“Jewelry is personal. Plus, how do you even know it’s the right size?”
Mitch bit down all the harder and seethed. “That was a helpful piece of reiteration, and I can simply ask the clerk to give me one in the average size a woman wears. It’s bound to fit one of her fingers, right? By the way, if we have to keep searching, I have to ask the question: How many more hours do you want to waste in the city strolling the women’s aisles at Bloomies?”
JR shrugged and smirked. “For you, buddy, I’ve got all the time in the world, plus a sister I still need to buy for.”
“And there’s a cigar bar just waiting for us a few short blocks away at the corner of 56th and 7th.”
“Dude, that kind of diversionary tactic is just cruel, not to mention effective.”
“I know.” Mitch examined the ring once more. It was perfect. It was…Tiffany. The circular face, mounted on a thin band, was small and flat, shaped like a compass with arrows that formed directional patterns toward the letters N, S, E and W. Inscribed inside the band, in a spot no one would see but the wearer, was a single word. Journey.
That’s what clinched it. Nope. There was no way he could let the piece go. The ring belonged to Tiffany. When he pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his slacks, he received an arched-brow look of censure from his friend.
“What’s that look about? I’ll give it to her as an aside, because I want her to have it, and because there’s nothing wrong with being personal. For the office thing I’ll get her…oh, I don’t know…maybe a boring ol’ pair of gray wool gloves or something.”
“The sound you just heard was that of my HR heart singing your praises. Gloves. Now that will work.” JR’s eyes lit. “Problem solved. Let’s get to that cigar bar.”
Mitch groaned and settled the purchase, his thoughts shifting straight back to Tiffany.
Darkness fell hard and fast…and early. Battling wind gusts, hunched within the depths of a long, black wool coat, Mitch dodged brisk-moving bodies and snow piles. He heard JR release a muttered curse as he followed Mitch’s lead to the Carnegie Club. Gothic architecture, plush leather furniture, hand-carved wooden bookcases laden with leather-bound hardbacks invited one to simply sit—slow down—and savor an unapologetically masculine air of vintage class.
Mitch was by no means a cigar aficionado, but he harkened this particular indulgence to the childhood memories he held of his grandfather resting comfortably in a leather recliner, feet propped, restful and at peace as they chatted and the earthy fragrance of cigar smoke wafted in curls toward the ceiling.
A circuit of lilting, melodic jazz vibrated through the air like a gentle pulse. The refined, old-world atmosphere appealed to Mitch somehow, despite his modern, LA upbringing.
“This, my friend, is a fine and well-deserved conclusion to a day spent”—JR shuddered dramatically—“shopping.”
“One fine cigar a month is my admitted habit—that and a single malt to go with it.”
An agreeing rumble of laughter followed that statement and soon a serving of charcuterie was delivered by their waitress and placed on the table between their two easy chairs. The selection of cured meats was served with Dijon mustard, crackers and crostini and filled a glimmering black platter. While they dug in, JR shot Mitch a calculating glance.
“So, after spending only a few days in the city it’s become obvious to me that the east coast team doesn’t want to lose you. You get that, right?”
“They’re comfortable with what they know.”
“There’s more to it than that and you know it. You fit in here. What’s wrong with the idea of permanence?”
“Home, professional development, and that’s just for starters. You messing with my career plan?”
“Look in a mirror, chump. You’ve been lukewarm, at best, about all four options for a replacement—”
“Oh, and you’ve been turning cartwheels.”
“Any one of those recruits would be a success, and you know it.”
“Do I?” Mitch extended his legs into an easy stretch, crossing them at the ankles as he drew on his cigar. The set up at Carnegie featured every amenity to be found in an exceptionally appointed den. Gilt framed paintings graced dark paneled walls. A fire danced and popped. He enjoyed sparring with JR, and actually, the topic needed exploration, so Mitch didn’t hold back any punches either.
“What I'm saying is this, and it's a shocker: It looks like New York City agrees with you. From where I sit, you’re not as eager to leave as you profess. You might want to take a look at that before we continue the interview process.”
