The Sapphire Pendant (26 page)

“Pushing her away isn’t going to solve anything.”

He threw his pen with such force that it bounced against the wall and flew in the opposite direction. He pinned Jessie with a glare so venomous that her blood chilled. “This conversation is over.”

She wanted to nod, but couldn’t move her head.

His low voice cut through the silence of the room. “I know she’s not safe here. I know that she belongs with her father, and she will. Do you have anything else to say?”

“No,” she said in a choked voice.

“Good.” He returned to his work.

Jessie stared at him, wondering if any action might set his anger loose. She had once wanted to provoke his rage; now she wasn’t so sure. She narrowed her eyes. Then again, a Clifton never backed away from an argument. And yet there was something inherently dangerous about his calm that would make his anger twice as frightening.

He abruptly dropped his pen and pressed his palms against his eyes. “Jasmine, don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

He let his hands fall and turned to her. “Like I’m the big, bad wolf and you’re Snow White.”

The corner of her mouth quirked. “You’re mixing your fairy tales.”

“You know what I mean.”

Her gaze fell. “Yes.”

Silence descended.

He muttered something under his breath, then sat down next to her. She moved away, because she didn’t want him to sense how she felt.

He said, “I didn’t mean to—”

Not again!
Her eyes flew up to meet his. “Stop apologizing for being human! How can we have a nice, healthy argument if you apologize all the time, especially when you’re right? I know I’m overstepping my boundaries and I know you’re doing the best you can, so you have every right to be vexed with me.”

“I’m not vexed.”

“No,” she said slowly. “The word is angry.”

Some dark emotion flickered in his eyes. “No, I could never be angry with you. Ever.”

“Yes, you could.”

He held her gaze. “No.”

She only smiled.

He lifted a brow. “You enjoy provoking me, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

He nodded and turned, his mouth twisting into a smile or a grimace; she wasn’t sure which. She did know that his mask was in place, fastened by his iron will. She could almost feel the energy it took to guard his emotions, to make sure he didn’t reveal too much. But what could be too much? He had his personal demons that he kept hidden, but for all his controlled anger, she sensed no cruelty in him, felt no survival instinct to flee when anger slipped through the fissures of his mask. No, she would never fear his anger. It made him all the more human.

She watched him as he rested his elbows on his knees, his thoughts elsewhere. “Kenneth?”

“What?”

“I did miss you.”

He said nothing, then suddenly turned and rested his head in her lap. “I didn’t miss you at all.”

She stared at him, stunned, then hit him on the arm. “Well, thanks a lot.”

He lifted her blouse. “Are you wearing my favorite bra?”

She slapped his hand away. “No.”

“I still can’t look at Glenda without grinning. I’m afraid she might think I’m flirting with her.”

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” she said dryly.

“No, she looks like a B cup.”

“Kenneth!”

He looked pensive. “However, I do like variety.” He cupped the air. “It’s more the shape than size that’s alluring.”

“She’s married.”

“Which makes them all the more attractive—a married woman’s breast has that special forbidden quality.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He glanced up at her. “Remind me to give you the building entrance code so that you can visit me anytime you want. We can be ridiculous together any time we want to.”

“Kenneth!”

He yawned. “I love that office. You know, when I was first appointed CEO, I slept there. The job was my life, and I couldn’t afford to fail. I couldn’t let Mr. Radson down.” He closed his eyes and smiled. “Hmm, that’s nice,” he said as she gently stroked his hair. “No, don’t stop. Yes, that’s better. Thank you.” He rubbed his cheek against her thigh. “I remember the first time I met him. I’d seen him carrying boxes from his car, and I offered to mow his lawn. Unfortunately, I scared the poor man. I shouldn’t have sneaked up behind him like that.

“He spun around and dropped all his boxes. I picked them up for him and introduced myself, while he stared at me as if I were a mugger. He asked me all these questions about myself. I must have answered them correctly, because from then on, he was my mentor.” His voice began to drift off. “I know some of the board members don’t trust me, but I’ll eventually show them that Mr. Radson was as much family to me as he was to them…” He fell asleep.

