Stacey Joy Netzel Boxed Set

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  Roger was his brother, she remembered. She tried to get a better look at the guy without appearing like an obvious spy, but Jake’s wide shoulders blocked her view.

  “You’re sixteen hundred short in the register,” Roger accused.

  Loral’s heart skipped a beat. Sixteen hundred? That figure couldn’t be a coincidence.

  “My shop, my money,” Jake snapped. “And there’s a payment slip right there, so nothing’s missing.”

  “Except your common sense!”

  “Just drop it. We can talk about this later.”

  “You don’t have an extra sixteen hundred to be buying—” there was a pause and another rustle of paper “—costume jewelry?”

  The last two words were spoken with disgusted disbelief. But Loral focused more on the fact that Jake’s brother was upset he’d bought her jewelry.

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid,” Jake stated in a furious undertone. He shot a quick glance around and Loral ducked behind a curio cabinet.

  “They’re good pieces. And not that I have to defend my business decisions to you, but I’m in the middle of a deal that’s going to bail me out and turn everything around. So, you do what you have to do with the books, and I’ll worry about keeping my doors open.”

  “You better not screw it up then because at this point, you won’t make it past the end of the month.”

  Jake was in financial trouble?

  Loral blinked in shock. Her face burned before a flash of cold doused her, leaving her chilled to the bone. Not even the leather jacket could help, but she she didn’t leave it, either. Then he’d know she’d been there and no way did she want to see him now.

  She backed away, careful to stay behind cabinets and displays that would shield her from his view.

  There was only one reason he’d buy her jewelry if he couldn’t afford to. Her pride rebelled at the humiliating evidence of his charity.

  Chapter Seven

  “Just what the hell is this?”

  Jake covered his cell phone and turned to look at his brother. But he didn’t have to look at the faxed invoice quaking in Roger’s fist to know what he was talking about. Two days ago they’d argued over his purchase of Loral’s jewelry. Obviously, his assurances that he knew what he was doing meant nothing to Roger. Then again, this purchase was even larger than the last one.

  Raising a hand to hold him off, Jake spoke into his cell phone. “I need it by Christmas Eve.”

  There was a slight pause on the other end. “Well, yes Sir, that can be arranged. However it’ll probably cost extra.”

  “How much more?”

  “Uh...I’ll have to add an extra five hundred.”

  “Whatever you need to charge is fine, as long as you can get it here by tomorrow.”

  Roger started to sputter, but Jake turned his back.

  “Call me as soon as it’s done and I’ll give you my credit card to overnight it.”

  The moment he disconnected his phone, Roger exploded. “You can’t afford FedEx, let alone whatever the hell you’re buying! Have you even fixed your car yet?”

  “No.”

  “You mean you’re still riding public transportation?” his brother asked with disgust.

  “So what? People do it every day.”

  “No one I want to know,” Roger muttered.

  Jake thought of Loral and his back stiffened. Where in the hell had his brother gotten his snobbish attitude from? Maybe their father hadn’t been around to teach them much of anything, but their mother had been the kindest soul, respectful of everyone, no matter their fortune in life. Roger may have succeeded beyond anyone else in the family, but it didn’t make him better.

  Before he could give his brother a long-time-coming piece of his mind, Roger said, “Listen, I can spot you a couple grand—that ought to cover the deductible on the car and this month’s mortgage on the shop—but after that you’re on your own. I’m not going to be your personal bank.”

  The offer was condescending and insulting. Suddenly, Jake knew exactly how Loral had felt when he’d offered her a loan. Pride, that nasty little thing he’d told her she needed to work on, reared up like an angry rattlesnake.

  “I don’t need your money,” he bit out.

  “No? This past week alone you bought more than you sold all month. And now you’re spending again.”

  Jake gritted his teeth in frustration. Fine, maybe he needed it, but he sure as hell didn’t want it. Not from Roger.

