Mister Diamond

by Chance Carter

“I’m good,” I said, chuckling. “I’m going home.”

  “What? You only just got here.”

  “And yet I feel like I’ve been here forever.” I glanced at my watch. It was early still, and the club wasn’t more than a half hour walk from my place. “I’ll leave my driver here for you. I’m going to walk home.”

  He tossed a lime green ball at my head and I ducked.

  “Don’t be such a bore! Get in the ball pit.”

  Not a single thing about a pit filled with drunk bodies and plastic balls appealed to me, and my earlier frustration at not being able to talk to him properly bubbled to the surface.

  “Don’t be a dick, Dexter.”

  He caught the sharpness of my tone and waded toward the edge. I thought he might try to pull me in and took a step back. Dexter merely shook his head, suddenly sober. “Sorry that tonight didn’t work for you, pal. Have a good walk.”

  I blinked. I hated when he did that, switched from his party personality to his empathetic one like it took nothing more than a flick of his silver strands. It was a shame even that side of his personality often failed to hit the mark.

  “Thanks. Don’t get into any trouble.”

  Dexter grinned and winked, his only answer before he turned and made a swan-dive back into the multi-colored chaos of the pit.

  I strode out of the warehouse, dodging neon paint-splattered women and jugglers, and into the crisp evening air. Given the opportunity, I always preferred to walk. My father was the type who’d take a limousine to the mailbox if he could, a man of pride and excess. He believed extravagance was his birthright. After all, our family had spent generations carving out an empire—why not enjoy the fruits of our success? He didn’t care where the money came from, and in fact took pride in our history of illegitimacy. To me, we were nothing more than Russian mobsters who’d taken the opportunity to go legit when the Soviet Union tanked. To Fyodor Orlov, we were royalty.

  I strolled down the city streets, which hemorrhaged with everyone from upper class partiers to riffraff, paying little attention to where I was until I turned down the familiar boulevard of shops on Fifth Avenue. Security lights illuminated the fashion-soaked mannequins and window displays. When I reached Tiffany’s, my pace slowed.

  It was closed for the night, obviously, but I couldn’t help glancing through the window just in case, suddenly itching for a dose of Gemma’s cheery smile.

  She wasn’t there, of course. I felt stupid for even hoping she might be and kept walking.

  Author Note: Join the Chance Carter Diamond Group for your chance to win the item of your choosing from Tiffany’s.

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  Chapter 4

  Gemma

  I was mid-mouthwash gargle when I heard the front door open. Since Molly’s bedroom door was closed and I had no reason to think otherwise, I’d assumed she was still asleep after her late shift. As it turned out, she hadn’t even been to bed yet.

  I spat out the mouthwash and poked my head into the hall just as Molly floated up to her bedroom door.

  “Hey,” I said. “Didn’t realize you went out last night.”

  Molly’s face lit up. “A few of us decided to get drinks after work. I’m so glad you’re still home because I met the most amazing guy.”

  I stepped out into the hall and leaned next to her door, smiling. “Tell me all about him. What was his name?”

  “I didn’t catch it, actually.” Her forehead wrinkled in thought. “Or maybe I just don’t remember. I don’t know. I was pretty drunk.”

  I chuckled. “What made him so remarkable?”

  Her lips slid up into a dreamy smile. “He was tall, handsome, witty. Some fancy corporate lawyer type or something.”

  “Seems like he really made an impression.”

  She stuck out her tongue. “He was a total hottie, okay? Anyway, I told him I work at Helix and he said he’d stop by sometime. I can’t wait.”

  Molly’s slurred speech and disheveled appearance made me wonder how perfect this guy actually was, but I was happy she’d had a good night. Then again, she always had a good night. Molly was levelheaded and confident, and lived at the top of every obstacle life threw her way. If there was a way to bottle her innate coolness I’d drink it by the gallon.

