The Best of Friends (8 page)

“Is that better or worse than being a reliable used car or a Labrador?”

Jayne’s mouth twitched at the corners. “There are mean-looking tools all over this place. Don’t make me use one on you.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Absolutely. It could get ugly.”

“You can’t take me.”

Jayne stood. “Want to bet? I have years of resentful bitterness on my side.”

Rebecca rose and walked around the table. “I have four-inch heels.”

Jayne’s expression softened. “Thanks for being my friend.”

Rebecca stepped close and hugged her. “Always. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They held on to each other for several seconds.

“It would make me really happy if you told David to buy a house that would piss off my mother.”

Jayne laughed. “I’m sure it would, but I thought you liked David.”

“I do. You’re saying any house that would annoy Elizabeth would be bad for him?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“Oh, sure. Think of everyone but me.” She returned to her side of the table and sank onto her stool. “What’s he seen so far?”

“A place in Malibu. It was lovely, if you’re in to floor-to-ceiling views and forty-seven fireplaces.”

“Forty-seven?”

“Okay. Three or four. It was huge and beautifully done. Ten acres. What does anyone need with ten acres unless you’re keeping livestock?”

“It’s for privacy.”

“I didn’t realize David was being stalked.”

Rebecca laughed. “He’s not, but land means wealth.”

“I guess, but I think it’s silly. And way too expensive. My entire condo is smaller than the master suite.”

“What did he think of it?”

“He said it was nice, but he wants to keep looking.”

“Did he say why he’s looking in Malibu?”

Jayne rolled her eyes. “No, and if he did, I wouldn’t tell you. If you want to know, ask him yourself. You sound like your mother.”

“Hey, there’s no need to be mean. I’m nothing like—”

Her cell phone rang. Rebecca walked to her purse and grabbed it, then stared at the small screen. There was a single word there.

Nigel.

“What?” Jayne asked, hurrying to her side. “Oh. What are you going to do?”

“Nothing.”

She listened to three more rings, then there was silence. A few seconds later, the message envelope popped onto the screen.

“He’s doing this on purpose,” she whispered. “He doesn’t want me, but he doesn’t want me to forget him, either.”

“Does he know you left Milan?”

“I don’t know.” Part of her wondered if he’d gone to see her, only to find out she was gone. Or was that wishful thinking on her part?

“Are you going to listen to the message?”

Rebecca nodded, then pushed the speakerphone button before dialing her voice mail. Seconds later, she heard Nigel’s voice.

“Becca Blue,” he said, that familiar, low voice making her stomach hurt. “Where are you? I can’t get you anywhere. Are you hiding? I have to go to New York in a couple of weeks. Want to meet me there? The usual place? I promise days and nights of fun. Call me.”

Anger replaced longing. She glared at her phone. “That bastard. I’m good enough to fuck, but not good enough to marry?” She pushed the button to delete the message. If only it were so easy to erase it from her memory.

“I’m sorry,” Jayne told her.

“I know. Me, too.”

“Are you going to New York?”

“No. Not even to annoy my mother.”

“Well,” Jayne said sympathetically, “that’s progress.”

If only it were enough, Rebecca thought. She looked back at her phone. She hadn’t heard from Nigel in weeks. Not since he’d gotten married. She was cynical enough to think he wasn’t missing her all that much. She would guess he might be having second thoughts about the blue diamond he’d given her. Was greed more powerful than guilt? She had a feeling she was about to find out.

Seven

AT ONE O’CLOCK, DAVID took the elevator down to the Worden of Beverly Hills boutique. The company offices were on the three floors above the store. His new office was next to his father’s. After nearly two weeks, he was enjoying the transition from the excitement of searching for rare gemstones to a more structured day, complete with meetings and an assistant. He stuck his finger between his neck and his collar. The tie was tougher to accept.

He walked through the back room and into the quiet elegance of the retail store. Recessed lighting illuminated the brilliance of the stones, while polished glass protected millions of dollars worth of inventory. The salespeople were well dressed, knowledgeable, and charming; the carpet was plush; the two security guards by the door were huge and armed.

He glanced around until he saw Jayne leaning over a display of earrings. Her long brown hair fell onto the case. She pulled it away, holding it in one hand, the way women with long hair do. It was one of those unconscious gestures that drove men wild. At least it drove
him
wild.

There was something about Jayne. Something quiet and unassuming. She didn’t demand attention or expect to be in the middle of everything. Yet whenever she spoke, he found himself wanting to listen.

She turned and saw him, smiled and gave him a little wave. Unexpected anticipation coursed through him. As if he’d been waiting for her to show up so his day could start.

“So you brought me back to the scene of the crime,” she said quietly as she approached. “Do I look guilty? I feel guilty.”

“Guilty about what?”

She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “My felony. I stole a necklace from here.”

“No one cares.”

“Ha. That sounds great, but wait until the police find out.”

“I won’t tell them.”

“You say that now, but we’ll see.”

Laughter brightened her eyes. She wasn’t wearing much makeup, so he could see the freckles on her nose. There was something glossy on her lips, something he wanted to wipe away so he could—

“David?”