  He scrubbed a weary hand over his face and was surprised for a moment at the rasp of stubble on his chin. Shit. He should go home and shave before his dinner meeting but relying on the bus meant there’d be no time. Of course, if dinner went as planned, the scruff wouldn’t make one bit of difference and this entire argument would be irrelevant. Wouldn’t Roger be surprised then?

  He brushed past his brother, striding to the front of the shop to lock up even though it was only six-thirty. “Relax, Roger, I’ve got everything under control.”

  Roger dogged his heels and shoved the paper in his hand under Jake’s nose. “You call this under control?”

  He pushed it away without looking at the two thousand dollar balance due and flipped the Open sign to Closed. “That’s called doing the right thing. Do you remember what that means?”

  Roger sneered. “Yeah, throw that in my face again. Mortgaging the shop for mom’s medical bills was your choice. If you’d done what I said, you’d be free and clear right now instead of drowning in debt.”

  Red-hot rage exploded inside Jake as he rounded on his brother. He fisted his hands in his custom-tailored suit and shoved him up against a tall, Victorian era dresser. A circa 1920 Gabriel Argy-Rousseau vase tumbled off the top and shattered on the floor. The splintered glass matched Jake’s emotions.

  “If I’d done what you said, mom would’ve spent her last days in an overburdened, state-run hospital with minimal care instead of the comfort of her own bed. You and dad may have abandoned her, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to. All I can say is thank God she never realized what a selfish prick you are before she died. It’d have broken her heart.”

  After one final shove, Jake ripped the paper from Roger’s hand and walked away before he did any more damage.

  By the time he reached the restaurant, he’d reined his emotions under control and tucked them back in the far corners of his heart. He didn’t like them out in the open for people to see, especially not his cold-hearted brother.

  The hostess sat him for his reservation, and then five minutes later, he rose to his feet with a warm smile when his dinner guest was shown to the table. She wore a classic little black dress that would never go out of style, and she was almost as beautiful as her daughter.

  Jake stood to take her coat and pull out her chair. “Clara, you look lovely. I’m pleased you could make it.”

  “I wish I could say the same,” she replied, folding her hands primly in her lap over her purse. Her smile was polite, but not sincere like it’d been last week at the apartment. “Lucky for you, Mr. Coburn, you were just mysterious enough on the phone to pique my interest.”

  So that’s how it was. Evidently, Loral and her mother were both pissed at him. His gaze narrowed and he tensed. “Does Loral know about our meeting tonight?”

  “Of course not, she’s working right now. You think I’d tell my daughter that you called me when she jumps every time the darn phone rings? No, Jake, I actually care about her feelings.”

  Relief was swift. “Good.” As Clara’s expression tightened, Jake added, “This will all be clear very soon, I promise.”

  “It’s pretty clear now.”

  “Not even close,” he muttered, removing his napkin from his plate. As he shook it out and laid it on his lap, he asked, “Did you bring the photo?”

  Reluctant curiosity replaced motherly reproach. Clara retrieved an envelope from her purse, withdrew the picture of her grandparents standing on the dock with the Titanic in the background and handed
it to Jake. He felt her watching him as he pulled a magnifying glass from his pocket and held it to the picture for closer inspection.

  Raising his gaze, nothing could’ve held back his smile.

  “What is it?” Clara asked, leaning closer.

  He slid the photo across the table and offered the magnifying glass. “Look at the brooch on Patricia’s shawl.”

  She examined it, and then lifted her shoulders. “It’s the dragonfly.”

  Jake reached into his suit pocket and set the dragonfly he’d bought from Loral on the table next to the picture. Even in the subdued lighting of the restaurant, rubies, blue sapphires, emeralds and diamonds glittered in the antique platinum setting.

  “I need to return this to you.”

  Clara transferred her gaze from the brooch to him, a confused frown marring her brow. “I don’t understand. Loral said she sold it to you. You paid for it, right?”

  “Yes, but now I need you to buy it back.”

  “Why?”

  Jake studied her, wondering if she was as prideful as her daughter. There was too much riding on this; he couldn’t chance it. “I need the money. I never should’ve bought it in the first place.”

