by T L Swan
“Oh.”
“What is your name dear?” she asks.
“Emerson.”
“What a beautiful name.” She smiles.
The doorbell rings to notify us of someone entering the shop and I feel them walk over to us. I smile broadly and turn as I lift my eyes I stop dead in my tracks.
My eyes widen.
A tall man with olive skin and dark wavy hair stands in front of me, his hands are in the pockets of his expensive jacket.
Holy shit.
Every hair on the back of my neck stands to attention.
He smiles softly. “Hello, Em.” His eyes search mine.
My heart starts to hammer; my eyebrows instantly rise by themselves as he takes a step toward me.
“Hello,” I murmur as I fight the urge to step toward him.
His eyes look down at my new ring. “Beautiful,” he whispers in a thick Northern Irish accent, his voice deep and inviting. That accent… holy fuck.
My brow furrows. Who the hell is this? I turn to look for the old lady who is now standing smiling as she watches our interaction and I turn back to him.
No words come out of my mouth but I can feel myself blushing as my face hits a tropical heat.
I am tongue-tied. Never has a man affected me like this. Is this what they call a physical attraction?
No words will leave my mouth and I look back to the old lady for some much needed guidance.
“The ring, dear.” She smiles. “Do you want to take it?”
“I...” I shake my head as embarrassment fills me. God, I bet every woman he meets reacts this stupid to him. “Umm.” I shake my head, this is really too expensive to buy, just for the sake of it.
The tall man takes out his wallet and slides his credit card across the counter. “I will take it, thanks.” He smiles.
I frown at him. He will take what?
“What did you want to take, dear?” The old lady asks him.
He gestures to me. “I will take the ring that she is wearing.”
My face drops. What?
“Excuse me? I-I haven’t even made up my mind if I want it yet,” I stammer in a fluster. Is he kidding? Is it international rude man day today?
His eyes roam across my face as if memorizing every inch of it. “I have been looking at this ring for weeks and I have just come back to get it,” he replies curtly.
I frown. Oh, the hide. “Well, I’m sorry, but I’m taking it,” I snap. I wasn’t going to but damn him, he’s not getting it now for being so rude. “It will look stupid on you, anyway.”
A trace of a smile crosses his face. “The ring is for my mother.”
I fake a smile. “You snooze, you lose.”
He glares at me.
I turn back to the old lady. “How much is it?” I ask her again as I shuffle around in my handbag for my wallet. Damn this fool for making me break my budget.
“Four hundred and twenty pounds,” The kind old lady reminds me.
“I will give you double that,” he interjects.
Is he kidding? “Excuse me, Mr. Rudeness. This ring is already sold. Go. Away.”
“I will not go away until I have my ring,” he snaps.
For the love of God, how did I think this guy was hot just a few minutes ago? He’s a damn pig.
“It’s not your ring. It’s my ring now.” I quickly hand over my card. Shit, I hope the old lady sells it to me and not to my outbidding counter buyer.
“Fifteen hundred pounds,” he interjects.
I cross my arms angrily in front of me. “Oh, you are really something, aren’t you?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Like I said, I have wanted this for a long time.”
I screw up my face in annoyance. “Well, you should have bought it then. Back when you had the damn chance.”
He rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be sightseeing or something?” he mutters, annoyed. “Where are you from? New Zealand or somewhere?”
I narrow my eyes. “Australia, actually. You know, criminals and all,” I snap. “And besides, I am sightseeing with my boyfriend, actually.” My eyes flicker outside to the other rude pig sitting waiting for me. God, it goes from bad to worse around here.
He looks outside. “Where is this supposed boyfriend?” he sneers.
“None of your business.” I wrap my cardigan around me protectively. Go to Hell, asshole.
He walks to the window and peers outside. “Oh.” He smiles to himself. “Him?” He gestures to Mark sitting on the bench.
Oh, that’s it. “Yes. Him,” I reply, outraged.
“That’s your boyfriend?” He smirks. “Mark White is your boyfriend?”