“What? I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You look… I don’t know. Strange. Are you feeling all right?”

“Great. I’m great. Come on. The elevator is this way.”

He hurried her through the store to the doors at the rear. “This is our workroom. We replace watch batteries, do minor repairs, that kind of thing. Anything big is sent upstairs, where we have two full-time jewelers.”

Jayne hadn’t asked for an explanation, but he felt the need to keep talking. Mostly because, for one brief second, he’d been thinking that he wanted to kiss her. Kiss Jayne.

Talk about trouble. She was his sister’s best friend, his mother’s… he didn’t know how to define her relationship with Elizabeth, but it was a complication. She wasn’t his type. She wasn’t…

He stopped by the elevator and looked at her. She looked back.

“Do you need a glass of water or something?” she asked. “Did you hit your head?”

“No.”

Why not Jayne? She was smart, funny, easy to be with. The only difference between her and the women his mother had wanted him to meet at the brunch was a trust fund and family connections. Neither of which had ever mattered to him. He wasn’t saying he was ready to propose, but there was no reason not to explore the possibilities. Assuming she was interested.

He pushed the up button.

She eyed him cautiously. “I have professional medical training, so if you need help, just say so.”

“What I want is your opinion. That’s why I asked you to come by.”

“You said something about meeting a new designer. Does Rivalsa know you’re cheating on her with someone new?”

“We have multiple designers working for us,” he said as the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside.

“Uh-huh. Just promise me I’ll be in the room when you explain that to you know who.”

He pushed the button for the fourth floor. “I have another house viewing scheduled in a couple of days. Want to come with me?”

“Sure. Maybe something nicer this time. You know, with a real view. And that kitchen? I doubt you could serve more than seventy or eighty people.”

He laughed. “You’re saying it was too much?”

“I’m saying you’re going to need a series of ‘you are here’ maps to find your way around.”

They walked out onto the fourth floor.

“The conference room is over there,” he said, pointing toward the glass doors.

“I thought there’d be more security,” Jayne said, her voice quiet. “A metal detector and one of those things you have to put your palm on. This is very disappointing.”

“We don’t keep the actual jewelry up here.”

“Damn. And I brought my cat burglar suit and everything.”

“Next time,” he promised.

Jayne looked at him and raised her eyebrows. “You say that now, but I’m not sure I can trust you.”

“What does that mean?”

“Apparently, you’re the kind of guy who says one thing and does another.” She smiled. “You moved out of your mother’s house.”

He shuddered. “I had to. She was…”

“Too close?”

“Oh, yeah. She called you?”

“Uh-huh. She’s not a happy camper. I’d get her something small but tasteful, if I were you. But she’s pleased with your choice of hotel. If you have to leave the safe confines of her home, at least you’re suffering at the Four Seasons.”

There was something about the way she said the name. “You have a problem with the hotel?”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “I’m sure it’s lovely.”

“It’s a place to sleep.”

“Oh, please. Do you even know what a room there costs a night?”

He didn’t have a room… he had a suite. “No. Do you?”

“I know if one has to ask, one probably can’t afford it. I’ll be fine.”

He held open the door to the conference room. “The Four Seasons is really close to the office.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me. I’ve heard they have the best turn-down service.” Her eyes sparkled as she spoke.

“Now you’re just mocking me.”

“Uh-huh.”

They entered the conference room. Peter, their marketing director, was there with the designer.

David took care of introductions. “Jayne is a friend of mine. I wanted her thoughts on the pieces.” He waited until Jayne took a seat across from the two men. “I discovered Élan’s work while I was in Spain last year. I asked him to submit a few pieces for us to consider for the stores. They would be exclusive, of course.”

Peter grinned. “Part of the Worden appeal. You can’t get our beautiful jewelry anywhere else.”

Élan put a small black case on the table and opened it. Inside were three rings, two necklaces, and two bracelets. Élan spread them out on a black velvet cloth, then slid the cloth toward David.

While Rebecca’s work was all about lush curves and the female shape, Élan preferred geometry. There was a sharpness to his pieces, a sophistication. He used only white diamonds with platinum, which added to the modernist feel.

David had already studied the diamonds and knew their quality. What he was most interested in was Jayne’s reaction to the collection.

She looked from the jewelry back to him. “What am I doing here?” she asked in a whisper.

“Telling me what you think. You’re our target market.”

She shook her head. “Not if these are real.” She touched the necklace. “Do you have a price point yet?”

Peter waved his hands. “Nothing’s been decided. We’re thinking we want a more mass appeal with this collection. A younger consumer, which will be reflected in the price. Maybe twenty or thirty thousand for the rings. Close to a hundred for the bracelets. Maybe one-fifty or two for the necklaces.”

“I will have earrings, yes?” Élan said. “There was a problem with the mold, and they are not ready.”

Jayne pressed her lips together. “Good to know.”

Élan spent several minutes explaining his vision, where he saw the line going, and what other materials interested him. David listened carefully while trying to figure out what Jayne was thinking. He couldn’t be sure, but she didn’t seem to love the work.

Forty minutes later Élan packed up his samples and left. David promised Peter he would stop by later and angled toward Jayne.