  “I hope to meet him someday,” I said. “And remember when you’re looking at bridesmaids’ dresses that yellow is not my color, hmm?”

  Molly giggled and leaned toward me, unfocused pupils finding every part of my face but my eyes. “I’m holding you to that. It’s been a long time since we’ve gone out together.”

  I offered her my pinkie and we shook on it, then Molly bid me goodnight and slipped into her room to pass out for the next several hours, likely until her shift started at five that evening.

  I checked the time on my phone and, realizing I was going to be late for my train, catapulted myself out the door. I took the steps two at a time and made it to the street in record time, only to pause when I looked to the opposite sidewalk and saw two of the neighborhood kids wrestling while a crowd of backpacks stood around and cheered. Given that I was already tight for time, I probably would have left them to it if I didn’t recognize one of the two combatants.

  “Hey!” I called, crossing the street.

  The fighters didn’t seem to notice but the crowd quieted, and I pushed my way through and grabbed them each by the back of their shirts, yanking them apart.

  “What the hell, guys?” One of the kids was a stranger to me, but the other I recognized as David Dubois, a middle-schooler who lived in my building. He looked away sheepishly. The other struggled out of my grip.

  “This isn’t over,” the other kid spat, and the crowd dispersed.

  David yanked himself free and brushed off the sleeves of his hoodie with an air of frustration.

  “Come on, Rocky. Time for school.” I smacked his back until he started walking in the direction of the subway.

  “I didn’t need your help,” David replied sullenly, stamping beside me. We often crossed paths on the way to the subway in the morning, and sometimes took the chance to gossip about the other residents of our building. I didn’t know him well, but wouldn’t peg him as the scrappy type.

  “What was all that about?” I asked.

  David stared resolutely ahead. “He called me stupid.”

  “He called you stupid and your response was to stupidly try to fight him?” I cocked a brow.

  “I could’ve beaten him.”

  “But how would that prove your intelligence?” I posed. “Honestly, David, the best way to get back at him is to succeed. And how the hell are you going to do that if you’re late for school?”

  David rolled his eyes, but I caught the slight twitch of a smile and it made me smile too. I remembered a time when I dreamed of doing everything I could to help kids like David, when I thought if I worked hard and followed that dream I could make a difference in the world.

  Now I sold jewelry.

  A breeze bit into my exposed arms and I cursed under my breath. Somewhere between wishing I could be like Molly and rushing out the door, I’d forgotten to bring a jacket. There wasn’t time to go back, so I’d just have to soldier through it.

  David and I chatted a little about his schoolwork on the way to the subway but soon parted ways, since I went downtown and his school was a couple of stops north.

  Once I got to work, I went through the motions of my day but wasn’t really present. Between wondering what it would take to soak up some of Molly’s quiet confidence and trying not to think about the dream I’d left to die, my head was occupied.

  I eventually pushed these thoughts away, but only managed to do so by fantasizing that Nik might come back in. I knew he wouldn’t. What kind of heartless harpy would refuse an engagement ring a second time? Still, it made the hours easier to bear and helped distract me from the whirring mass of anxiety nibbling at the edges of my consciousness.

  By the end of the day, I was tired in more ways than on
e. I was alone for the last hour, and hummed quietly to myself as I went through the closing procedures. I couldn’t decide what I would do after work. I’d have the apartment to myself, and though I didn’t particularly want to be alone at least I could get wine drunk and watch crappy TV movies if need be.

  I lived a glamorous life, to be sure.

  Just before the clock struck seven, the door opened and I looked up from my closing paperwork. My breath caught.

  “Nik,” I said, voice laden with confusion. “You’re back.”

  In the instant before he spoke, I concocted a fantasy wherein he didn’t need a new ring, and had in fact come back for something else. For me. It was a stupid, silly fantasy, but damn was it a tempting one.

  Unfortunately, reality bit hard.

  “I’m back,” he said with a cute grimace, holding up the ring box. “I know it’s late. I can come back tomorrow if it’s too close to closing.”

