Stacey Joy Netzel Boxed Set

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  “The copy can most certainly be arranged. Throw in dinner, just the two of us tomorrow night, and you have a deal.”

  Clara’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “But...it’s Christmas Eve.”

  “Ah, so it is. My excitement got the better of me for a moment.”

  His excitement over the brooch or dinner with Clara? Jake wondered.

  “Another time, then?” Phil pressed. “I wouldn’t dream of taking you away from your family on the holiday.”

  Clara offered the collector a smile that Jake would only classify as shy. “Actually, my daughter is working tomorrow night. I’d planned to spend the evening alone.”

  “Does that mean you’re accepting my offer.”

  “Yes, Mr. Harper, I believe I am.”

  “In that case, call me Phil.” He stood and extended his hand to her, sealing the deal.

  Relief left Jake weak-kneed. Knowing that Loral and her mother’s finances were secure gave him a sense of peace that rivaled the moment his mother had passed and her pain filled expression had relaxed in one last familiar smile.

  A sudden lump in his throat was too painful to swallow past. He blinked furiously and to cover it up, turned to signal the waitress. Clearing his throat, he pulled Clara’s chair out again. “Shall we have dinner while we finalize the details?”

  During dinner, plans were made for a formal appraisal and final sale first thing in the morning before the banks closed for the Christmas holiday. Jake was mentally exhausted by dessert and thankful when Phil and Matt bid them goodnight, leaving Jake and Clara alone at the table.

  They shared a smile before she reached to gather the pending sale papers. “So I take it Loral told you?”

  He looked up from signing the credit card slip for the dinner bill. “About what?”

  “My cancer.”

  It felt like someone had punched him in the gut and it hurt to breathe. Mutely, he shook his head, then forced out, “I’m sorry.”

  She tilted her head and chided, “I’m not dead yet.”

  His face flushed. “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay. People never know what to say. Anyway, I had surgery six weeks ago, and the doctor is pretty sure he got all of it. Also, I’m almost done with chemo, and things look pretty good. I was having a little problem with the positive attitude, given our present circumstances, but now…”

  She waved the temporary agreement Phil had signed before sliding it into her purse. “Everything is definitely looking up. Loral can finally do what she dreams of doing, not what she has to do.”

  Jake smiled with her. “I wish you the best of health, Clara. For you and Loral.”

  “Thank you.” She started to get up, and then paused again. “I still don’t understand something, though. If you didn’t know about the cancer, why didn’t you just sell the brooch yourself?”

  He shifted in his chair and finished signing the bill.

  “Jake? That was a huge deal. Were you lying about needing the money?”

  Pride or dignity? He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “No.”

  “Then why? You bought the brooch, fair and square.”

  He stood, thereby avoiding her gaze. “You best get home before Loral does or she’ll be worried sick. I’ve arranged for a cab outside.”

  When he would’ve assisted her with her chair, she laid a hand on his arm. “Jake.”

  Stubborn as her daughter. It wasn’t as though he’d tell her the truth, so he settled for as close as he was comfortable. “I told you, Clara, I’m a sucker for blue eyes. Let’s just leave it at that. Please?”

  She rose to her feet, stood on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek, and then moved back while pressing a folded piece of paper into his hand. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Jake. And don’t you forget—Loral’s expecting your call.”

  He opened the paper as she walked away, and then grinned when he saw the broker contract she’d set aside earlier. Clara had given her blessing in the signature on the bottom.

  Chapter Eight

  The moment Loral opened the door to the dark apartment, she remembered her mother had gone to a friend’s house because she’d had to work on Christmas Eve.

  “Merry Christmas,” she muttered as she slammed the door. Not only was she not earning tips because they’d sent her home early, but now she was all alone.

  With the newspaper article.

  Billionaire Phil Harper Adds To His Titanic Collection.

  Flipping on the kitchen light as she passed, she then spread the full page across the table. She’d already read it. Twice. Still, she couldn’t make herself stop the torture. Front and center was a picture of her dragonfly.