“What were you thinking?” he asked.

“They’re lovely. A little cold for my taste, but I can see a lot of women thinking they’re perfect.”

“And?”

“And… it’s been very interesting getting to see this side of the business. I’ve never been up in the offices or at a meeting like this. I wonder if it’s how companies decide on a new toilet paper.”

He stared at her, not speaking.

She rubbed her cast, tucked her hair behind her ears, then spun in her chair toward him. “What?”

“You’re not telling me what you think. There’s more. I know there is.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. “Call me crazy, but does the world really need another hundred-and fifty-
thousand
-dollar necklace? On what planet does a twenty-thousand-dollar price tag on a ring indicate that it’s more accessible to a younger buyer? Who has that kind of money—not counting your family and all the people you know? Conventional wisdom says that a guy should spend two months’ salary on an engagement ring. Let’s say he makes sixty thousand a year, which is pretty average. That’s ten thousand dollars, pretax. You’re talking twenty, and it’s not even an engagement ring. This may be your world, but it’s not mine, and it’s not normal.”

“The Worden brand is upscale.”

“Everyone in this room is really clear on that.” She pushed to her feet. “I don’t know what you want me to say, David. They’re lovely. And I’ll never be able to afford them. Why can’t you find someone to make jewelry for the rest of us? Don’t we deserve something nice, too? I’m not saying we’ll get the same quality of metal or stones or diamonds the size of small dogs. But something pretty. And affordable. Isn’t that good business, too?”

He rose. “We’ve never gone in that direction.”

“You could try it. Have you heard of Tacori?”

“Sure. Great jewelry.”

“They sell it on QVC.”

“What’s QVC?”

Her expression turned pitying. “It’s a television shopping channel. Everything from vacuums to cookware to jewelry. Tacori does a line for them. It’s exclusive and pretty and affordable in a huge way. I have some earrings, and I always get compliments when I wear them. There are only a handful of people who will ever be able to afford Worden jewelry. What about the rest of us?”

When she said it, the idea sounded simple and obvious. “I’ll look into it,” David said.

“I hope so. Just don’t tell Elizabeth it was my idea.”

“Seven-point-five million,” Jayne breathed as she read the flyer David handed her. “I went online and found a mortgage calculator. That’s over forty thousand dollars a month, assuming twenty percent down. A month!”

“I’ll put more down,” David said.

“Sure, because of the payments.” She looked up at the long driveway. “I like the palm trees. Very L.A. Six bedrooms, five baths. That means someone has to share. I don’t get it. Why would anyone be willing to share? Of course, there’s a separate apartment for the maid. That’s important. You don’t want the help living in.”

“You’re babbling.”

“I know. I’m overwhelmed.”

She was also having second thoughts about helping David with his house hunting. After her little rant earlier in the week, she’d expected him to cancel their appointment. But he hadn’t, and she wasn’t sure why. Nor did she know what she’d been thinking when she told him the Worden jewelry cost too much. Had she really talked about QVC?

The family was rich at a level she couldn’t comprehend, and she’d known them for years. The house in front of them was proof of David’s net worth.

“There’s private beach access,” she said, “but it’s going to be a hike down. And you’ll be dealing with fire danger when the winds come.”

“You’re a worrier.”

“Sometimes. I’m just saying, you’ll want to test out the sprinkler system.”

They walked toward the front door. It was large, with etched glass on either side. The real estate agent opened the door.

“There are so many amazing features to this house,” she said, leading them inside where the two-story entryway stretched for what seemed like miles. “As you can see, this has more of a rustic feel to it, with many natural and green touches. There are solar panels to generate electricity, extra-thick walls to keep the temperature even, and renewable products used wherever possible. The wood beams were recovered from a sixteenth-century cathedral in Germany.”

“Where all good wood comes from,” Jayne whispered.

David nodded but didn’t say anything. He seemed distracted. Maybe he was pissed about what she’d said about the jewelry. Or thought she was being critical about the house. Or judgmental. Which brought her back to wondering why she was here. She should have told him no, that she couldn’t go house hunting with him. Only that would require a level of self-control she simply didn’t have.

The agent led them into a beautiful kitchen the size of an airport terminal. There were three ovens, an eight-burner stove, separate stainless refrigerator and freezer, either of which could have held a couple of bodies, and cupboard space for twenty. There were hand-painted tiles for a backsplash and a huge bay window above the sink.

“I’ll leave you to explore it on your own,” the agent said. “Then meet you by the stairs.”

When she’d left, David ran his hands across the counter. “It’s kinda big.”

“Everything is lovely.”

“But?”

“But nothing.”

“You’re not going to tell me we could store tanks here if the military has a surplus, or an orchestra? That whatever resources were saved by using the restored beams were wasted getting them here?”

She winced. “I don’t mean any of that in a bad way.”

“I know.”

“I guess I talk too much. Some of it is nerves. I don’t want to make a mistake. Some of it is you seem different today. Are you mad at me?”

He circled the car-size island to move in front of her. “Why would I be mad?”

“Because of what I said the other day. I wasn’t being critical.”