  I tossed the paperwork onto the counter behind me and gestured for him to enter. “No, of course not. I’d be happy to help you.”

  He smiled and approached me, and I had to try hard not to sigh when I caught the first whiff of his musky cologne.

  Nik looked amazing, as usual. His hair, the color of charred wood, was a little askew, like he’d been running his hands through it in frustration. Otherwise he looked like he’d walked straight off the runway. My heart stirred when his eyes met mine. I swallowed.

  “She returned it again?” I took the box from his outstretched hand. “I don’t understand.”

  “That makes two of us.” His mouth curved into a grim smile. “What should we try next?”

  I liked that even though I’d been deeply involved in each ring choice, Nik didn’t blame me for the refusal. He still wanted my help, even though so far all it had gotten him was a pile of frustration. At this point, he seemed to believe in my expertise more than I did.

  “There are plenty more rings I could show you,” I said, “but I’m wondering if it would be more helpful if your fiancée came in to choose a ring herself.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he replied. “We’re just going to have to put our heads together and come up with a miracle.”

  “No pressure at all then,” I chuckled. “Did she even give any clues what direction we should be going in?”

  “The only thing I know is that she likes circles. Particularly sending me around them.”

  Why did I get the feeling Nik’s matrimonial excitement would barely register on a scale? I was desperately curious about the dynamic between him and his fiancée, but it would be beyond rude to ask. Hell, I could lose my job if he thought I was trying to pry too much.

  Though he’d been joking, Nik’s comment gave me an idea. “What about something like this?” I tapped on the top of the case above one of our new arrivals, a rose gold band topped with a round cut diamond and a halo of smaller diamonds.

  “Circles can be highly symbolic,” I explained. “You could present it as a representation of your love, something about how where you end she begins, et cetera et cetera.”

  He laughed.

  “Too cheesy?” I asked.

  Nik’s eyes glimmered, and something about the intensity of his stare made my thighs quiver. “You’re a romantic.”

  It was a statement, not a question, but he made it sound like he’d stumbled upon a state secret.

  I gestured to the glittering displays around me demonstratively, but Nik shook his head.

  “Working in a jewelry store doesn’t automatically mean you’re a romantic,” he said. “All it means is you need to eat.”

  Since when had we turned from talking about his fiancée to talking about me? And why did it make me feel so bubbly inside?

  “You caught me. Cut me and I bleed rose petals and Marvin Gaye.”

  “A romantic and a smart ass,” he mused, voice thick and velvety. “A deadly combination if I’ve ever seen one.”

  “Deadly for whom?” I scoffed.

  His gaze speared into mine and something seemed to shimmer in the air between us. The moment passed and he pointed to another ring in the case, one which could only be described with the word ‘square’.

  “I’ll take that one,” he said.

  “I should warn you that it’s a good deal more expensive than the last two you’ve purchased,” I told him.

  Nik’s responding smile was flat, humorless.

  “I know.”

  I began working on the exchange at the till but couldn’t help but glance at Nik out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t figure him out. Did he even want to get married? He approached ring shopping with the precision of a military drill, like it was an objective he needed to complete and not the beginning of a beautiful journey. Maybe it wasn’t the idea of marriage, but the ring shopping itself he detested.

  However, contrary to his assumption, I’d given up on the whole romantic shtick ages ago. Life was cold. It was hard. It wasn’t sunshine and rainbows—not even close. The closest I’d come to romanticizing anything these days was...well, him.

  Heat glazed my cheeks and I reminded myself where I was and what I was doing. This guy, who somehow could turn my belly into a knot even a pair of headphones would be jealous of, was marrying someone else. Eventually. This song and dance with rejecting the ring was probably just some game they played and I was nothing more than a pawn in the equation.

  “You were probably excited to get out of here,” Nik commented as I wrapped up the new ring. “You must think I’m such a pain in the ass.”

