Solid Gold (Unseen Enemy Book 8)

by Marysol James

  “Essentially,” he’d said with a wicked glint in his dark eyes. “You just have to be a picky bitch, Beth. Tell me what you hate, and when you finally decide that something’s good enough, I haggle you one hell of a discount on it.”

  “Really?” she’d said, gripping her wine glass tightly. “That’s it? I’m just… the cheap veto bitch?

  “Yep.”

  “OK.” She’d downed her wine in one, overcome with relief. “That I can do.”

  “I’ll just bet you can, doll.”

  Beth, Liv, Emma and Jenny all looked up as Nigel came into the room now. It was a huge, lavish space, with sofas and chairs, champagne in buckets of ice, and a separate changing area for Beth to try on her dresses.

  “OK!” Nigel said. “You about ready, doll?”

  “Yes,” Beth said. “But before we get started, I need to tell you something.”

  “Shoot.” Nigel cocked his head. “What’s going on?”

  “The wedding ring guy flaked out.”

  “He – what?” Nigel was aghast. “Flaked out how?”

  Beth shrugged. “I’m not totally sure. He seems to have just closed up shop without a word, and Jim thinks that maybe he’s gone bankrupt. Can you find out?”

  “You’re damn right I’ll find out, if I can.”

  “And… can you get our deposit back?” Beth said.

  “Oh.” Nigel stared at her, horrified. “Oh, God. I’ll try, OK? I’ll really, really try.”

  “Thanks, Nigel,” Beth said, trying to smile.”And maybe you can recommend a good wedding ring creator? Someone who can make the rings that Jim and I designed together?”

  Nigel thought about the sketches that Beth had drawn and then shown him, and he paused. The rings were stunning and no doubt about that – but they were also deeply symbolic and meaningful for both Beth and Jim. They required some pretty intricate etching work, and delicate jewel setting, and he wasn’t actually sure that anyone that he usually worked with was up to the job.

  He wasn’t about to let them down, though. No goddamn way. He’d find them someone who could bring those gorgeous pencil drawings to life.

  “I will,” he told Beth. “I’ll take care of it, OK? I’ll find someone to make you those wedding rings. That’s a promise.”

  “Great!” Liv said, relieved. She knew that if anyone could get it done, it was Nigel. He’d gnaw off his own arm before he’d let a client down. “See, Beth? Leave it with Nigel.”

  Beth nodded, then looked at the dresses. “Uh. Is that mosquito netting? The stuff you put over a bed to stop yourself from getting malaria in the jungle?”

  “I know, right?” Nigel was thrilled. “You don’t like it? Please tell me that you don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like the anti-malaria wedding dress design, no.”

  Liv burst into laughter. “It’s tulle.”

  “I don’t care what it is,” Beth said. “I don’t like it.”

  “Excellent!” Nigel beamed. “That’s my girl. I’ll get the netting dresses taken away, and you get started on these, OK?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Beth watched Nigel walk out of the room with the offending dresses, his arms held as far away from his body as possible, as though he thought that the tulle was going to jump off the dresses and attack him. She perused the other dresses, took a simple, clean one that was mainly a pure white silk, wandered off to the private changing room.

  “Gimme a few minutes,” she said to her friends. “And promise me that when I come out, you’ll tell me the truth, OK? Tell me if I look ridiculous?”

  They solemnly swore, then sat down and looked at each other.

  “So.” Jenny poured a bit more champagne for everyone, including an entire quarter-inch for Emma. “How’s your jailer? I mean – how’s Dean?”

  Not even the slightest bit offended, Emma grinned. “Well… we’ve been here for almost an hour, and how many times has he called me?”

  “Uh, zero,” Jenny said. “So – we’re looking at progress?”

  “Huge progress.” Emma took a minuscule sip of champagne, relishing the taste. God, it had been a while since she’d indulged, and she was going to enjoy her four sips of the stuff now. “Things are much better now, believe me.”

  “You guys talked?” Liv asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  “No?” Liv said.

  “No.” Emma crossed her legs, took another sip. “Dean talked. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”

  “Bizarre,” Jenny remarked.