6
For the first time—ever—Tiffany felt like a movie star, like a 1950’s-era heroine strolling on stage in an art deco fairytale. She crossed the threshold of the Rainbow Room, pausing to let the ambiance seep in. Fingering a long, multi-layered rope of pearls draped against her neck, she lost herself in a world of finely dressed people, maybe a hundred in all, celebrating the happiness of the season.
From her vantage point sixty-five stories into the sky, Manhattan spread at her feet like a radiant, three-dimensional postcard. The Empire State Building lay straight ahead, framed by gauzy layers of delicate clouds painted pink, blue and purple by a fast-sinking sun.
“Wow.” The whispered exclamation passed Melody’s lips while she stood at Tiffany’s side, contentedly savoring the moment.
“Well stated. By the way, the green chiffon suits you.”
“Why, thank you.” Melody smoothed a hand against rings of soft curls that danced free from an up-do. “And thanks for loaning me the bling.”
Melody ran her fingertips against a choker of green and clear crystals that rested at her throat. Diffused light flashed against the stones, bringing them to life, its source a massive crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling at the center of the room—a most deliberate show-stopper.
“I hear champagne calling. We might as well live the dream for a moment or two, right?”
“On the money, honey.”
Laughing, Tiffany strolled toward the edge of an oval bar and stood in line, trying to discreetly search for Mitch. She found him standing near an empty table amidst a group of InfoTraxion department heads.
“OK, so, spill. Which one is CEO Charming and which one is Eric?”
Sidling her sister a sardonic look, Tiffany pointed them out which was easy since they were in the same cluster. “Do me a favor and keep the charming comments to a minimum.”
“You never let me have any fun.” They ordered drinks, waiting, then Melody chirped, “Hey, the prince spotted you and he’s on the move, so look sharp. Is prince OK? Does prince work?”
“Mel—” The warning grumble had barely been fired before Mitch strode into place and gave a winning smile that skimmed Tiffany’s senses and stirred a lush weakness along with an urge to simply stand still and stare.
“Hey, Tiffany.” He gave her arm a friendly squeeze then addressed Melody with that same poetic smile. “You must be Melody. I hope you’re enjoying your time in New York.”
They shook hands; Melody smiled—and gawked. Tiffany wanted to cringe, but couldn’t really fault her sister’s reaction. It was hard not to fall into a swoon in the presence of a tall, broad-shouldered man neatly styled in a well-tailored silk suit. The shade of light gray and the pop of red color from his tie played perfectly against strong, dark features.
“Tiffany, will you hate me if I put you on the spot and make a huge request?”
She blinked free of a trance. “Not at all. What do you need?”
“In a few minutes, I’m going to give a welcome speech. After one of my standard, run-of-the-mill quarterly updates, I want to spotlight some of the things we’re doing to celebrate the season. Can I call on you to talk a little about Pets Finding Home and the Shelter Helper event?”
“You…I…do what?” Articulation, thy name is Tiffany Zelling. She cringed inwardly and could have sworn she heard Melody release a groan, but that might have been her i
magination. Oh, she’d rather have a root canal. Without anesthesia. OK, maybe a lack of pain meds leaned a tad toward the dramatic, but still…
Mitch’s smile widened, and in rode a delicious tingle against her arms and neck.
“I won’t feed you to the wolves. It’d just be a quick detail of what the shelter does, and you can spotlight a few of the specific things we’ll be doing to help out next weekend. I’ll be right next to you in case you faint or anything.”
“Gee. Thanks. You’re a sport.”
His deep laugh tickled her ear like feather strokes.
“I know it’s spur of the moment, but I’d really appreciate it.”
And that fact was more than enough to clinch the deal. “Well…I guess…OK.” Her voice trembled.
Mitch shot her a grateful look before he was called away.
Melody pressed a flute of chilled champagne into Tiffany’s hand. “You’ve got this. No biggie. Just speak from the heart.”
In answer, Tiffany tipped her glass and swallowed deep, her throat and nose tingling as bubbles burst to life.
