Mr. Knightsbridge (The Mister Series Book 2)

by Louise Bay

  “Oh wow. Not long. Is it your first time in England?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t even have a passport before this trip.” I wasn’t about to tell him I hadn’t made it out of Oregon until a week ago. He was a super-successful, sophisticated guy who no doubt travelled all the time. I bet he’d never met someone before who’d never made it out of state, let alone lived in a single-wide trailer.

  “And how do you like it?” he asked.

  “Mostly it’s amazing, though some of the guys are a little cheesy.”

  He nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Positively fondue-like, I’m afraid.”

  “To be honest with you, I’ve never had fondue,” I replied. “But I’m guessing it’s something close to heaven. I think the next three months are going to feature a lot of firsts for me. Let’s hope fondue is in there somewhere.” There had already been more first-time experiences than I could have imagined. Tonight had more that I could count on both hands. It was the first time in the ballroom at some fancy hotel. First time drinking champagne. The first time seeing millions of dollars’ worth of the most gorgeous jewelry up close and personal.

  The first time being driven home by a handsome stranger who also happened to be one of the most successful fine jewelers in the world.

  “Well I’d be delighted to make sure it is. It seems only fair, considering my cheesiness distracted you from meeting your colleagues this evening. I should make it up to you.”

  He had nothing to make up. But he knew that already.

  “Like on a date?” I asked.

  “A cheese date,” he replied.

  It had started raining, and I traced one of the raindrops trickling down the other side of the window so I didn’t betray how I beamed inside at his invitation.

  For most women, it was an invitation too good to pass up, but this guy had already distracted me enough. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “I like to talk cheese with you,” he said, looking at me as if he was unpeeling the dress from my shoulders. “I want to take you to dinner.”

  I wasn’t asked out on dates often. And when I was, I rarely wanted to say yes. Fondue with Dexter sounded great, but felt wrong. It seemed self-indulgent and stupid. I was already in London on my dream internship. That was enough fun, wasn’t it?

  Back in Oregon, I was used to making sure there was enough money coming in to pay the rent on mine and Autumn’s trailer, and my parents’ trailer, along with tuition payments for my sister’s college and then gas and food. Grilled cheese was a staple, and anything creative we could figure out with that week’s sale produce. I spent a lot of my life worrying, adding up the out column and making sure it wasn’t bigger than the in column. London should be enough without dinner dates, period. I didn’t even want to calculate the karmic cost of spending more time with Dexter Daniels.

  We turned onto my street and my heartrate began to pick up. I didn’t want to say no, but I didn’t see how I could say yes.

  “Can I think about it?” I asked him.

  He chuckled. “If that’s what it takes. Let me have your number.”

  “Actually, why don’t you give me your card.” I didn’t know what my UK number would be, and there was no point in giving him my US cell, which I was afraid to turn on for fear of incurring massive charges.

  He pulled his business card out from his inside pocket. Even if I never called him, I’d have a memento of him asking me.

  We pulled to a stop outside my flat and before I had the chance to say goodnight, Dexter had slipped out, rounded the trunk and was opening the door.

  “Thank you,” I said as he helped me out of the car. “For the ride. And the offer of cheese.”

  He chuckled. “I hope you call.” He lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it.

  Despite my brain telling me I never would, another part of me, the part that believed anything could happen, hoped I did too.

  Four

  Dexter

  I’d never been one of those businessmen glued to his phone. Like my father, I believed business was personal and better done face-to-face. But this morning, I must have checked my mobile a thousand times.

  “Are you waiting for a call?” Primrose asked as she sat opposite me and pulled out her tablet.

  “No.” I slid my phone into the top drawer of my desk. Perhaps not having it in my hand might be a start at ignoring it. “How are the designs coming along? Seeing the wedding tiara last night was a reminder of how good we have to be.”

  “I was sorry to miss the reception. How was it?”

