Stacey Joy Netzel Boxed Set (25 page)

She glanced up swiftly as he turned a smile
toward the two gentlemen approaching their table. One older,
gray-haired, dressed in a tailored suit that probably cost more
than a year’s worth of his shop mortgage; the other younger, blond,
and dressed just as affluently.

Replacing his napkin back on the table, Jake
stood, smoothed his own suit, and extended his right hand. “Phil.
Good to see you again.”

“You, too, Jake.” Phil Harper shook his
hand, and then introduced his companion. “I trust you don’t mind I
brought my jeweler, Matt Larson.”

“Not at all, I expected it.” Jake nodded a
greeting to Matt and turned to Clara, who was still sitting in
confusion. “Allow me to introduce the lovely Clara Evans.”

“This is a wonderful surprise,” Phil
said.

Clara set the dragonfly on the corner of the
table before reaching to accept Phil Harper’s left-handed greeting.
Jake thought the switch odd, until the older man bowed and kissed
the back of her hand. Was it his imagination, or did he rub his
thumb over her bare ring finger? The entire exchange appeared to
fluster Clara, bringing a flush to her cheeks. Jake grinned,
thinking the color looked good on her—just like her daughter.

If things went well over the next few
minutes, he hoped to see Loral’s blush again real soon.

After the prerequisite round of greetings
were concluded, they all settled into their chairs. Jake noticed
that Clara had set the folded contract aside, but despite his inner
nervousness, he kept his smile in place as the waitress took their
drink order. The deal would go forward with or without her
signature.

“Let’s get right down to business, shall
we?” Jake said after the drinks arrived.

Phil laughed, “I couldn’t agree more. Is
that it?” His gaze zeroed in on the jeweled insect resting between
Jake and Clara.

Jake picked up the brooch, but waited for
Clara’s approval before handing it over. Phil examined the piece
and Jake was happy to glimpse interest in the other man’s eyes
before his poker face took over.

Without a word, Phil handed the dragonfly to
his jeweler for inspection. Both men were careful not to show undue
interest, but Jake knew from past experience Phil Harper was a
fanatic about anything connected to the Titanic.

“Let’s see this proof you claim to have,”
Phil requested.

Silently, Jake handed over the picture of
Marcus and Patricia Widener, along with a photocopy of the ship’s
manifest proving they’d been passengers. And, last, he showed them
two lists: one of the poor souls who’d perished, and one of the
survivors.

Phil produced his own papers and compared
until he and Larson located the same names. Then he sat back with
his wine, and swirled the liquid in front of him. Jake hid his
impatience as he waited for Phil’s first offer. The man raised his
gaze and met Jake’s.

“Three hundred thousand.”

Clara’s sharp intake of breath prompted Jake
to reach over beneath the table and clasp her hand. Without taking
his eyes off Phil, he offered a calm smile. “The jewels alone are
worth more than that.”

Matt Larson remained silent, confirming what
Jake had suspected from the moment he’d seen the brooch.

Phil inclined his head. “All right, then.
Four.”

His own pulse beating a dizzying tempo, Jake
kept his face impassive as Clara’s grip tried to crush his fingers.
“Six.”

Phil’s gaze sharpened. He took a slow drink
of wine before setting the glass on the table. When he leaned
forward, he locked his gaze with Jake’s and said in a firm tone,
“Five. And that’s my final offer.”

Jake released Clara’s trembling hand and
offered Phil a smile as he began to gather up the documents.
“Actually, six is
our
final offer.”

“Jake,” Clara breathed.

Phil’s sharp gaze shifted to Clara as if
sensing a weak link. Jake shook his head quickly. “It’s okay, Mrs.
Evans. There’s another interested party.”

“Who?” Phil demanded.

“You know I can’t divulge that. I only gave
you first chance at the brooch because I like you better.”

Phil gave a bark of laughter. “Bullshit. You
only gave me first chance because I have deeper pockets.”

Jake just smiled again, neither denying or
confirming the absolute truth in the man’s statement. With
everything in order, he handed the brooch to Clara, then assisted
her to her feet. “Please, enjoy dinner on us, Phil, it’s all
arranged. We appreciate your time.” He inclined his head first to
the collector, and then the jeweler. “Mr. Larson.”

