly trying to change the subject.

  “Sparkle,” I said, still proud I’d managed to secure an internship at such a well-renowned firm. Daniels & Co were arguably a better brand, but Sparkle wasn’t far behind.

  Dexter froze, his breathing shallow and his eyes fixed on me. It was as if he had an invisible gun to his head and he was trying to warn me to run. And then all of a sudden, he was back to normal—all smiles and easy charm.

  “Rewind there for a minute.” Okay, so it was a first date and he didn’t have to tell me why he’d stayed away from London or what his mother’s maiden name was, but we had to have some kind of exchange of information, something deeper than cheese talk. “What was that?” I asked. “When I mentioned Sparkle?”

  “What?” he asked, stabbing a piece of pepper.

  “Put down the vegetable and tell me why you looked like you’d seen a ghost when I mentioned who I was interning for.”

  “No ghosts,” he said, setting down his fork and taking a sip of wine.

  This date had only just begun and already it was full of negatives. I was avoiding telling him things, and he was clearly holding his cards close. “You know what I think?”

  He paused and looked at me, waiting for me to go on.

  “I think we’re doing a dance,” I continued. “I think you’re not saying some things. I’m doing the same, even though you said you like it when I’m completely open and you said you were an open book. We’re skating on the surface and it’s nice and all. I mean—you’re great to look at, and fondue is a riveting topic of conversation, but what are we doing here if we’re both trying so hard not to share who we are?”

  He blinked but didn’t move. I wasn’t sure if he hadn’t liked what I said or he wanted me to elaborate.

  I sat back and pushed my glass away. “I’m trying not to give away that I live under a gray sky in a single-wide trailer and work in a factory. And that I’m wearing a one hundred percent rayon shirt. You?”

  There—I’d thrown down a challenge. He might walk out, but just like Dexter had known I wanted to say yes to dinner despite saying no at first, something told me he wouldn’t balk at my invitation to tell the truth. These three months in London would come to an end all too soon, and I wanted to make the most out of every second, including tonight. I had to have the truth, because I didn’t have time for lies.

  “It’s all connected,” he said, as if that made perfect sense. His gaze scanned the room, like he was checking for exits or perhaps deciding whether or not he was going to open up. “My parents died in a car crash when I was nineteen.”

  This time, I couldn’t hold back—I had to touch him. I leaned and slid my hand over his.

  “And my brother sold their business to Sparkle, right out from under my nose. I had no rights under the will because I wasn’t twenty-one. Dealing with the estate was all up to my brother. I lost my parents and their business to Sparkle. All in one.”

  “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” I squeezed his hand.

  “Sparkle had tried to recruit my mother—over and over—as a designer. And had poached other members of staff. My parents’ business was small but it produced beautiful jewelry. Sparkle had wanted to own them for years. When they died . . .”

  “Sparkle pounced.”

  The warm, flirtatious smile had disappeared and the ridge between his eyes was deeper now. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to make it better. “They took advantage,” he said. And I’d bet he’d spent his entire life making sure no one else was ever going to take advantage of him again.

  “What did your brother say? Was he sorry?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t know. We haven’t spoken since.” He flipped my hand over and linked his fingers through mine.

  I couldn’t imagine going a single day without my sister, let alone years. “Wow. And did he start his own jewelry business like you did?”

  “Last I heard he worked in the back office at one of the banks in the City.”

  His brother should have been protecting him, not selling off the family business. “I bet that’s a huge motivation for you. Creating Daniels & Co and being so successful.”

  “A little,” he replied. It was just two words, but they unlocked a lot about the man in front of me. I couldn’t imagine what such a betrayal by a member of my family would do to me.

  Dexter’s brother wasn’t the only one who had betrayed him. Sparkle shared the blame. I was working for the enemy. “I bet you want to beat Sparkle in this competition, huh?” I asked.

  “A little,” he repeated. “I want to kiss you more.”

  I bit back a smile. He was lying. But I could live with that. “What are the odds, do you think?” I asked, thinking out loud.

  “Of me kissing you? That’s up to you. What do you think the odds are?”

&n
bsp; “Hmm, well, given your form, I’d say . . . three to ten?”

  “Three to ten?” he asked, his brow crinkling in confusion. “That’s specific.”

  “I have no idea what I’m talking about,” I confessed. “I’m not a girl who makes bets.”