~*~
“Welcome to the InfoTraxion holiday celebration.” Mitch stood at a podium set against the window line, and addressed his colleagues via microphone. He pulled a pair of notecards from the inside breast pocket of his suit coat that provided prompts on company successes over the past twelve months; he lauded the sense of camaraderie that continued to grow within the firm then turned the focus toward philanthropy and the truest spirit of Christmas. Giving.
Prepared to join him, Tiffany stood to the side, awaiting his cue. Once introduced, she stepped smoothly to the forefront and accepted the mic. Mitch would have bet he was the only one who could detect the finite tremble of her smile.
“Thank you for the introduction, and, more than that, thank you for spearheading the fight to support causes that desperately need funding and attention. The overwhelming response to next weekend’s event more than affirms the reason why I enjoy being part of the InfoTraxion family.”
She paused. He could sense her confidence and strength of conviction building. When Tiffany glanced into his eyes, he gave her an encouraging nod. Warmth lifted through his body, sliding straight into his heart.
“Action and funding. What blessings those two words become when they’re combined and transformed into positive results. Like Mitch just said, our company has lent physical and monetary support to numerous worthwhile causes this year. There are so many meaningful things competing for attention right now—in fact, we’re standing here, as a group of colleagues and friends, enjoying one right now, correct?”
Applause and agreeing sounds rang out; Mitch watched Tiffany, enchanted, as the flow of encouragement further calmed her nerves.
“We’ve sponsored volunteer drives at homeless shelters, gathered donations for charitable clothing drives, we’ve even adopted families for birthdays and holidays. Next weekend we’re focusing on animals, on four-legged companions with needs of their own. Offering our time helps Pets Finding Home channel their resources elsewhere, into necessities such as vet care, food, cages and hundreds of other supplies.”
While Tiffany continued, Mitch came aware of a woman entering the room.
Wendy.
She glided across the threshold, respectfully quiet and as unobtrusive as possible. Her effort to be discreet was admirable, but futile. More than a few heads turned; a woman like Wendy tended to draw focus and fill a room with chic glamour and the type of charismatic energy Mitch thought he had longed for.
Until now.
Unaware, sweet and fresh, Tiffany concluded. “Connecting pets to their forever homes with loving owners is the hope and dream, and on behalf of the organization, I thank you for your efforts.”
Seeming eager to surrender the spotlight, Tiffany turned toward Mitch, a cue to conclude matters. He snapped to attention. “Thanks, Tiffany. We’re looking forward to seeing a number of you at the shelter next weekend. Until then, please enjoy the food, the view, and most of all, the company of an extraordinary group of people. Happy holidays, everyone.”
A round of applause followed, imbued by renewed conversations and the musical ching of dishware. Tiffany looked his way; a shimmer of expectation, an invitation to linger, rolled between them. He hated to leave her side, but had to push that unspoken call to the background. There was no choice. He had to see to Wendy.
He joined his visitor who was tucked onto a tall stool at the far end of the bar, a small plate of appetizers at the ready. She welcomed him with an enticing smile. Mile-long legs were delicately crossed; her hour-glass figure was sheathed in pale pink satin. She looked like a model—but the allure was lost on him. Completely, utterly lost…
“Wendy.” He bent slightly, dotting both cheeks with a kiss. The gesture wrapped him at once in the subtle scent of lavender that should have appealed rather than disconcerted. Chestnut hair had been fashioned into a loose braid that curved against her right shoulder.
Dark eyes sparkled. “Merry Christmas, handsome. Surprised?”
Oh, was he ever. Seldom did he find himself caught off guard, but the present vignette knocked him out of bounds. “I am. Yes. I—”
Wendy’s laughter twinkled. She rested a hand against his in a gesture of familiar possession and sipped from a goblet of white wine as she shifted toward him. “I hope this is OK. I wanted to see you. I’ve missed you very much, and it’s been way too long.”
Six months, in fact. Six months cast into uncertainty by the few mystical days he had spent within the call of a woman who had come to captivate him. A woman who was the polar opposite of Wendy Pace and every expectation he held about the kind of woman who might win his heart.