Oh no, he knows him. “H-he could be,” I stammer as I feel myself go red. It’s even embarrassing calling Mark my boyfriend, heaven forbid if he actually was.
The old lady interrupts our impending fight. “I will need your details, dear, in case we get any more information on the ring.”
“Can I not persuade you to sell it to me, please?” he asks again.
“Yes, of course.” I reply to her, ignoring him as I hand over my license to the dear old lady. “Please, stop talking,” I eventually say as I turn to smile sweetly at him. “You are ruining my London experience.”
He raises an eyebrow and I know he is holding himself back from being sarcastic in front of the old lady. He shakes his head and places a white business card onto the counter and my eyes glance down at it. “Call me if you want to sell the ring. I will pay good money for it.”
* * *
STAR
042455130510
My eyes meet his and I bite my lip to hold back my smile. What kind of fucking name is that? “Star? As in twinkle twinkle?” I smirk.
He shakes his head and puts his hands on his hips in frustration.
“Take your card back. I’m not ringing you, Mr. Twinkle Star.” I smirk as I take my ring and card from the lady.
I turn and start to walk out of the shop.
“Call me when you want to sell it,” he shouts after me.
“Don’t hold your breath,” I reply, and then I have a thought. “Actually, do hold your breath and do us all a favor.”
“Very funny,” he sneers.
“I thought so.” I smile as I open the heavy door. That felt good. What an asshole.
Alastar
I pull into the driveway of my terrace house and sip my coffee. I watch a family walk past in the rain through my rearview mirror and wait for them to pass. The only annoying thing with this antique sports car is the windscreen wiper speed. It’s either so slow it does nothing or so fast it nearly cracks the damn screen. Currently, it’s choosing the fast option, making it sound like the car is about to take off into flight at any given moment.
The family finally disappear out of sight, and I open the trunk to remove my large package which is wrapped in a woolen blanket before I make my way into the house. As I walk through the large, black glossed double doors I am reminded of just how much of a good thing photography has been to me. What started out as a teenage hobby now has me photographing international top models and designing editorial layouts for the most glamorous magazines in the world. My home is opulent, just like my life. The expansive floors are dark polished wood and my lounges are all chocolate leather. Artwork and bookcases line every wall.
I walk straight down to the basement and flick on the overhanging antique pendant lights. The walls are completely covered in black and white photographs that I have taken over the years. A huge mahogany desk sits in the corner of the room. I put my parcel onto my desk and unwrap the precious cargo from its blanket casing.
I smile broadly as I drink in its beauty.
A painting of a naked brunette woman from years gone by. Its true value is unknown to someone else, but that doesn’t matter; it’s priceless to me. I run my finger down the shape of her body knowing the man who painted this woman was madly in love with her. I can feel it so deeply within the brush strokes. No time for dreaming, I take a tool
out of my top draw and turn the painting over and immediately start to unclick the staples that are holding it in its frame. One by one they fall ever so carefully as I try my damndest not to damage it. Thirty minutes later and I finally remove the encasing of glass and smile broadly as I stare at the picture again. Oh, this was a find. I can’t believe I actually have it. I turn it over and retrieve a different tool from my top draw and start to unpick the canvas from the frame. It’s a tedious job, one that takes me over an hour to complete. Until, at last, it’s free from its canvas and I can read the hand written note on the back in lead pencil:
* * *
The Object of My Affection
* * *
What am I doing?
Regret fills me, and that feeling I try to avoid starts to surround me. I’m not going there, I’m not doing this and yet, as if on autopilot, I take out my camera and scroll back through the photos. There are eighty-eight in total. I took them of her this afternoon from across the road as she waited outside the jewelry shop. A smile crosses my face instantly. She’s smiling to herself as she scrolls through her phone. She’s breathtaking. Her thick, honey blonde hair falls just around her shoulders. She’s curvy, soft, gentle, and I can practically hear her Australian accent like music to my ears.
The words from the canvas run through my mind: The object of my affection.