  “Sorry?” I asked. “Don’t be. It was an awful industry event. You did the right thing to escape.” In many ways it hadn’t been as bad as I had expected it to be. Remembering things I’d forgotten and hearing things I didn’t know about my parents—like how my mother had been courted by all the high-end jewelers but had stayed working with my father—was both wonderful and reassuring. If I hadn’t gone last night, I would have missed out.

  But seeing David’s name, and worrying about running in to him? That was beyond uncomfortable. I had no idea what he was doing on the list of attendees. As far as I knew, he was still working the back office of a bank. Why would he attend last night?

  Then there was Hollie.

  Meeting her had been an experience. I eyed the top drawer of my desk. I needed to get a grip. Even if she called in the next few minutes, she could wait. I was in a meeting.

  The fact was, I’d expected her to call by now. Frankly, I was pissed off with myself for not insisting on taking her number.

  “It was my thirty-third wedding anniversary—I wasn’t escaping. I heard you ran into Ben Lewin.”

  Ahhh, the chap who liked my father’s laugh. “Yes, he was one of several people I talked to. How the hell do you know that?”

  Primrose tapped the side of her nose. “You might have been avoiding London jewelry circles all these years, but this old bird knows most things that go on in this town.”

  Primrose had been born in the same month as my mother. She lived for this business in the same way that I did, the same way my parents had. It wasn’t work. It was passion. And that’s why Primrose felt like family. She was built the same way.

  Unlike my brother.

  He couldn’t wait to be out of the family business after our parents died, so why was he going to industry events?

  “I didn’t see a single person from the organizing committee. There was no need for me to have gone at all,” I said.

  Primrose sighed. “Do we have to go through this again?”

  “I don’t see why we can’t just design the shit out of some jewelry. Pick the best stones in existence, cut them like motherfuckers and win this award.”

  “Dexter,” Primrose said, her voice deep and chastising.

  “Sorry, cut them like the best in the fucking business.” Primrose tolerated my bad language, but motherfucker was where she always drew the line.

  “We are going to do all those things,” she said.

  “Then why all the cocktail parties and dinners and charity luncheons?”

  She laughed. “For the first time in your life, you’re going to have to play by someone else’s rules. You’ve snubbed this industry your entire career. You’re going to have to use some of that charm of yours and play the game if you really want to win.”

  “And I do,” I replied, “really want to win.”

  She nodded. “Me too. So, during this competition, you’ll shake hands, swap small talk, play nice with the other kids and not look like you thought you were too good for these people all these years.”

  Primrose knew as well as I did that the reason for staying away from London was nothing to do with being arrogant, however much that accusation was thrown around.

  It had everything to do with not looking back. With looking to the future rather than the past.

  “Okay, so let’s talk designs. What have you got to show me?”

  Primrose pulled up imag
es of the earring designs she’d been working on. “I’m not sure I’ve quite got the effect of the snow yet,” she said. They were the shape of a snowflake and covered in a kind of pavé, but with larger, more exaggerated stones.

  “I like this version though. The smaller stones are better. And not so small that they don’t look special.”

  “Absolutely. I think sourcing the stones and making key parts of the jewelry is important,” Primrose said. It had taken a while to accept that design and production had to work together on what Daniels & Co put out. At first Primrose felt it was too much pressure. Over the last fifteen years, she had started to see my perspective.

  “It’s how we’ve been successful up until now.” Beautiful jewelry designs weren’t enough. I had to find the stones and have them carved into the right cuts before I could be sure a design would work. Oftentimes, we changed the design to bring out the best in the stone. Some things that looked beautiful on the page, or even in a 3D render, just didn’t work if the stone wasn’t right. Understanding how to bring out the natural beauty of each stone in our designs would give Daniels & Co the edge.

  The first stage of the competition was focused on design. It wasn’t until after the three finalists got picked that any actual jewelry was submitted. Because it was so expensive to make these pieces, the other jewelers would hold off production as long as possible, focusing on the design in case they didn’t get through to the next rounds. But we were cutting the stones and making parts of the pieces even as the designs continued to take shape. It was the only way to know how strong a design was before it was submitted. We would pick designs not because of how they looked in theory, but how the stones brought them to life.