She considered waking him, but decided against it.

Half an hour later, he jumped up so suddenly that Jessie shrieked.

He looked at her, stunned. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Yes.”

A light blush of color entered his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s okay, Samson, your hair is still there.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you—”

“Of course you don’t trust me. You don’t trust anyone.”

Since that was the truth, he didn’t argue. He stood and picked up her binder. He flipped it open and scanned its contents. “What’s this?”

She reached for it. “My plan to become an independent consultant.”

He blocked her hand, still reading. “In what?”

“Business.”

He glanced up. “Why?”

“Because it’s lucrative.”

“Hmm.” He nodded and closed the binder. “It’s a nice plan, but it’s not you.”

She frowned. “I can do it. I’ve taken night courses and everything.”

“I don’t doubt your knowledge. It’s…” He searched for words. “You’re not the business type.”

She folded her arms. “You mean I’m not like Brooke or Stephanie.”

He nodded in agreement. “No, you’re not.”

“And what would you have me do? Serve desserts for the rest of my life?”

He sat down and stretched out his legs. “I’d always thought you’d design and create jewelry like your father, or at least work in the field as a clerk in the store. You know so much about stones and the history of different jewels. You’re honest, free, artistic.”

“It’s not a practical profession.”

“So? Who says you have to be practical? You’d make a decent living. You don’t have to be like Michelle and go into business, or teach people like Teresa. You’re Jasmine. Do what you’re supposed to do.”

If only she knew what that was. “I already told you BJ is keeping the tradition.”

He tossed the binder on the couch. “You could do other things. Do a reading for me. You used to do readings for everyone except me.”

“I didn’t bring my stones with me.”

“Bring them over tomorrow. I’m willing to pay you.”

“No.”

He looked disappointed, but shrugged. “I’m sure a lot of other people would pay.”

“Yes, I know, but that’s just entertainment, not a real career.”

“You’re making excuses. You could use your knowledge in other fields. You could be a jewelry historian or a gemologist.”

“I’m not making excuses. I don’t want to go into the field.”

“Why are you so scared to be like your father? He was an admired man and good at his trade.”

And that’s all it was—a trade. Like a mechanic or a plumber. He’d had no great ambition to design the next Peacock Throne, an extravagant piece made up of diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. Or to own a store of his own. He had been content to fix the clasp of a bracelet, reset a pearl ring, or create simple broaches and earrings to sell to ordinary people. And then there were the stories (from the Kohinoor seized by Persia’s Nadir Shah to the diamond necklace that led Marie Antoinette to the guillotine) he told his stories to passing strangers, engaging them so completely that they missed buses and dinner reservations. She loved her father, but she wanted to be more than something ordinary and forgettable.

“I’m not like my father.”

“You’re just too scared to be who you are.”

She laughed. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.”

His jaw tightened. “What does that mean?”

“You take care of your brother’s child, pay your relatives’ bills, and suffer through a job you hardly enjoy.”

“I enjoy my work, and my family needs me.”

“I think you just need them to need you.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

She tapped her chest, her tone rising. “I know that you live a lie every day and that you have no business telling other people how to live a life you’re too afraid to live.”

His eyes hardened, but his voice grew soft. “And I know that you try to act brave on the outside, but inside you’re terrified of who you are. Go ahead and try to be a carbon copy of Michelle. Try to be tough and cool. Just like your other jobs, you’ll fail at that too.”

She clenched her teeth. “I’m not a failure.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

She snatched her binder and stood. “You didn’t need to.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. “Where are you going? I thought you liked to argue.”

“I changed my mind.” She elbowed him in the ribs and jumped up.

He feigned disbelief. “You mean you lied to me?”

“I didn’t lie.”

He stood. “Then why are you walking away?”

“Because I want to.”

He grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Chicken,” he said, in soft challenge.

She dropped her binder, then quickly shifted her position, tossing him over her shoulder. He fell on his back. “I don’t suggest you do that again.

He grinned up at her. “I’d like to offer you a challenge.”