Don’t do this.
Walk away.
Chapter 3
Emerson
“Let’s talk about your apartment?” Brielle smirks.
I smile into my drink. “Its actually nice. My flat mates are friendly and normal. We went grocery shopping today, and although they like some weird ass food, I think we are going to get along famously.”
Brielle shakes her head as she grins. “I knew you were freaking out for nothing.”
“My room is bigger and brighter than I imagined, and I have a really cool bay window looking out onto the street.” It’s Saturday night and Brielle and I are having dinner in an Italian restaurant together before we meet up with the boys we met on the plane. Then, if all goes well, we’re hitting the clubs.
“So, tell me everything,” I murmur as I bite into my garlic bread. “I want specifics.”
“Okay.” Brielle holds her hands up in an over exaggeration. “Right. The daughter’s name is Willow and the boy is called Samuel.”
“Nice.”
“And I think Willow may be a bitch who is doing a bad job of pretending to be nice.”
I nod as I bite my garlic bread again. “Of course. Everyone’s a bitch at fifteen.”
“And Samuel is so starved of affection, it’s crazy. He slept in my room on the lounger last night.”
My face drops. “Oh, that’s sad.”
She nods and takes a sip of her drink. “I know.”
“Is he nice?”
“He’s a little nerdy but he’s so damn sweet.”
I rest my chin on my hand as I listen. “Where is the dickhead dad? Why is this kid so lonely?”
She shrugs. “He just works all the time.”
I screw up my face. “What a tosser. How could you go to work knowing that your only son is sad when his mother has passed away?”
She sips more of her wine as she narrows her eyes. “That’s the weird thing… this kid is happy his dad works.”
I frown. “He doesn’t miss him at all?”
She shrugs. “I don’t think so.” She breaks up the bread to two pieces. “So, I can’t sleep at your house tonight because Julian is playing golf in the morning and he needs me at home to watch the kids.”
“What?” I snap. “You’re joking? It’s the weekend.”’
She shrugs.
“He can’t tell you you can have weekends off and then tell you to be home.” This is ridiculous.
“He paid for a cab charge to get me home.”
“Too bad if you hook up.” “Speaking of hooking up. Spill.”
I smirk into my wine glass. “What?”
She looks at me deadpan. “I want the Mark lowdown”
“Yeah, he’s nice.” I sigh.
“Just nice?”
I shrug. “Maybe not even that.”
Her face falls. “What happened?”
“I don’t know, maybe I’m too fussy. He is nice to me.”
“But?”
“He’s really rude to other people.”
She screws up her face. “Like who?”
“Waitresses and people in shops and stuff. I thought it was an English thing.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not an English thing. The people are lovely.”
“I know.” I widen my eyes as I remember the jerk in the jewelry shop. “Oh my God. I met this other hot guy who was a total flog.”
“Where?”
“In Heirloom, the antique shop where I bought my ring.”
“Show me your ring.”
I proudly hold out my hand.
“That’s beautiful,” she gushes. “I’m glad you got it.”
“Me, too.” I smile.
“Go on...”
“So, this guy came into the shop and I went all weird, too nervous to talk, and I don’t know, he’s not even classically good looking but he has the thing.”
“Hmm, that dreaded thing,” she murmurs into her glass. “They either have the thing or they don’t.”
“Exactly,” I reply. “But then he had to ruin everything and open his big, rude mouth.”
Brielle smirks as she listens.
“Get this. I was trying on the ring and then he comes in and I see him and get all tongue-tied.”
“That gorgeous?” Brielle frowns.
“Smoking,” I reply flatly. “And the annoying thing was he knew I was attracted to him.”
“Hmm.” Brielle rolls her eyes into her glass. “Ugh, I hate that. Why do assholes always know they are hot?”
I nod as I sip my wine. “So, he says to the old lady, I will take the ring.”
She frowns. “What do you mean?” The waitress brings us our main pasta meals.