  “I’ve also been thinking about sourcing the emeralds,” I said. “I think if we can find good Zambian emeralds, that’s how we should go.”

  “Really?” Primrose said. “Why wouldn’t you go Columbian?”

  Hollie’s eyes last night really had been spectacular.

  “Because of our theme. Columbian emeralds are thought to be the best because of the intensity of color.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “But what we’re trying to recreate is the feel of Finland.”

  “Yes,” Primrose replied, elongating the word, which either meant she thought I was stupid or she was growing impatient.

  “The color saturation of the northern lights isn’t intense. They’re ethereal. Green but blue, full of patterns and movement, light and dark. They’re mysterious and otherworldly and uniquely fascinating.” I wasn’t sure if I was describing the northern lights or my encounter with the mysterious and fascinating American I’d met last night. Both maybe, but when I went to sleep last night, all I could see were those eyes—layers on layers of color. I wanted to find that in a stone. “Mystery and romanticism, that’s the northern lights. That’s what we’re trying to achieve.” I’d thought of nothing else since I’d come face-to-face with Hollie yesterday. I’d noticed her earlier in the evening and hoped I’d get a chance to speak to her, but being up close, looking into those eyes—she drew me in.

  Fuck, I should have got her number.

  “Well you know your stones better than anyone,” said Primrose. “So, if you say so.”

  “I’ve got to find a supplier. Zambian emeralds aren’t as consistent in color, so we’ll have to be picky.”

  Primrose let out a laugh. “Well, picky is your middle name. Sounds like a job for you.”

  I’d never apologize for being difficult to please. As far as I was concerned, it was a huge part of what made me successful. Good enough wasn’t good enough.

  “If you didn’t enjoy last night,” Primrose said, sliding her tablet back into its sleeve. “Did Stacey at least?”

  For a second, I had to think who she meant. “Oh, didn’t I say? Stacey and I broke up a few months ago.”

  “Dexter! What happened?”

  She was acting like it was a big deal. “Nothing. Just came to the end of the road, I guess.” I tried to remember who had actually ended it. Her, I think.

  “The end of the road? She was such a nice girl and so supportive.”

  “Yeah. She was great,” I replied, glancing at the top drawer of my desk and wondering if Hollie had called. If I’d not been so distracted last evening, I would have remembered to get her last name.

  “So, if you admit she was great, why aren’t you together anymore?”

  Primrose was looking at me as if I had some bomb I was about to drop, but really, it was the same story as it had been with the last few women I’d dated. They wanted things to “progress” or to “take our relationship to the next level” or began suggesting we move in together. I was always content to stay in the early, less-intensive phase of relationships, but the women I was with always wanted more. I knew I couldn’t give them more, but I wasn’t the guy to lead them on, either.

  “Do you think you ever got over Bridget?” she asked.

  I leaned back in my chair. “Bridget and I had something great, and I messed it up. It’s that simple. I couldn’t make it work with her, so why would I think I could with anyone else?” When I’d tried to make things right with Bridget, she’d already moved on to someone more worthy of her. Last time I heard, she was happily married. At least that had been closure.

  “It was a long time ago,” Primrose said.

  “Yes, but a mistake is a mistake. The important thing is, I’m not repeating it.” My mum always used to say the same to my brother and me—messing up is to be expected. It’s part of life. What’s important is that we learn from the mess.

  “So you cut these women loose as soon as they hint at wanting more from you, instead of trying to make it work.”

  I didn’t want to talk about this with Primrose. She just wanted me married off to whoever was around. She’d liked every girlfriend of mine she had ever met. And I got it. She wanted to see me happy. But I wasn’t the guy to get married and have a family. Bridget had been the only chance at that kind of life. And if I couldn’t manage it with her, I wouldn’t be able to give any woman what she needed from me. “I think you’re almost there with the earrings. I can’t wait to see one actually made. But let’s progress the others in case these are too on-the-nose once they’re made. When do you think you and Frank will have something for me?”

