Stacey Joy Netzel Boxed Set (26 page)

“I’m not allowed to leave until I’ve made
the delivery.” When she didn’t reply, the man said, “Come on, lady,
I’d love to get home to my family before midnight.”

“Don’t try to guilt me,” she snapped. “Just
go away.”

She stomped into her room and changed into a
pair of faded, ripped-knee jeans and the pink cashmere sweater her
mom had given her for her birthday before the cancer stole
everything away from them.

Hopping to don her slippers on her way into
the kitchen, she thought she heard singing and detoured back to the
door. After peering through the security hole but only seeing the
top of some frosted, spiked hair, she flung open the door and
surprised the young man in the middle of his off-key chorus of
Silent Night.

He scrambled to his feet and smoothed his
tuxedo.

She crossed her arms, wanting to hold on to
her anger, but finding it difficult looking at the fresh-faced kid
with freckles on his nose.

“What’s your name?”

“Glen.”

“Do you have a girlfriend, Glen?”

He looked confused, a bit scared even, but
he nodded.

“Good for you. Now, take yourself on home
and give what ever Jake Coburn sent me to her. And Merry
Christmas.”

When she stepped back and reached to slam
the door, he held out a hand as if to stop her.

“It’s a limo.”

The door halted mid-swing. Her fingers
gripped the wood. “A what?”

“A limousine. I’m your driver.” He bent down
to pick a box off the floor in the hall and shoved it at her.
“You’re supposed to change into this and I’ll drive you downtown to
Benito’s.”

She stared at the box. Then—for curiosity
sake only—she lifted the lid as Glen held it. Atop white tissue
paper tied with a yellow satin ribbon lay a note, scrawled by a
strong, masculine hand.

You already know it’s boxers,

so how about that dinner and a movie?

No signature, but it didn’t need one with
that reminder of him undressing in her room the night of the
snowstorm. Against her better judgment, she parted the tissue and
lifted out a floor-length, light yellow silk gown with flowers and
butterflies embroidered on the fitted bodice—and a red-bodied
dragonfly perched just below the right shoulder. Her size.

Her heart melted with the romance of his
gesture.

The dress was absolutely stunning. It
would’ve been perfect—if it hadn’t been a week too late.

She set her jaw and pushed the gown back in
the box so she could cram the lid back on. Jerk thought he could
get to her with a limo and a beautiful dress? Well, she couldn’t be
bought. Screw him. He didn’t even have the nerve to face her alone.
Man, she’d love to give him a piece of her mind, but if she showed
up now, he’d have the satisfaction of knowing it’d all mattered to
her. Her chest tightened and she swallowed hard. Forget that.

Shoving the box against his chest, she
pushed Glen out the door. “Go away.”

His forlorn look joined forces with her
desire to tell Jake off. She hesitated, door wavering in her grip.
Jake probably thought he was being all nice and romantic, and after
the other night, getting lucky was guaranteed.

A small voice inside protested that Jake
would never do that, but Loral ignored it as she clung to her
anger. Why should she sit here all alone, stewing over his
duplicity? After all her mom had all been through, what they’d
given up and sacrificed these past couple years, didn’t he deserve
to hear exactly what his greed meant to them?

Her hesitation swung to the other side. He’d
set it up perfectly, really, face to face, and he wouldn’t be able
to escape the truth. If he thought a public place would prevent her
from making a scene, he was about to find out he didn’t know her
that well.

“On second thought, Glen, give me one
minute.”

She collected her purse and keys, went to
the closet to grab Jake’s leather jacket, then slammed the door
shut and stalked past Glen.

“Umm…you’re s-supposed to change,” the kid
stammered as he followed her down the stairs.

She kept going, only stopping long enough on
the sidewalk to hold out her hand and demand, “Give me the
keys.”

“I—I can’t do that. I’d lose my job.”

“Then shut up and drive.”

Outside, Glen sprinted past her to open the
back door of the stretch limo. She ignored him and climbed in the
front passenger seat. Through the side mirror, she watched her
tuxedo-clad delivery boy stand at the curb, dumbfounded until he
threw the dress box in the back and ran around to the driver’s
side.