  “Right?” Emma said. “But he apologized, and he told me where his head was, and he told me that he was being unfair. I barely had time to tell him that it was fine and I understood, when he promised to start calling once every two hours, and no more than that.”

  “And you’re OK with that?” Liv said. “And what if you don’t answer? Will he lose his goddamn mind?”

  “I’m totally OK with it, and if I don’t answer, he’ll assume that I’m dealing with Frankie, or in the bathroom, or in traffic, and he’ll call back in ten minutes. In other words, Dean won’t assume that I’m being held at knife-point, or in the process of being kidnapped, or in any other kind of mortal peril.”

  “Really?” Jenny said. “And he can handle this?”

  “So far, so good,” Emma said. “I actually did a small test yesterday…it wasn’t super-nice of me, but I wanted to see…”

  “Go on,” Liv said, amused at the look on her face. “What’d you do, Em?”

  “I – I didn’t answer the phone when he called,” Emma said a bit sheepishly. “I hated to do it, but… well… I had to be sure.”

  “And?” Liv said. “Did he lose his goddamn mind?”

  “Nope. He waited ten minutes and called me back, as calm and cool as you please.”

  “Did you tell him that you’d just tested him?” Jenny asked.

  “Of course not!” Emma said. “He’d kill me!”

  “And that’d just be for starters.”

  Beth’s voice came from the doorway of the private changing room, and all her friends spun around to look at her. As one, they caught their breaths; as one, they got to their feet.

  “Well?” she asked, unnerved by the silence. “That bad?”

  “God, no,” Jenny said, her voice hushed. “That good.”

  “Really?” Beth looked down at herself. “It’s not too simple? Too plain?” She looked at Liv. “I mean, yours had all that embroidery and gold, and this one’s just white silk, right?

  “But the cut,” Liv said. “It’s just perfect for your body… and that color? Looks great with your dark hair and green eyes. It’s just – it’s strong and clean, and the lines are fluid and classic. It’s you, Beth. Totally you.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes.” Jenny nodded vehemently, her blue eyes wide. “Liv’s right.”

  Still not completely sure, Beth looked at Emma. “Em? What do you think?”

  Emma smiled even as a few tears prickled her eyes. “I think you look incredible, Beth. I think that if Jim saw you coming to marry him in this dress, he’d think himself the luckiest man in the world.”

  Finally, Beth relaxed. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” they echoed in unison.

  “Well, I do need to get one more opinion,” Beth said. “I need for –”

  “Oh, my word, doll!” Nigel’s semi-shriek cut her off, and she grinned. “How do you make classic look so damn good?”

  “– for Nigel to weigh in,” she finished. “And I guess I got my answer, huh?”

  “Yep,” Liv said, laughing at her former assistant rushing at Beth to turn her this way and that, looking at her from every possible angle. “I’d say that Nigel will be negotiating a price on this dress, honey.”

  “Darn right,” Nigel muttered. “Too darn right. Where’s Elise? I need to work my charms to the max because, doll? We are not leaving this store without that dress set aside as yours and yours alone. I promise you that.”

&n
bsp; Chapter Ten

  “So Jack’s takin’ you for dinner tonight, huh?” Cole growled. “Where?”

  “Jasmine Garden,” Claire mumbled through the hair clip held between her teeth.

  “Say what?”

  She removed the clip, pulled her dark hair back off her forehead. “Jasmine Garden.”

  “That’s a nice place.”

  “Yep.” She applied some lipstick, stared critically at the color, wiped it off. “Jack says they make the best vegetarian spring rolls in Denver.”

  Cole rolled his eyes and took a deep drag on his cigarette. He had no use for vegetarian anything, but whatever. The guy was taking her to a damn pricey place, so maybe he was actually keen on her. And fair play if he was, because Caitlin was awesome. Cute and funny, so damn talented and hardworking. She was pretty secretive about where she came from, but if there was one thing that Cole had learned in the MC life, it was that everyone had secrets.