  “Hardly. You’re the most interesting part of my day.”

  A bolt of regret zapped up my spine the second I said it. I handed Nik the bag with a smile that came out more like a grimace. He reached for it slowly, almost reluctantly, eyes scanning over my features.

  “Same,” he said finally, a slight curve to his lips. “Take care, Gemma.”

  Nik turned to leave and I grasped the edge of the counter, heat flaring through me like a supernova. I was glad he didn’t turn and look back on his way out the door. If he did he would most certainly see the longing in my gaze.

  Two seconds after the door closed behind him, I shook myself out of it and got back to work. I was only a few small tasks away from home, and I needed to get home.

  That was where the wine was.

  Chapter 5

  Dominik

  I stepped through the door and released a sigh, screwing my eyes shut for a moment while I cleared my head. Rain pattered on the awning above my head, and I focused on the sound while I tried not to think about the spunky shopkeeper’s curves or how my body pulsed every time she batted her eyelashes my way.

  I was just about to step onto the sidewalk when my phone rang. I checked the name on the screen and groaned, moving to lean against the side of the building to answer.

  “I just got it,” I said, not wasting any time on pleasantries. “You can sleep soundly tonight.”

  My glib attitude only riled Fyodor up.

  “I won’t be getting any sleep at all until you stop fucking up what is supposed to be a clear cut arrangement.”

  “Me fucking it up?” I asked incredulously. “I’m doing everything I’m supposed to. All Valentina has to do is accept the damn ring and she can’t even do that.”

  I was tempted to mention that there was nothing clean cut about an arranged fucking marriage but that was a horse I’d beaten long enough. Fyodor had won. I wanted Valentina to accept the goddamn ring just as much as he did, if only so I could stop having this conversation with him.

  “Think of Valentina as a princess,” he said. “Would a princess accept any old piece of costume jewelry as an engagement ring? No.”

  “Costume jewelry?” I glared angrily at the Tiffany’s sign next to my head. “You must be fucking joking. A real princess would be thrilled about either of the rings I sent before, and Valentina is far from any crown.”

  “Just tell me you got a better ring this time,” he said,
exasperation dripping into his voice.

  I ground my teeth and took a deep breath, swallowing an angry tirade in favor of diplomacy. My father wasn’t the one sending the ring back, and he was probably just as annoyed by my finicky bride-to-be. At least he had somebody he could yell at about it.

  “If she returns this one, I’m out of ideas,” I said.

  “If she returns this one, you better manufacture some new ideas like your way of life depends on it,” he snapped. “If her father has enough and breaks off this engagement, you’re going to be on the street begging for scraps before you can blink.”

  Ah, my father’s famous temper was coming out to play. How wonderful. He probably only called me because he’d had a bad day and needed someone to vent at. I’d spent my whole life being equal parts son and whipping boy, so at least I was used to it.

  “Message received,” I said. “Great talk, Bátja,” I said, using the most informal Russian word for ‘Dad’, then I hung up.

  I wanted to thrash him. Most of the time, Fyodor living in Moscow was a blessing. We didn’t get along, never had, so it wasn’t like I hankered for any father-son baseball games or anything fluffy like that. In fact Russia felt too close sometimes.

  But, when he boiled my blood just right, I wished I could tell him how I felt to his face. I wished he could see his reflection in my eyes. Not that it would do any good.

  My thoughts scattered abruptly when the shop door opened behind me and Gemma slipped out, turning to lock it behind her. She didn’t seem to notice I was there, and I took a second to take her in before I noticed her bare arms.

  “Why don’t you have a jacket?” I asked.

  Gemma jumped and spun to face me, grassy eyes wide with fright.

  “Holy crap,” she gasped, bringing a hand to her chest. “You scared me.”

  I pushed off from the wall and shoved my hands in my pockets, lips tugging up apologetically.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” I waved the phone in my hand before slipping it in my pocket. “I got a call just as I was leaving.”