  I liked this guy. Against my better judgment, I was here at dinner with him. “It would be complicated, wouldn’t it? Me on the Sparkle team and everything?” I had my reservations about Dexter. He was devastatingly handsome and I wasn’t in London to be devastated. And I wasn’t exactly the ideal woman for him. I hadn’t had anything to do with taking over his family business, but I was working for the people who had.

  He sighed and sat back a little in his seat, cold air filling the distance between us. Despite myself, I wanted him to kiss me. And that was the problem. Because I couldn’t remember ever being on a date and wanting so badly to be kissed. First dates were all about thinking about whether the date would end in a kiss. Until tonight, the answer had always been absolutely not or maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Once or twice it had even gotten to you never know, it might be amazing. But the idea of kissing Dexter didn’t make me think. It made me feel a thousand feelings—the fluttering swirl in the base of my belly, the shiver at the bottom of my spine, and the pulsing heat under my skin. I couldn’t wait for him to kiss me.

  He glanced up at me as if trying to weigh the pros and cons.

  “It’s not like you were the one who bought my family business. We just won’t discuss the competition,” he said, nodding as if it were the easiest answer. I’d suggested the same thing, hadn’t I? It was the only way I could justify sitting here tonight. Work was work. This was . . . not work. And even if I was in London to lay the foundations for the rest of my life, Autumn would be quick to tell me I couldn’t work one hundred percent of the time. I needed time to recharge. That’s what Dexter would be for me—a trip to the spa, but in male form.

  “I’m not the enemy?” I asked.

  “You don’t look much like the enemy,” he replied, leaning forward, closer than before, the air between us thickening.

  The clatter of the restaurant faded into the background, and all I could focus on was the rise and fall of Dexter’s chest, the way his lips parted and his gaze burned into me.

  He slid his hand around the back of my neck and dropped a kiss on the side of my mouth.

  I shut my eyes, as if blocking out at least a part of Dexter—the sight of him—would make this moment more manageable. Otherwise, I ran the risk of being completely overwhelmed.

  “I’m not your enemy,” I whispered as he pressed his lips on the other side of my mouth.

  He growled and I opened my eyes to find him shifting away from me.

  “The things I want to do to you,” he said, his voice raw and coarse. I reached out to him, stroking the five o’clock shadow covering his jaw. I ached to know how the rough stubble would feel between my legs.

  “Tell me,” I said. I wanted details, to know what he was thinking. I knew that whatever it was, in that exact moment, I would have said yes. To anything.

  Nine

  Dexter

  “I can’t wait to meet this woman,” Beck said, craning his neck to survey the bustling room as if he had a clue what Hollie looked like. He was overly invested.

  I’d been light on detail when he’d pumped me for information about my date with Hollie. Partly in an effort to throw him off the scent and also because it had taken me by surprise. Yes, she was fun and warm and so beautiful. But the way she’d called me out—us both out—for hiding things on our date, the way she’d confessed what she’d been trying to hide and had me do the same . . . It wasn’t what I’d expected, which made her all the more intriguing. I’d thought she’d just be another date, just a bit more of a challenge. And I suppose I thought she’d be funny, given her messages after we’d first met. But I hadn’t imagined her to be so . . . beguiling.

  I never talked about what my brother had done, conspiring behind my back to sell off everything my parents loved to a predator. As much as I’d like to put it down to the cheese, I knew differently. She’d been right when she’d accused us both of dancing around secrets and half-truths, but we’d been on a date at a restaurant that pretended to be tucked into the Swiss Alps, not on a psychiatrist’s sofa. You weren’t meant to confess your deepest, darkest secrets on a first date. Hollie hadn’t got that memo, and apparently, I didn’t mind too much. There was something in those green-blue eyes that made me want to tell her whatever she wanted to know.

  “You’re not going to meet her tonight,” I said. “This is a work thing. We’re here to find out which five jewelry houses are through to the finals. You’re supposed to be moral support.”

  “But she’s here?” he asked. “In this room?”

  God, why did I have to bring Beck? He needed to accept that what he’d found with Stella wasn’t for everyone.

  “Focus, Beck. Moral support. Remember?”

  He snapped his head around. “What? Are you worried or something? Of course you’re going to make it to the finals.” He looked at me as if I’d just told him I was worried about losing a leg bowling, or crashing my car in an empty car park. He had complete faith in me. That’s why he was my brother.