  So even though Caitlin was clearly not the kind of woman who’d ever lived in a trailer before, and who knew more than a thing or two about high-end, expensive stuff, Cole never pushed, never asked, never said a word. She was here, and he was here, and who really cared how they had both ended up here?

  It was still a bit amusing to him that they’d become friends, actually. And not friends with benefits, either… like real friends who hung out fully clothed. Friends that sat and drank a morning coffee together when she crawled home from the workshop after an all-nighter, and he crawled home after serving drinks ’til the wee hours at Satan’s, the MC bar. They went grocery shopping together, and watched a movie now and again. She was cool and funny, and she didn’t ask too many questions about his ex-wife, which he appreciated greatly.

  In return, he didn’t ask about how she’d managed to raise the seed money for her business, ‘cause gold and jewels and renting workshop space didn’t come cheap. He also didn’t ask about her refusal to talk about where she’d come from, or what had brought her to Denver. He figured that she’d tell him if she wanted to. Or not. Cole was good either way.

  He stared at her now, saw that she looked nervous. He hoped that was a good thing, and that this Jack guy was on the level. Even if he just took Caitlin for coffee or dinner once a week, Cole wanted to think that she’d have a good time when she spent time with the man.

  “You working tonight?” she asked now, putting on fresh lipstick.

  “Yeah.” Cole ground out his smoke, resolving yet again to quit soon, then stuck his booted feet on his coffee table. “Until four, probably.” His dark eyes flashed with teasing. “You think you’ll just be getting in then, sweetheart?”

  “As if,” she said. “I don’t do that.”

  “Do what? Have sex?”

  “Have sex on the first date.”

  “No?” Cole contemplated that. “Yeah. Me neither.”

  She laughed, shook her head. She knew good and well that Cole hadn’t been with anyone since his wife had left Denver four years earlier. He hadn’t even been tempted, truth be told, and Caitlin was the only person outside of the MC who knew the score where Alison was concerned. Caitlin also never made him feel bad or stupid about holding out for a woman who hated his fucking guts, a woman who was God-knows-where.

  Shaking off his own bullshit love life disaster area, Cole got to his feet, ambled off to the bedroom to get ready for work. He turned at the door, surveyed Caitlin as she stood there in a cute little dress that brought out her eyes and hugged her curves in all the right places. Yeah, she was gorgeous and kind and hot, and if he hadn’t had his heart ripped out by Ali all those years before, he’d have been breaking his neck to give it to Caitlin. She was the kind of woman who deserved a man’s heart and all kinds of good things… but Cole wasn’t the man to do that for her.

  Maybe Jack was, though.

  “OK, sweetheart.” His voice was as soft as it ever got. “Be safe. You need me to come get you, you call on that burner that I gave you. I’ll be there before you know it, and it’s no trouble. Hear me?”

  “I hear you.” Her smile was pure sunshine, and Cole wished hard that she was at the beginning of something amazing. “Thanks, Cole.”

  “No problem. Have fun.”

  “I will.” Her grin was a bit wicked, and Cole liked that just fine. “I sure will.”

  **

  “So, was I right about the spring rolls?”

  Claire nodded in response to Jack’s teasing question, her mouth full to overflowing with the best Chinese food that she could recall having in recent memory. Or, actually, not so recent, seeing as eating out was not something that she did anymore. Like – ever. Two restaurant meals in two days was something that she’d have done in her old life without a second thought, but here, in her new life, she’d never be able to justify the stupid expense. Kraft Dinner and bruised fruit and veggies were her friends now.

  She swallowed. “This is incredible food, Jack. Thank you for inviting me.”

  He shrugged, wielded the chopsticks like a pro as he plucked some noodles from the bowl on the lazy Susan. “My pleasure, Caitlin.”

  She watched him eat, and her eyes went to his strong forearms. He’d rolled up his sleeves, and she saw that his arms were covered in scars, all lengths and widths and colors, and one ran all the way up his left arm and disappeared under white dress shirt. She followed it with her gaze, then focused on his corded neck. That scar was recent, no doubt about that. Long, raised, angry-red, it looked like a stab wound; just what did Jack do that brought him into contact with people who wanted to cut his throat?