  Correction—Jake’s dragonfly. She gave a disgusted laugh that threatened to turn into a sob.

  Correction again—Phil Harper the billionaire oil tycoon’s dragonfly.

  For the bargain price of six-hundred thousand dollars. It made her sick to think she’d begged Jake to give her fifty bucks for it, and then thought he was insulting her when he’d offered her a thousand.

  “It might be worth more,” he’d said.

  Might my ass.

  He’d gotten her to take the grand to ease his lying, cheating conscience while making himself a five-hundred thousand, nine-hundred ninety-nine thousand dollar deal. Bye-bye financial troubles for Jake. He was a rich man while she’d made enough tips to pay her bus fare for three whole days.

  Even better, the article quoted the oil tycoon joking about what a hard bargain Jake had driven, but with verified historical ties to the Titanic, it was worth the cost and he was pleased with the addition to his collection.

  Good for him. Good for Jake and his shop. Good for her that he was out of her life!

  “I’ll call you.”

  Another lie. You’d think after the first three days she would’ve stopped hoping. But it wasn’t until yesterday—another three days later—that she’d faced the fact he wasn’t going to call. Never planned to. He’d only said those cruel little words to make a fast getaway from her dismal life without giving her the truth face to face.

  She’d been drawn to him from the moment she’d seen him in his antique shop. And then she’d heard his voice. Gotten to know him over the past year. And then, damn it, the evening of the snowstorm her heart hadn’t stood a snowball’s chance in hell.

  An initial spurt of anger over his not calling had quickly dissipated in the loneliness of her bedroom, and she’d cried herself to sleep wishing his arms were around her.

  This morning, though, in the bright reality of day, she vowed Jake Coburn didn’t deserve any more of her tears. She had too much to do with her life to waste it thinking about him. She deserved better. A fact reinforced by the article in front of her. She hadn’t even gotten misty eyed when she’d first spotted the newspaper on the break room table at work this afternoon.

  Yay. Good for me.

  Except right now her eyes were burning and she needed a tissue. On her way to the bathroom, the alien sound of the doorbell made her jump. Nobody ever came to their place...and on Christmas Eve?

  Oh, God, had something happened to her mom?

  Heart pounding, she rushed to the door. At the last second, she paused with her fingers on the lock and called out, “Who is it?”

  “Delivery for Loral Evans.”

  Delivery? She took a deep breath to calm her pulse. Okay, good, not an emergency. But then she frowned at the unfamiliar voice. “From who?”

  “Um, my slip says Jake Coburn.”

  Anger flared fast and hot. “In that case, go away.”

  Double checking the lock was secure, she stalked back toward the kitchen to make a cup of tea. The doorbell rang again. And again. Finally, she shut off the water, banged the tea kettle on the stove, and returned to the living room to yell, “Whatever it is, I don’t want it.”

  “I’m not allowed to leave until I’ve made the delivery.” When she didn’t reply, the man said, “Come on, lady
, I’d love to get home to my family before midnight.”

  “Don’t try to guilt me,” she snapped. “Just go away.”

  She stomped into her room and changed into a pair of faded, ripped-knee jeans and the pink cashmere sweater her mom had given her for her birthday before the cancer stole everything away from them.

  Hopping to don her slippers on her way into the kitchen, she thought she heard singing and detoured back to the door. After peering through the security hole but only seeing the top of some frosted, spiked hair, she flung open the door and surprised the young man in the middle of his off-key chorus of Silent Night.

  He scrambled to his feet and smoothed his tuxedo.

  She crossed her arms, wanting to hold on to her anger, but finding it difficult looking at the fresh-faced kid with freckles on his nose.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Glen.”

  “Do you have a girlfriend, Glen?”

  He looked confused, a bit scared even, but he nodded.

  “Good for you. Now, take yourself on home and give what ever Jake Coburn sent me to her. And Merry Christmas.”