  Primrose sighed and stood up, knowing better than to push the issue. There was nothing more to be discussed between us on the subject of my dating life. “By the end of next week.”

  “I really want to get tiara drawings with the Zambian emeralds in place of the Columbian tomorrow. Is that possible?”

  “Of course. I can put that change through on the three designs we’re still working on,” she said as she opened the door to leave.

  I waited exactly three seconds after Primrose left before I yanked my desk drawer open and pulled out my phone.

  Nope. She still hadn’t called. Bloody hell. I was acting like a teenager. And what was the point anyway? We’d just end up dating and eventually come to the end of the road, just like I had with everyone who’d come after Bridget. I probably shouldn’t have even given Hollie my card. Better to imagine what might have been than to disappoint her like all the rest.

  Who was I trying to kid? I wouldn’t rest until I saw her again.

  I flipped to my messages. Nothing.

  Maybe attending all the competition events wouldn’t just be about showing people I didn’t think I was too good for the London jewelry trade. Maybe I’d get to run into Hollie again, and maybe this time I’d convince the new-to-London American to share fondue with me. The next event was a charity luncheon next week, and for the first time in a very long time, I was looking forward to some small talk and warm wine.

  Five

  Hollie

  Everyone had left the office some time ago, leaving me in the dark with just the glow of my monitor lighting the way to understanding the specialty design software. At some point I’d have to master my new company smartph
one as well.

  I’d been over Sparkle’s designs for the competition again and again. They were . . . nice. I was sure they had qualities I didn’t fully appreciate, but at the same time, to my untrained eye, they seemed kind of . . . dull. I got that a design fit for royalty would have to be conservative. The tiara Dexter’s parents had designed set the bar for an innovative but classic piece, timeless and elegant but forever in style. Sparkle’s entries were definitely on the classic end of the spectrum, and I had yet to be convinced of any innovation. I had some ideas and wanted to see if I could use the computer to bring my design to life instead of relying on my trusty notebook.

  The longer I sat at my desk, the more error messages I saw. I was worried I was about to blow the entire computer to pieces.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin when my new smartphone began to ring.

  Propping the cell on a stack of stationery, I pressed the accept button.

  “Hey, you did it,” Autumn said, beaming at me from the screen.

  “I just had to move my finger, Autumn. It wasn’t that hard. I wish I could say the same thing about this computer program. This stuff is so complicated.” I needed to be proficient at the program, which all the big houses used. Adding the skill to my resume would be important during my job hunt.

  “You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.” Easier said than done. Despite the fact that I worked in a semi-conductor factory, I wasn’t great with technology. In preparation for doing an internship, I’d spent the last twelve months getting familiar with my sister’s old laptop, so at least I knew the very basics. I probably should have bought a smartphone before coming to London, but those things were just so expensive. I couldn’t justify it when there were so many bills to pay.

  “Speaking of smart,” I said, “how are your classes? You don’t have long to go so you need to get—”

  “I know, get my head down, get the work done and get out of this town. You’ve been telling me the same thing since I was eight years old. I’m just as motivated as you are.” Hearing how Autumn was keeping things on track was almost as gratifying as my internship at Sparkle. Knowing my sister was destined for something more than the Sunshine Trailer Park was something that kept me going when I was working double shifts at the factory to pay her tuition at Oregon State. I’d been determined for as long as I could remember that she and I would not end up stuck where we weren’t happy, just because that’s where we’d been born. Autumn was smart—so smart she’d gotten a scholarship for half her tuition and most of her textbooks. Some months I had to juggle—take on extra shifts, pray for a necklace sale on my Etsy site, even do a spring clean for Mrs. Daugherty across the street. But Autumn would graduate this summer and it was as if I were graduating too. Since I was four years old and my mom had brought Autumn home from the hospital—a bundle of limbs and peepy eyes—I’d vowed to take care of her. Her graduation would be confirmation that I’d done what I set out to do. After that, I just had to get her to leave Sunshine and make good on all her amazing potential. She would do something spectacular with her life—if her boyfriend didn’t make her want to stay right where she’d always been.