Silence stretched. She peered at him, steady but curious as she sipped once more and nibbled on a petite lobster roll she lifted from the plate at her elbow. While she ate, Mitch tried to think, to formulate words, to figure out what in the world he was feeling. All at once, the answer washed through him. Standing next to Wendy, seeing her as a part of his life in New York felt wrong.
“I hope I haven’t made a mistake. I’m getting the sense you’re not happy with my visit. Should I apologize for showing up unannounced?”
“Of course not. I’m happy to see you.”
Wendy was lovely and intelligent. He respected her without question, but this arrival rammed home the fact that he most definitely didn’t harbor romantic or long-term feelings. That wasn’t her fault, or his, it simply was.
Her gaze flicked to Tiffany, who had melted into a group from her department. Wendy straightened and the cozy vibration she had attempted to build vanished in a beat. Her smile was beautiful, but didn’t extend to her eyes. “The venue is fantastic. This setting is like being in a story book.”
Stilted atmosphere surrounded Mitch in a discomfiting instant. He had to make this right. Promptly.
“Wendy, let’s take a walk.” Taking her hand in a loose hold, guiding her to the coat check area, Mitch led the way to a bank of elevators and a descent to the lobby of 30 Rock.
~*~
Who was the newcomer? Who was the stunning, statuesque brunette who had entered the Rainbow Room and caused Mitch to b-line to her side?
Tiffany had wondered of late if he had a girlfriend waiting for him in Los Angeles. When he kissed the woman in welcome, the answer rang clear. How could such a realization press hard against her chest, tighten her throat, and stir a well of tears in her eyes?
Seated at a table with Melody and a few others from work, Tiffany looked deliberately away from Mitch’s reunion at the bar. In a quiet tone she addressed her sister. “I hate the Devil. He knows just what weaknesses to exploit. Precisely what buttons to push.”
“What do you mean?” Tiffany tilted a chin toward Mitch’s spot at the far side of the room. Melody searched and then her shoulder slumped. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh. Like I said from the start, men like him and wallflowers like me”—Tiffany shook her head; a flip of her wr
ists and she brushed aside her emotions—“I should know better than to let myself feel this kind of attraction toward him.”
“Stop it right there.” Melody hissed the words quietly, spearing Tiffany with a sharp look. All at once, she softened. “Aw, sweetie. Come here a second.”
Melody led the way to that gorgeous window view of New York where they could embrace a bit of peace and seclusion. “You’re not a wallflower, you’re an introvert.”
“It runs deeper than that, Mel. How can I call myself a Christian and feel so much self-doubt? How can I overcome this instinct I possess to shy away into my own little world and stay there?”
“By realizing the cocoon you’ve inhabited up until now doesn’t fit anymore. God’s growing you, kiddo. Whether it’s because of Mitch or not, maybe you need to think about leaving the comfort zone behind.”
Tiffany fingered the olive tapenade crostini on her appetizer plate, gaze pinging to Mitch.
“Tif, you’re emerging. Celebrate, don’t fear.”
Tiffany sighed. She looked at Mitch who carried on an intent conversation with his newfound companion and she had to admit, her heart broke a little. OK, more than just a little. “She’s beautiful. She seems well-suited to the pages of Mitch’s story.”
“How can you say that when you’ve never even spoken to her, when you don’t even know her name?”
“I’m trying to be mature and realistic, Mel. Give me some credit.” Tiffany lobbed the repost then stared outside where cars and people crept along the streets far below in a world transformed into miniature by nothing more than her lofty vantage point. Like her life of late, everything revolved around perspective. She wasn’t lying to her sister. Truly, there was no fault to be found in a lovely woman who swept onto the scene like a princess in a fairytale.
Melody continued to shrug it off. “I dunno. She’s pretty, sure, but I notice things, Tif. Quite frankly there’s no comparison. He doesn’t look even half as happy right now as he did when he was talking with you, and standing at your side during your speech.”
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