Silence filled the car, and given his stiff
posture and white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, Loral sensed
Glen was too rattled to even turn on the radio. So she reached over
and did it for him. Christmas music filled the air and Loral gave
in to a growing swell of guilt.

“Glen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so
mean to you.”

He flicked her a skittish sideways glance.
“It’s okay.”

“No it’s not. It’s not like any of this is
your fault.”

She noticed his hands ease up on the
wheel.

“It...uh...must be pretty bad for you to be
so angry after he sent a limo.”

Tempting as it was to spill the whole story,
she switched the subject instead. “Do your family plans include
your girlfriend?”

“Yes.” His face lit up. “We have dinner with
my family tonight, and then we’ll spend Christmas day with her
parents.”

A blind man could’ve seen the kid was
smitten.

“Have you been together long?” Loral
asked.

“It’ll be a year this New Year’s Eve. One of
her friends ordered a limo to make the club circuit and after the
first stop she sat up front with me and we talked the whole night.
I’d never met a girl that I could talk to like Cheryl. She’s smart,
and nice, and sweet, and funny. We laugh more than anything, and
God is she pretty when she smiles.”

Forget smitten, he was completely
head-over-heels in love.

Loral rubbed her chest above her breastbone,
trying to ease the ache. That’s why she hadn’t explained to Glen.
She wished she could say how great Jake was, not that he’d hurt and
disappointed her. They used to talk when she came into his shop,
and joke and laugh, which helped her forget her dismal life for
those brief moments.

God, she missed that.

Oh, great
. What the hell was she
doing here?

Before she could open her mouth to tell Glen
to turn around and take her home, he pulled up in front of
Benito’s, the city’s most celebrated restaurant. Glen was out the
door and bounded around the front of the limo to beat the valet to
her door. He opened it with a flourish and a grin, extending his
hand to help her out as if she were a royal princess.

Her hand shook as she took his, and then he
practically dragged her out to face the door.

“Good luck, Loral. Let him have it.”

Fingers clenched on leather, she could only
nod, because now that she’d arrived, her stomach was doing
flip-flops at a rate that was making her nauseous. Stepping up to
the door behind an elegantly dressed couple on their way inside,
she smiled weakly when the man paused to hold the door for her. The
woman took one look and quickly moved aside with a look of
horror.

Just like that, her anger made a raging
comeback.

“Relax. Poverty’s not contagious,” Loral
stage whispered as she swept by with her chin held high. Behind
her, a chuckle from the man turned into an abrupt cough.

She approached the hostess desk and in her
best don’t-mess-with-me voice demanded, “Jake Coburn’s table,
please.”

The girl took one look at Loral’s holey
jeans and froze, a look of utter panic on her face. “Ah, um…one
moment please.”

Loral took the opportunity to glance around.
Like last year for Christmas Eve, Luca had wasted no expense
decorating, and the restaurant sparkled with elegant holiday cheer.
Then again, it could be the stunning extravagance of diamonds and
gold that adorned the ears, necks, and fingers of the city’s
wealthiest patrons. How nice for Jake to no longer have to worry
about money.

“Loral Evans?”

She turned around at the polite inquiry to
see a pregnant woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties. Luca’s
hostess.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Coburn is expecting you. Please come
with me.”

As they wound through the dining tables,
Loral heard the whispers and felt the eyes of the patrons at every
table they passed. Okay, so not changing wasn’t her brightest move,
but tough. When she spotted Jake in a secluded alcove, she reached
to touch the hostess’ shoulder.

“I’ve got it from here,” she said. “Thank
you.”

The woman’s step faltered to a halt. Her
gaze met Loral’s and she inclined her head with a brief smile.
“Enjoy your evening, Ms. Evans.”

Yeah, right
.

Loral straightened her spine and squared her
shoulders in determination. At the table, Jake moved his suit
sleeve aside to check his watch, then glanced in her direction. His
double-take was almost comical when he spotted her storming toward
him.