She rested a foot on his stomach. “You’re not in the position to offer me anything.”

“I guess I’ll have to change that.” He yanked on her leg and brought her down hard. Before she could recover, he pinned her arms to the ground and straddled her. “That’s better.”

She struggled beneath him. “Get off me.”

“Now, that’s a first,” he said, thoughtful. “Never heard that before.”

“Kenneth!”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” He held her with careless strength. “Is that all the fight you have in you?”

“You weigh tons.”

“Here’s my challenge. You make a piece of jewelry, and I’ll buy it.”

She stopped struggling and stared at him, confused. “Why?”

“I’m interested to see what you’d come up with.”

“I’m not a jewelry maker, I’m a businesswoman.”

He stared at her for a moment, then stood, frustrated. “No, you’re not.”

She tripped him and jumped on him before he could recover. “I may not be Michelle or Brooke, but I’m smart and I can be ruthless.”

He didn’t fight her. The position was too comfortable. “No, you can’t. You have too much passion. All someone has to do is look in your eyes and see what you feel.”

“That’s not true.”

He suddenly rolled on top of her, his elbows resting on either side of her head. “Right. So when are you going to kiss me?”

“I don’t want to kiss you.”

“Now you’re lying.” He pressed his mouth to hers and immediately felt a pleasurable sense of release, of coming home. “I lied too,” he whispered. “I did miss you.” He brushed his lips against hers, then halted when he felt her knee positioned at a very dangerous angle against his groin.

“Let me up,” she said.

“Are you still angry?”

“I will be.”

He wasn’t too concerned. He knew he could move before she did any major damage. He opened his mouth to respond, but stopped at the sight of a pair of jeans. Syrah asked, “Are you fighting or making up?”

He quickly rolled off Jessie and stood. “I was just showing Aunt Jasmine some fighting moves. Right?”

She grabbed her binder and hit him on the top of the head. “Yes, and he lost.”

* * *

Syrah watched Jessie leave and slam the front door. Damn, they were arguing again. Why did adults like to argue so much? She would have to find a way to fix things. She wanted them to like each other. Perhaps she could give Aunt Jessie something and make her feel better.

She raced to her room. There she searched through her drawer and grabbed her special sock. She’d been able to return the ring and a broach, but nobody wanted that ugly bracelet. She picked it up. Since no one else wanted it, Aunt Jessie might as well have it.

* * *

Arrogant jerk
, Jessie fumed, kicking gravel in the driveway. She wasn’t scared of anything. How dare he imply she was trying to be Michelle. Her business plan was sound. It was a great idea; she was smart. She walked towards her car. The man had an ego the size of Greenland. Who was he to tell her about herself? Did he honestly think she wanted to spend her life with her father’s reputation? Her father had been a man people openly admired, but privately thought a little strange.

Granted, Dad loved his work and made a decent income, but it was nothing extravagant, not something that people would look at in awe and talk about for years. Did he think she wanted to be like her antisocial cousin, locked in the shop all day with metal and gems? She wanted to be noticed for something, to make a difference somehow. Their lives were not for her, and Kenneth—the man of many masks—had no right to imply that it was.

She kicked a large stone that turned out to be the top of a boulder. She stubbed her toe and swore, jumping up and down as she rubbed her sore appendage.

“Aunt Jessie, are you okay?” Syrah asked, coming up to her.

She gently put her foot down. “Yes, love. Thanks.”

Syrah adjusted her cap. “You and Uncle were fighting, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” Jessie bit her nails. “It must make the house very uncomfortable for you.”

“Nah. It’s sort of funny to hear you two fighting. When my parents used to fight, it wasn’t funny at all. My father would swear, and my mother would throw things. That usually happened when Dad was drunk.”

Jessie’s heart constricted painfully as the truth showed itself. “Does he still like to drink?”

“A lot.” She suddenly covered her mouth and looked at Jessie in horror. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything. Don’t tell—”

“Don’t worry.” Jessie knelt in front of her and held her shoulders. Her voice was gentle. “Is that why you came to your uncle?”