  “So how many events like this are there?” he asked. “You seem to have had a lot of man dates recently.” Today’s reveal of the finalists was a buffet lunch overlooking the Thames.

  “A lot,” I replied. “They’re trying to raise a ton for charity. I said to Primrose I’d much prefer to write a huge check than turn up at all of them but—”

  “No, you need to show your face,” he said. “You don’t want to piss off the organizers and have them think you think you’re too good to mix with your peers.”

  “It’s not that. I’m just antisocial.” It wasn’t just that. And Beck knew it.

  Beck chuckled. “I know. But they don’t. Sometimes you’ve just got to play the game.”

  He sounded like Primrose. But the people I surrounded myself with all had my best interests at heart and that’s why I was here. “That’s why I have so many man dates.”

  I spotted Hollie across the room and the tips of my fingers twitched with a need to touch her. It was difficult to miss her. She was all tumbling pre-Raphaelite curls and pale skin, like she belonged in a different century.

  My gaze slid from her to who she was talking to and my stomach began to churn. Charles Ledwin, CEO of Sparkle and a face I’d never forget. He’d aged, but his face young or old was burned into my memory. The first time I saw him he’d dropped into my parents’ shop on Hatton Garden as if he were a customer. Only instead of trying to buy a ring, he offered to buy the place. My father had barked out a laugh and sent him on his way, but he’d appeared a couple more times. It was as if he were circling the place, waiting for his prey to weaken. When my parents died, I told my brother we shouldn’t accept the offer, that we should run the place together, just as our parents had wanted. But David had been selfish and greedy, and he’d taken Sparkle’s money.

  Even now, thinking back to what he’d done, the wound was still fresh. How could he have cared so little for me?

  A microphone squeaked across the room, catching everyone’s attention. The head of the environmental charity being supported by the lunch made a short speech before thanking the room for their donations. Despite each event being voluntary, every jeweler who’d entered the competition had written a check in support of the charity being spotlighted. It was smart of the Finish royal family to design a mutually beneficial arrangement—the jewelers all got publicity and the charities received generous donations.

  “And now down to business,” the host said. “It’s time to announce the five finalists whose designs will be produced ahead of final judgment.”

  “Wait,” Beck said. “There’s no actual jewelry been made yet?”

  “Not officially. We’ve submitted the designs.” I’d been able to source most of the stones already an
d the pieces were all but finished. The only thing I didn’t have was the emeralds, because of my change of heart from Columbian to Zambian.

  “These guys are judging off plan, I see.”

  “Yeah. It’s not like a building though. A piece can be made or broken because of the stones.” I understood why the organizers with the Finnish royal family had decided to break the competition down like this. They wanted the maximum number of entrants at the beginning because that would generate the most publicity and money for the charitable causes being supported. And it wouldn’t be fair for some of the less-established jewelers to make the pieces unless they were going to have a fair chance at winning. It would be a huge financial outlay to make a collection for a royal wedding. I understood all that. I just didn’t agree with it. It was possible to get a feel for a piece when you saw it on paper, but it didn’t tell you everything about the final ring or bracelet or tiara.

  Someone else took over the lectern—I had no idea who. For years I’d kept my focus on me and my business, not taking too much notice of what was going on in the industry. It worked for me. I hadn’t gotten bogged down in gossip and politics. And I’d found a path from which I could honor my parents without hearing the condolences and constant comparisons.

  The first name was announced—Garrard. No surprise there. Conservative and steady choice. Then Graff, followed by Cartier.

  Two slots left.

  I glanced over at Hollie. I’d never seen her anything but smiling, but now her jaw was tense and her expression steady, as if beneath the soft curls and wide smile a layer of steel hid.

  “The fourth finalist to go through is Van Cleef and Arples,” the emcee said.

  Hollie turned toward me and gave me a forlorn look that conveyed a mutual understanding—at least one of us would leave this room disappointed. I had no idea she’d seen me.

  “And the last finalist is . . . Daniels & Co.”

  I took a deep breath as Beck clapped me on the back. “Knew you had it.”

  I glanced over at Hollie, who looked back with an expression of shock and dismay. I really wanted to go over and comfort her but didn’t want to risk bumping into any of the people from Sparkle. Besides, I’d sworn I’d not greet her in public.