“Exactly. I think to myself, what ring? What is he talking about? And he says the ring she is trying on… Meaning me and my ring!” I carefully twirl my pasta around my fork.
She screws up her face. “What?”
“He said he wanted to take the ring while I still had it on my finger.” I shovel in my first mouthful. “Hmm, this is good.” I point to the plate with my fork.
Her face falls. “Oh. That’s so rude.”
“I know, right? And then he continues to offer the old lady more and more money to try and outbid me.”
“What did you say to him?”
I shake my head. “I don’t remember. I was flabbergasted. I’d just been embarrassed by Mark being a dick at lunch, then this twat was trying to buy the ring out from under me.”
She shakes her head.
“The thing is, I wasn’t even probably going to buy it.”
“Then why did you?” Brielle mumbles around her food.
“Because this guy was such an arrogant ass, I couldn’t let him win.”
She reaches over and picks up my hand and looks at my ring and smiles. “It is beautiful, though.”
“I know. I do love it.” I smile. “Sucked in, Mr. Twinkle.”
Brielle frowns. “Who?’
I roll my eyes. “The jerk called himself Star.”
She bursts out laughing. “Are you kidding me?”
I shake my head. “I wish.” Lights start to flash and I pinch my temples. I get a strobe flashing light sensation and I drop my head and close my eyes. Fuck.
“What are you doing?” Brielle asks.
I frown as it continues to flash for around thirty seconds and then it suddenly stops. “Bloody hell,” I whisper.
“What?” Brielle asks.
“What does it mean when lights flash behind your eyes?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe you are going blind?”
I smirk and shake m
y head as my sight returns back to normal. “Thanks for the support.”
She smiles cheekily. “Could happen, I suppose.”
* * *
Three hours later, the dance beat vibrates across the floor as it echoes through Club Alto, a trendy nightclub we’ve found. This place is beyond swish, and there are beautiful people everywhere. The boys arrived and have bought half of their backpacker dorm with them. There are three guys from Canada, two girls from the US, and another couple from Perth in Australia. I gave Mark a white lie and told him I was spending the weekend at Brielle’s. I didn’t want to have to deal with confessing that I didn’t want to see him. Maybe he will grow on me, I don’t know, but at this stage I very much doubt it. Work starts on Monday and then I will get to see his true colors. His comment about stepping on people at work to get to the top keeps running through my mind, too. Who says that? I mean, even if it were true, you don’t say it out loud as if you’re proud of being an asshole… do you?
Surely not?
One of the Canadian guys, Philip, is getting ideas and keeps putting his arm around me when we speak. It’s innocent at this stage but, once again, I’m not keen. I smile anyway. I’ve turned into the fussiest woman on the planet. The only guy who has seemed remotely interesting to me in over twelve months was that jerk from the jewelry store. Too bad he opened his mouth.
“So, are all Australian girls as hot as you?” Philip asks.
I smile. “Really? You really giving me that line?”
He laughs out loud and points to me with his beer. “Look at yourself. What am I supposed to say?”
I glance down at myself and what I am wearing, I didn’t know what the normal was so I stuck to a white cable knitted tight dress that hangs off one shoulder with short black high heeled boots. One can never go wrong in a tight little dress and high-heeled boots. It’s always a winner. My blonde, shoulder-length hair is out and clipped up at one side, and I have my customary red lipstick on. Brielle is talking to the good-looking guy from the plane who seemed to swoop in on her the minute we arrived, just as I told her he would. A large group walks through the door and heads over to a blue light Smirnoff Vodka lounge area that is roped off until the hostess undoes the reserved seating sign and they all sit down. Six men and three women, seriously gorgeous people, and by the way others around them are looking, I can tell they are ‘somebodies’. Hmm, the cool click has arrived. For half an hour, I listen to this guy ramble on. Please don’t tell me he thinks I’m even remotely interested in him. A cute guy at the bar holds up his glass to silently ask me if I want a drink, and I want do. I really do. But I don’t want to be rude to the group I am standing with. I’m here to have fun, not meet men, I remind myself.