He rose to his feet, his gaze sweeping down
the length of her. She watched his lips curve into a surprised grin
before he shook his head and laughed. The sound fueled smoldering
embers of anger into a flame, making it a bit easier to ignore how
handsome he looked in his dark suit jacket.

Hands fisted at her sides, the right one
clutching his jacket against her hip, she came to a stop in front
of him. “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

“Right. I’m sorry.”

He cleared his expression. Any contrition
was promptly erased when another chuckle escaped. Heat climbed her
neck and flooded her face.

“Seriously, Loral, I’m sorry. I swear, it’s
not you, it’s me. I should’ve known.”

“Known what?” she ground out.

“That your pride would get—”

“Pride? You think this is pride?”

He started to say something, but stopped
when she stepped closer with a furious glare.

“Aren’t you the one who said none of this
matters?” She swept her arm to encompass the glittering room, and
then her less than elegant jeans. “That’s it’s the person, not the
stuff?
Hold your head high, Loral, keep your dignity
,” she
mimicked. “Well, this is who I am. Not that limo or that dress you
sent. This—” she plucked at her sweater “—is my dignified.”

Jake blinked, dropped his gaze, and leaned
forward to say very quietly, “You’re wearing bunny slippers.”

Gol-damn it, she was. Her ears burned, but
she refused to look down at her feet.

“And there’s a rip in the seat of your
jeans.”

The sound of her mother’s disapproving voice
spun Loral around. Her jaw dropped at the sight of her mother
wearing a shimmering silver evening gown that hugged her slender
curves.

“Wha…
Mom
?”

She looked amazing—like herself again. What
the hell was going on?

“Close your mouth, dear, it’s undignified,”
her mother instructed.

Behind her, Jake’s chuckle turned into a
cough, just like the gentleman at the door earlier. Loral latched
onto the one thing that made sense right now and swung back to face
him. She raised her arm and shoved his jacket into his chest.

“I don’t need this, you know.”

Surprise flashed across his face. He
recovered quickly and set the jacket aside with a small smile. “I
wondered where this had got to.”

“Bull. You took your keys, wallet, and phone
out of the pockets before you left. Stop lying for once.”

Any hint of humor disappeared from his face.
“I’ve never lied to you.”

“No? Let’s count, shall we? One:
I don’t
think you should sell this, Loral
.”

“I didn’t think you should.”

She continued as if he hadn’t even spoken.
She was on a rant here.

“Two:
it might be worth more than a
thousand
.”

“It was—which is why I sold it back to your
mom.”

“Three:
I’ll call you
.”

Damn
. She hadn’t intended to bring
that one up. It made it sound like she cared. And—wait, whoa, she’d
missed something.

“You’re right about that last one,” Jake
agreed. “I should’ve called.”

“Wait, back up.” She glanced at her mother,
then at Jake. “What did you say?”

“I should’ve called.”

She narrowed her eyes in silent warning.

“I sold the dragonfly back to your mom for
the original thousand dollars.”

Amazement shifted her gaze, and her mother
gave a nod of confirmation. “Last night while you were working.
This morning I met Mr. Harper and we completed the transfer before
the banks closed, then I gave Jake his ten percent broker’s
fee.”

Sixty grand instead of six hundred?
Confusion smothered her waning anger. Sixty thousand might help his
business for a little while, but six hundred thousand could’ve set
him up for life. People didn’t do things like that.

No matter that she’d been hurt and angry
thinking he’d cheated them out of the money, now her pride rebelled
and resentment fueled her glare.

“That’s quite the charity donation.”

Jake flinched, but said nothing to defend
himself. It was her mother who spoke up.

“It had nothing to do with charity,
Loral.”

She kept her gaze locked with Jake’s, all
the while trying to figure out why he’d give up the brooch. A
horrible feeling welled inside, and she wished she could go back to
the apartment and put the dress on.

“Then why?” she whispered.

Again, it was her mother who answered.
“Because it was the right thing to do.”

Surprise flashed in Jake’s eyes as his gaze
jerked to her mother.

“What exactly does that mean?” Loral asked
when he remained silent. From the corner of her eye, she saw her
mother take a breath and held up a hand. “I’m asking Jake.”