  Clara’s gaze shifted pointedly from his suit, to the fine linen and fancy place settings on the table, and then around the lavish décor of Benito’s restaurant. “Try again, young man.”

  He swallowed hard and ignored the thump of his heart to quietly say, “I swear on my mother’s grave I am not lying to you.”

  Her eyes widened. She stared at him for a long moment and he held her gaze without trying to hide anything. Finally, her attention dropped to the dragonfly. She reached to pick it up, holding the brooch in her palm while tracing the delicate, latticed wings with her thumb.

  “How much did you pay Loral?”

  “One thousand dollars.”

  Her fingers trembled as she set the jewelry down and lowered her hands to her lap. “Jake, I’d love to help you, but I don’t know if…”

  She trailed off with despair, and then her lashes lifted to show him every bit of her renewed confusion. “Why would you pay that much if you couldn’t afford it?”

  He gave her a gentle smile. “I’m a sucker for blue eyes.”

  The instant flash of pride in her eyes and stiffening of her back confirmed he’d said the right thing.

  “Will you take a check?”

  “Unfortunately, I need that in cash. However, I know the owner and he assured me they’d be happy to take your check.”

  “How very kind of Luca,” she muttered.

  He signaled their waitress as Clara jerked out her checkbook.

  “You were very sure of yourself.”

  If she had any clue exactly how unsure and nervous he’d been she’d be laughing right now. As it was, he still anticipated more than a few tense moments before the evening was over. He remained silent as she wrote the check, ripped it out, and thrust it at the waitress. The woman inspected the check, and then counted out ten one hundred dollar bills onto the table as he’d prearranged.

  Clara glared at him as she shoved the money toward him. Once the waitress left, she clutched her purse in a white-knuckled grip and spoke in a low, angry voice. “I’m thankful now that you didn’t call Loral. You don’t deserve her.”

  Jake did his best to ignore the hurtful words and tucked the cash in his inside breast pocket. While withdrawing a piece of paper from the same pocket, Clara snatched up the dragonfly and pushed back her chair to stand.

  He leaned forward, hand extended. “Clara, please—”

  “Mr. Coburn,” the hostess interrupted. “The rest of your party has arrived.”

  Clara hesitated, and thankfully, remained in her seat as Jake said, “Give us a few minutes, please, before you show Mr. Harper back.”

  “What’s going on?” Clara asked with suspicion.

  He handed her the paper in his hand as the hostess retreated. “I’m hoping you’ll sign this.”

  Perched on the edge of her chair, she opened the tri-folded document and quickly skimmed the contents. Her frown returned. “What is this?”

  “That is an agreement that allows me to act as your broker in the sale of the dragonfly brooch for a fee of ten percent of the negotiated sale price.”

  The contract received a more thorough read, though it was quite straightforward.

  “Time’s up, Clara,” he said softly. “Make your decision; Mr. Harper is here.”

  She glanced up swiftly as he turned a smile toward the two gentlemen approaching their table. One older, gray-haired, dressed in a tailored suit that probably cost more than a year’s worth of his shop mortgage; the other younger, blond, and dressed just as affluently.

  Replacing his napkin back on the table, Jake stood, smoothed his own suit, and extended his right hand. “Phil. Good to see you again.”

  “You, too, Jake.” Phil Harper shook his hand, and then introduced his companion. “I trust you don’t mind I brought my jeweler, Matt Larson.”

  “Not at all, I expected it.” Jake nodded a greeting to Matt and turned to Clara, who was still sitting in confusion. “Allow me to introduce the lovely Clara Evans.”

  “This is a wonderful surprise,” Phil said.

  Clara set the dragonfly on the corner of the table before reaching to accept Phil Harper’s left-handed greeting. Jake thought the switch odd, until the older man bowed and kissed the back of her hand. Was it his imagination, or did he rub his thumb over her bare ring finger? The entire exchange appeared to fluster Clara, bringing a flush to her cheeks. Jake grinned, thinking the color looked good on her—just like her daughter.

  If things went well over the next few minutes, he hoped to see Loral’s blush again real soon.