  When she stepped back and reached to slam the door, he held out a hand as if to stop her.

  “It’s a limo.”

  The door halted mid-swing. Her fingers gripped the wood. “A what?”

  “A limousine. I’m your driver.” He bent down to pick a box off the floor in the hall and shoved it at her. “You’re supposed to change into this and I’ll drive you downtown to Benito’s.”

  She stared at the box. Then—for curiosity sake only—she lifted the lid as Glen held it. Atop white tissue paper tied with a yellow satin ribbon lay a note, scrawled by a strong, masculine hand.

  You already know it’s boxers,

  so how about that dinner and a movie?

  No signature, but it didn’t need one with that reminder of him undressing in her room the night of the snowstorm. Against her better judgment, she parted the tissue and lifted out a floor-length, light yellow silk gown with flowers and butterflies embroidered on the fitted bodice—and a red-bodied dragonfly perched just below the right shoulder. Her size.

  Her heart melted with the romance of his gesture.

  The dress was absolutely stunning. It would’ve been perfect—if it hadn’t been a week too late.

  She set her jaw and pushed the gown back in the box so she could cram the lid back on. Jerk thought he could get to her with a limo and a beautiful dress? Well, she couldn’t be bought. Screw him. He didn’t even have the nerve to face her alone. Man, she’d love to give him a piece of her mind, but if she showed up now, he’d have the satisfaction of knowing it’d all mattered to her. Her chest tightened and she swallowed hard. Forget that.

  Shoving the box against his chest, she pushed Glen out the door. “Go away.”

  His forlorn look joined forces with her desire to tell Jake off. She hesitated, door wavering in her grip. Jake probably thought he was being all nice and romantic, and after the other night, getting lucky was guaranteed.

  A small voice inside protested that Jake would never do that, but Loral ignored it as she clung to her anger. Why should she sit here all alone, stewing over his duplicity? After all her mom had all been through, what they’d given up and sacrificed these past couple years, didn’t he deserve to hear exactly what his greed meant to them?

  Her hesitation swung to the other side. He’d set it up perfectly, really, face to face, and he wouldn’t be able to escape the truth. If he thought a public place would prevent her from making a scene, he was about to find out he didn’t know her that well.

  “On second thought, Glen, give me one minute.”

  She collected her purse and keys, went to the closet to grab Jake’s leather jacket, then slammed the door shut and stalked past Glen.

  “Umm…you’re s-supposed to change,” the kid stammered as he followed her down the stairs.

  She kept going, only stopping long enough on the sidewalk to hold out her hand and demand, “Give me the keys.”

  “I—I can’t do that. I’d lose my job.”

  “Then shut up and drive.”

  Outside, Glen sprinted past her to open the back door of the stretch limo. She ignored him and climbed in the front passenger seat. Through the side mirror, she watched her tuxedo-clad delivery boy stand at the curb, dumbfounded until he threw the dress box in the back and ran around to the driver’s side.

  Silence filled the car, and given his stiff posture and white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, Loral sensed Glen was too rattled to even turn on the radio. So she reached over and did it for him. Christmas music filled the air and Loral gave in to a growing swell of guilt.

  “Glen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so mean to you.”

  He flicked her a skittish sideways glance. “It’s okay.”

  “No it’s not. It’s not like any of this is your fault.”

  She noticed his hands ease up on the wheel.

  “It...uh...must be pretty bad for you to be so angry after he sent a limo.”

  Tempting as it was to spill the whole story, she switched the subject instead. “Do your family plans include your girlfriend?”

  “Yes.” His face lit up. “We have dinner with my family tonight, and then we’ll spend Christmas day with her parents.”

  A blind man could’ve seen the kid was smitten.

  “Have you been together long?” Loral asked.

  “It’ll be a year this New Year’s Eve. One of her friends ordered a limo to make the club circuit and after the first stop she sat up front with me and we talked the whole night. I’d never met a girl that I could talk to like Cheryl. She’s smart, and nice, and sweet, and funny. We laugh more than anything, and God is she pretty when she smiles.”