God, this had better work
. He urged
Clara in the direction of the door.

Three steps from the table, she suddenly
resisted his push, whispering fiercely over her shoulder,
“
Jake
,
what are you doing?
”

“Coburn.”

Jake’s pulse jerked. Schooling his
expression to remain calm, he kept one hand on Clara’s shoulder and
turned to Phil, eyebrow cocked.

“Throw in that photo, and you’ve got a
deal.”

Definitely not his call on that one. Clara
turned, shifting her gaze from Jake to Phil. Moisture filled her
eyes.

“It’s the only picture I have of my
grandparents together.”

Phil sighed with resignation, but kindness
lit his eyes and smile. “Tears from a beautiful woman are not
allowed during a business negotiation.”

Color bloomed in her cheeks as Clara laughed
softly. “I apologize, Mr. Harper.”

She wiped the corner of her right eye with
the knuckle of one finger, then straightened her spine as Jake had
seen Loral do a few times.

“I’ll tell you what, you can have the
dragonfly and the original photo for six hundred thousand dollars—”
Her voice wobbled a bit on the number, but she took a deep breath
and continued. “—providing a professional copy of the photo is made
for my daughter.”

“The copy can most certainly be arranged.
Throw in dinner, just the two of us tomorrow night, and you have a
deal.”

Clara’s mouth opened, closed, then opened
again. “But...it’s Christmas Eve.”

“Ah, so it is. My excitement got the better
of me for a moment.”

His excitement over the brooch or dinner
with Clara? Jake wondered.

“Another time, then?” Phil pressed. “I
wouldn’t dream of taking you away from your family on the
holiday.”

Clara offered the collector a smile that
Jake would only classify as shy. “Actually, my daughter is working
tomorrow night. I’d planned to spend the evening alone.”

“Does that mean you’re accepting my
offer.”

“Yes, Mr. Harper, I believe I am.”

“In that case, call me Phil.” He stood and
extended his hand to her, sealing the deal.

Relief left Jake weak-kneed. Knowing that
Loral and her mother’s finances were secure gave him a sense of
peace that rivaled the moment his mother had passed and her pain
filled expression had relaxed in one last familiar smile.

A sudden lump in his throat was too painful
to swallow past. He blinked furiously and to cover it up, turned to
signal the waitress. Clearing his throat, he pulled Clara’s chair
out again. “Shall we have dinner while we finalize the
details?”

During dinner, plans were made for a formal
appraisal and final sale first thing in the morning before the
banks closed for the Christmas holiday. Jake was mentally exhausted
by dessert and thankful when Phil and Matt bid them goodnight,
leaving Jake and Clara alone at the table.

They shared a smile before she reached to
gather the pending sale papers. “So I take it Loral told you?”

He looked up from signing the credit card
slip for the dinner bill. “About what?”

“My cancer.”

It felt like someone had punched him in the
gut and it hurt to breathe. Mutely, he shook his head, then forced
out, “I’m sorry.”

She tilted her head and chided, “I’m not
dead yet.”

His face flushed. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. People never know what to say.
Anyway, I had surgery six weeks ago, and the doctor is pretty sure
he got all of it. Also, I’m almost done with chemo, and things look
pretty good. I was having a little problem with the positive
attitude, given our present circumstances, but now…”

She waved the temporary agreement Phil had
signed before sliding it into her purse. “Everything is definitely
looking up. Loral can finally do what she dreams of doing, not what
she has to do.”

Jake smiled with her. “I wish you the best
of health, Clara. For you and Loral.”

“Thank you.” She started to get up, and then
paused again. “I still don’t understand something, though. If you
didn’t know about the cancer, why didn’t you just sell the brooch
yourself?”

He shifted in his chair and finished signing
the bill.

“Jake? That was a huge deal. Were you lying
about needing the money?”

Pride or dignity? He lifted his gaze to meet
hers. “No.”

“Then why? You bought the brooch, fair and
square.”

He stood, thereby avoiding her gaze. “You
best get home before Loral does or she’ll be worried sick. I’ve
arranged for a cab outside.”