  After the prerequisite round of greetings were concluded, they all settled into their chairs. Jake noticed that Clara had set the folded contract aside, but despite his inner nervousness, he kept his smile in place as the waitress took their drink order. The deal would go forward with or without her signature.

  “Let’s get right down to business, shall we?” Jake said after the drinks arrived.

  Phil laughed, “I couldn’t agree more. Is that it?” His gaze zeroed in on the jeweled insect resting between Jake and Clara.

  Jake picked up the brooch, but waited for Clara’s approval before handing it over. Phil examined the piece and Jake was happy to glimpse interest in the other man’s eyes before his poker face took over.

  Without a word, Phil handed the dragonfly to his jeweler for inspection. Both men were careful not to show undue interest, but Jake knew from past experience Phil Harper was a fanatic about anything connected to the Titanic.

  “Let’s see this proof you claim to have,” Phil requested.

  Silently, Jake handed over the picture of Marcus and Patricia Widener, along with a photocopy of the ship’s manifest proving they’d been passengers. And, last, he showed them two lists: one of the poor souls who’d perished, and one of the survivors.

  Phil produced his own papers and compared until he and Larson located the same names. Then he sat back with his wine, and swirled the liquid in front of him. Jake hid his impatience as he waited for Phil’s first offer. The man raised his gaze and met Jake’s.

  “Three hundred thousand.”

  Clara’s sharp intake of breath prompted Jake to reach over beneath the table and clasp her hand. Without taking his eyes off Phil, he offered a calm smile. “The jewels alone are worth more than that.”

  Matt Larson remained silent, confirming what Jake had suspected from the moment he’d seen the brooch.

  Phil inclined his head. “All right, then. Four.”

  His own pulse beating a dizzying tempo, Jake kept his face impassive as Clara’s grip tried to crush his fingers. “Six.”

  Phil’s gaze sharpened. He took a slow drink of wine before setting the glass on the table. When he leaned forward, he locked his gaze with Jake’s and said in a firm tone, “Five. And that’s my f
inal offer.”

  Jake released Clara’s trembling hand and offered Phil a smile as he began to gather up the documents. “Actually, six is our final offer.”

  “Jake,” Clara breathed.

  Phil’s sharp gaze shifted to Clara as if sensing a weak link. Jake shook his head quickly. “It’s okay, Mrs. Evans. There’s another interested party.”

  “Who?” Phil demanded.

  “You know I can’t divulge that. I only gave you first chance at the brooch because I like you better.”

  Phil gave a bark of laughter. “Bullshit. You only gave me first chance because I have deeper pockets.”

  Jake just smiled again, neither denying or confirming the absolute truth in the man’s statement. With everything in order, he handed the brooch to Clara, then assisted her to her feet. “Please, enjoy dinner on us, Phil, it’s all arranged. We appreciate your time.” He inclined his head first to the collector, and then the jeweler. “Mr. Larson.”

  God, this had better work. He urged Clara in the direction of the door.

  Three steps from the table, she suddenly resisted his push, whispering fiercely over her shoulder, “Jake, what are you doing?”

  “Coburn.”

  Jake’s pulse jerked. Schooling his expression to remain calm, he kept one hand on Clara’s shoulder and turned to Phil, eyebrow cocked.

  “Throw in that photo, and you’ve got a deal.”

  Definitely not his call on that one. Clara turned, shifting her gaze from Jake to Phil. Moisture filled her eyes.

  “It’s the only picture I have of my grandparents together.”

  Phil sighed with resignation, but kindness lit his eyes and smile. “Tears from a beautiful woman are not allowed during a business negotiation.”

  Color bloomed in her cheeks as Clara laughed softly. “I apologize, Mr. Harper.”

  She wiped the corner of her right eye with the knuckle of one finger, then straightened her spine as Jake had seen Loral do a few times.

  “I’ll tell you what, you can have the dragonfly and the original photo for six hundred thousand dollars—” Her voice wobbled a bit on the number, but she took a deep breath and continued. “—providing a professional copy of the photo is made for my daughter.”