  Forget smitten, he was completely head-over-heels in love.

  Loral rubbed her chest above her breastbone, trying to ease the ache. That’s why she hadn’t explained to Glen. She wished she could say how great Jake was, not that he’d hurt and disappointed her. They used to talk when she came into his shop, and joke and laugh, which helped her forget her dismal life for those brief moments.

  God, she missed that.

  Oh, great. What the hell was she doing here?

  Before she could open her mouth to tell Glen to turn around and take her home, he pulled up in front of Benito’s, the city’s most celebrated restaurant. Glen was out the door and bounded around the front of the limo to beat the valet to her door. He opened it with a flourish and a grin, extending his hand to help her out as if she were a royal princess.

  Her hand shook as she took his, and then he practically dragged her out to face the door.

  “Good luck, Loral. Let him have it.”

  Fingers clenched on leather, she could only nod, because now that she’d arrived, her stomach was doing flip-flops at a rate that was making her nauseous. Stepping up to the door behind an elegantly dressed couple on their way inside, she smiled weakly when the man paused to hold the door for her. The woman took one look and quickly moved aside with a look of horror.

  Just like that, her anger made a raging comeback.

  “Relax. Poverty’s not contagious,” Loral stage whispered as she swept by with her chin held high. Behind her, a chuckle from the man turned into an abrupt cough.

  She approached the hostess desk and in her best don’t-mess-with-me voice demanded, “Jake Coburn’s table, please.”

  The girl took one look at Loral’s holey jeans and froze, a look of utter panic on her face. “Ah, um…one moment please.”

  Loral took the opportunity to glance around. Like last year for Christmas Eve, Luca had wasted no expense decorating, and the restaurant sparkled with elegant holiday cheer. Then again, it could be the stunning extravagance of diamonds and gold that adorned the ears, necks, and fingers of the city’s wealthiest patrons. How nice for Jake to no longer have to worry about money.

  “Loral Evans?”

  She turned around at t
he polite inquiry to see a pregnant woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties. Luca’s hostess.

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Coburn is expecting you. Please come with me.”

  As they wound through the dining tables, Loral heard the whispers and felt the eyes of the patrons at every table they passed. Okay, so not changing wasn’t her brightest move, but tough. When she spotted Jake in a secluded alcove, she reached to touch the hostess’ shoulder.

  “I’ve got it from here,” she said. “Thank you.”

  The woman’s step faltered to a halt. Her gaze met Loral’s and she inclined her head with a brief smile. “Enjoy your evening, Ms. Evans.”

  Yeah, right.

  Loral straightened her spine and squared her shoulders in determination. At the table, Jake moved his suit sleeve aside to check his watch, then glanced in her direction. His double-take was almost comical when he spotted her storming toward him.

  He rose to his feet, his gaze sweeping down the length of her. She watched his lips curve into a surprised grin before he shook his head and laughed. The sound fueled smoldering embers of anger into a flame, making it a bit easier to ignore how handsome he looked in his dark suit jacket.

  Hands fisted at her sides, the right one clutching his jacket against her hip, she came to a stop in front of him. “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

  “Right. I’m sorry.”

  He cleared his expression. Any contrition was promptly erased when another chuckle escaped. Heat climbed her neck and flooded her face.

  “Seriously, Loral, I’m sorry. I swear, it’s not you, it’s me. I should’ve known.”

  “Known what?” she ground out.

  “That your pride would get—”

  “Pride? You think this is pride?”

  He started to say something, but stopped when she stepped closer with a furious glare.

  “Aren’t you the one who said none of this matters?” She swept her arm to encompass the glittering room, and then her less than elegant jeans. “That’s it’s the person, not the stuff? Hold your head high, Loral, keep your dignity,” she mimicked. “Well, this is who I am. Not that limo or that dress you sent. This—” she plucked at her sweater “—is my dignified.”