When he would’ve assisted her with her
chair, she laid a hand on his arm. “Jake.”

Stubborn as her daughter. It wasn’t as
though he’d tell her the truth, so he settled for as close as he
was comfortable. “I told you, Clara, I’m a sucker for blue eyes.
Let’s just leave it at that. Please?”

She rose to her feet, stood on tiptoe to
press a kiss to his cheek, and then moved back while pressing a
folded piece of paper into his hand. “It’s been a pleasure doing
business with you, Jake. And don’t you forget—Loral’s expecting
your call.”

He opened the paper as she walked away, and
then grinned when he saw the broker contract she’d set aside
earlier. Clara had given her blessing in the signature on the
bottom.

The moment Loral opened the door to the dark
apartment, she remembered her mother had gone to a friend’s house
because she’d had to work on Christmas Eve.

“Merry Christmas,” she muttered as she
slammed the door. Not only was she not earning tips because they’d
sent her home early, but now she was all alone.

With the newspaper article.

Billionaire Phil Harper Adds To His
Titanic Collection
.

Flipping on the kitchen light as she passed,
she then spread the full page across the table. She’d already read
it. Twice. Still, she couldn’t make herself stop the torture. Front
and center was a picture of her dragonfly.

Correction—Jake’s dragonfly. She gave a
disgusted laugh that threatened to turn into a sob.

Correction again—Phil Harper
the
billionaire oil tycoon
’s dragonfly.

For the bargain price of six-hundred
thousand dollars. It made her sick to think she’d begged Jake to
give her fifty bucks for it, and
then
thought he was
insulting her when he’d offered her a thousand.

“
It might be worth more
,
”
he’d
said.

Might my ass
.

He’d gotten her to take the grand to ease
his lying, cheating conscience while making himself a five-hundred
thousand, nine-hundred ninety-nine thousand dollar deal. Bye-bye
financial troubles for Jake. He was a rich man while she’d made
enough tips to pay her bus fare for three whole days.

Even better, the article quoted the oil
tycoon joking about what a hard bargain Jake had driven, but with
verified historical ties to the Titanic, it was worth the cost and
he was pleased with the addition to his collection.

Good for him. Good for Jake and his shop.
Good for her that he was out of her life!

“
I’ll call you.”

Another lie. You’d think after the first
three days she would’ve stopped hoping. But it wasn’t until
yesterday—another three days later—that she’d faced the fact he
wasn’t going to call. Never planned to. He’d only said those cruel
little words to make a fast getaway from her dismal life without
giving her the truth face to face.

She’d been drawn to him from the moment
she’d seen him in his antique shop. And then she’d heard his voice.
Gotten to know him over the past year. And then, damn it, the
evening of the snowstorm her heart hadn’t stood a snowball’s chance
in hell.

An initial spurt of anger over his not
calling had quickly dissipated in the loneliness of her bedroom,
and she’d cried herself to sleep wishing his arms were around
her.

This morning, though, in the bright reality
of day, she vowed Jake Coburn didn’t deserve any more of her tears.
She had too much to do with her life to waste it thinking about
him. She deserved better. A fact reinforced by the article in front
of her. She hadn’t even gotten misty eyed when she’d first spotted
the newspaper on the break room table at work this afternoon.

Yay. Good for me
.

Except right now her eyes were burning and
she needed a tissue. On her way to the bathroom, the alien sound of
the doorbell made her jump. Nobody ever came to their place...and
on Christmas Eve?

Oh, God, had something happened to her
mom?

Heart pounding, she rushed to the door. At
the last second, she paused with her fingers on the lock and called
out, “Who is it?”

“Delivery for Loral Evans.”

Delivery? She took a deep breath to calm her
pulse. Okay, good, not an emergency. But then she frowned at the
unfamiliar voice. “From who?”

“Um, my slip says Jake Coburn.”

Anger flared fast and hot. “In that case, go
away.”

Double checking the lock was secure, she
stalked back toward the kitchen to make a cup of tea. The doorbell
rang again. And again. Finally, she shut off the water, banged the
tea kettle on the stove, and returned to the living room to yell,
“Whatever it is, I don’t want it.”