  He looked up at her now, saw the intense look on her face. He smiled, drank some green tea.

  “Ask, honey,” he said gently. “I know you’re dying to.”

  Abashed at having been caught out, Claire dropped her eyes. “I’m – I’m sorry. That was incredibly rude of me. You don’t have to tell me anything, Jack. Really.”

  “But I want to,” he said. “So ask anything you want to know.”

  “Uh, well.” She blinked. “You told me over lunch that you’re a freelance copy-editor.”

  “Yep. That is what I said.”

  “But…” She gestured at his scarred arms, at his scarred neck. “Those look – they look intense. Did you have some kind of accident?”

  “No.” He poured her a bit more sake, refilled his own glass. “I was in Afghanistan until recently.”

  “Oh,” she whispered as comprehension began to dawn. “Oh, God. I see.”

  “I got injured there,” he continued. “And in the last firefight, I got injured badly enough to be sent back home for good.”

  She looked at his neck, still wondering about it. A firefight meant bullets, surely? And that wasn’t the mark of a bullet. Jack saw her confusion, and he smiled, ran a finger down his throat.

  “An insurgent stabbed me,” he explained. “Damn near killed me.”

  “Oh, God,” she repeated, now feeling slightly ill. “Jack – I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s OK. I’m OK. But I came home and needed some time off, and couldn’t really do anything super-physical. My college degree is in journalism, and I worked at a magazine before getting shipped out. I still had contacts there, and they offered me some freelance writing and proofreading. I took it, just to keep my mind busy, and soon the work was steady enough to make a living at it. I work with media, some marketing companies, a few websites. It’s easy enough work, though sometimes the deadlines are insane and tight, and I get to work when and where I want. Plenty of time to hit the gym, sleep in when I want.” He grinned. “Take gorgeous ladies to lunch and dinner.”

  She blushed, tried to stay cool. “Sounds ideal.”

  “It really is.” Jack spun the lazy Susan around, grabbed another spring roll. “It’s enough to pay my bills, and I kinda like being my own boss for the first time in my life. I’ve always wanted to have my own business, and that’s what I’m finally doing. It’s good, Caitlin, so don’t feel bad about anything that happened to me
before. I’m good.”

  She nodded. “And is this the long-term plan, then? To keep running your own business?”

  “Yep. I see myself being the boss for a long, long time.” He cocked his head at her. “And you? You happy being the boss for the foreseeable future?”

  “Oh, definitely,” she said. “But I plan to hire other people to help me with creating the rings, so I can handle more clients.”

  “How long does it take to make one ring?” he asked her.

  “Oh, it varies.” She speared some garlic pork. “Depends on many, many things. Everything from how clear the client is in what they want, to how easy it is for me to source the materials, to how intricate the design.”

  “Some are pretty detailed, huh?” he said.

  “Oh, yes. I actually just received an e-mail of a sketch today, from a local wedding planner. Turns out, his client sketched the wedding rings for herself and the groom, but the jeweler who originally accepted the job has just disappeared with their deposit. This planner is looking around for someone who can handle the job, and he’s struggling a bit.”

  “The rings are complicated?”

  “Yes. Very.”

  “How?”

  “The etchings on them,” Claire explained. “The woman wants really simple and classic settings and materials – platinum with inlaid slim bands of gold – but she wants things etched inside the rings.”

  “What kinds of things?” he asked her, intrigued.

  “On the bride’s ring, she wants a date and a flower. On the groom’s ring, a date and a flame in an outstretched hand.”

  “And… this is difficult?”

  “The way that they want them? Yes. Very. The amount of detail on the flower is stunning, and the text on the groom’s ring will be in the Arabic alphabet, which I’m not at all familiar with. And bear in mind the tiny space that I’d be working on: it’s not like a large painting canvas.”

  “True,” he said slowly. “So… you gonna take the job?”

  “Oh, for sure. The etchings are gorgeous, Jack, and I absolutely want to work with these clients. If they want these images warm and close against their skin all the time, then there’s a reason for it, you know? These are deeply symbolic things for them, and if I can give them this gift, I absolutely will.”