“Or what? What would you do?” He stepped closer.
Good question. Julia looked behind her, then back at him. See, this is why I should have taken the salesperson job at the mall. But I thought, Night security—that will give me more time to read and network during the day. Where are you, Paul, when I need you? That’s it. Paul. “I won’t have to do anything, because my partner is already on his way up. In fact, the next time that elevator opens, it’ll be him, and he is twice your size and has taken just enough steroids to have a little rage, if you know what I mean. I’ll do what I can to hold him off, but if he catches you, that gorgeous face of yours will never look the same.”
A predatory smile stretched his lips. He closed the short distance between them, effectively pinning her against the wall between his arm and the door. “I don’t believe you,” he said, his voice deep and husky. He studied her as if he were trying to solve a puzzle. “Are you going to tell me what you’re really doing here?”
Her voice tight in her throat, she said, “I told you. I’m security.”
He opened his mouth to say something, and Julia lost control. Attraction peaked and collided with panic. Her frantically searching hand closed on a lamp on the table beside them. With one swift move she cracked him in the temple with it. He stumbled back and raised a hand to the assaulted area. “What the hell . . . ?”
They both froze. His eyes lit with a fire that set her heart racing.
In the doorway, a male voice broke in. “Mr. Andrade. Are you okay? What happened?”
Julia put the lamp down quickly and swayed a bit beneath the realization of what she had just done. “Mr. Andrade. As in, George Andrade?”
Still looming angrily over her, he said, “Gio. No one calls me George.” He addressed Paul curtly. “She works here?”
“Yes, sir. For over a month.”
Glittering black eyes bored into Julia as she smiled awkwardly back at him. “I didn’t recognize you.”
“Evidently.” He rubbed the red mark on his left temple.
Paul stepped forward with concern. “I’m so sorry, sir. This is my fault. I ran next door to get medicine—”
Gio held up one hand to silence Paul, and the gesture proved impressively effective. In this jungle, money trumps muscle, Julia thought sarcastically. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Right now—”
Tomorrow. Tonight. Time. Crap. Julia glanced at the clock. Seven thirty. Shit. She turned apologetically to Paul. “Oh, my God, Paul. I am so sorry. I’ll take the heat for this. I promise. This was all my fault. Write it up however you need to. I would, but I can’t stay. I’m already late.”
She made the mistake of meeting the eyes of the man who still looked dazed from his encounter with the lamp. She instinctively reached toward his temple in sympathy, then dropped her hand. “I’m sorry. I should have studied the photo book Paul gave me better. It’s just that you were dressed like . . . and then you were all . . .” She frowned. “You could have just told me who you were and none of this would have happened, but we don’t have time to go into that now. Don’t be mad at Paul, okay? He has a stomach bug. But normally, he’d die to protect you. Who else can you say that about?” She glanced quickly at the clock again and said, “I totally understand if you need to fire me, but can you do it tomorrow?”
She turned and fled.
After her whirlwind departure, Gio looked across at Paul. “Just tell me you didn’t issue her a gun.”
Chapter Two
Julia stepped out of the taxi and onto the busy sidewalk in midtown Manhattan. She hesitated for a moment, reread the address she held in her hand, then squared her shoulders, shifted her jewelry-laden messenger bag higher on her shoulder, and strode toward the entrance of what appeared to be a bar.
A bar? And if the crowd in the windows was any indication, a popular one at that. Julia stepped inside and tried to remain optimistic. With a live band? New Yorkers play by their own rules. Who needs to discuss business in an office when you can do it and watch live entertainment at the same time? This doesn’t have to change anything. So, there won’t be room for me to use the mini display case I made. I’ll just show him individual pieces. The band began to play a fast song with a heavy bass line that virtually shook the photos hung on the wall. People stood shoulder to shoulder, and Julia squeezed between gyrating couples as she searched for a familiar face.
The scene was worlds away from the small ocean-town bars Julia was used to, but she didn’t let her determination waver. I’ll go to an office, to a bar . . . hell, I’ll meet someone in a back alley . . . I don’t care. I will sell my jewelry in New York. This crowd, that band—they won’t stop me.
A roving hand caressed her derriere as she squeezed between a cluster of inebriated men. She spun on the offender and grabbed him by the collar of his neck, pulling him down so she could speak directly into his ear. “I grew up in a neighborhood of all boys. I will seriously fuck you up if you touch me again.”
It wasn’t true, but it didn’t have to be. Not according to The Power of Believing, a book she had purchased to cheer herself up back in Rhode Island—a book that had changed her life. Want to succeed? Believe that you can. Want to intimidate someone? Believe that you are someone they should fear.
The drunken man took a step back and raised both of his hands in a move that showed he was backing away. That small triumph bolstered Julia’s confidence. I can do this.
As she turned away from Mr. Wandering Hands, she saw Bill Pritt waving her over to a corner booth. She slid into the booth next to him with relief.
Dressed in an off-the-rack suit and tie, Bill looked exactly as she remembered him from the day she’d met him: a slightly out-of-shape businessman in his early forties. They’d both been hailing taxis on Fifth Avenue and, when one came, he’d offered to share the ride with her. A quick look at his left hand revealed he was married, and that had given Julia the reassurance she needed to join him. While the taxi navigated the heavy traffic, he’d asked her what brought her to the Diamond District, and the story of why she’d come to New York had spilled out of her.
She hadn’t expected him to be interested, but he had listened attentively and then surprised her by telling her he worked for a large jewelry chain and was always scouting for new designers. They’d exchanged phone numbers and Julia had smiled her way through her shift that day. Their meeting had been a sign. Unable to help herself, she’d called everyone back home to tell them about the opportunity. Now all I have to do is close the deal.
Smiling down at her, he leaned in closer than she was personally comfortable with, but likely necessary given the deafening level of the music. “I was getting ready to leave. I thought you’d changed your mind.”
Forcing a bright smile onto her face and shaking off the disaster the night had already been, Julia said, “Absolutely not. I was thrilled to get your call.”
“I’m glad,” he said and waved the cocktail waitress over. “Two dirty martinis.”
“I don’t actually . . .” Julia almost said “drink,” then thought better of it. What am I going to ask for? A soda? Why not go all out and order a Shirley Temple? Remember, sophisticated. Strong. Of course I drink martinis. “Thank you.”
When they were alone again, Julia said, “I brought all kinds of samples with me. These are in copper and aluminum with fake gemstones,” she said, pulling a few pieces out of her bag. “I have a couple made with more expensive materials, but I don’t like to carry them around with me. Of course, if you put in an order, all of these will be made with the highest quality materials I can afford.” Why did I add that last part? It makes me sound like . . . like who I am. An amateur. “I mean . . .”
He put his left hand down on her thigh and gave it a suggestive squeeze. “Let’s not talk business yet.”
Julia sat up, grabbed his hand, and dropped it on the table as if it were a napkin that had fallen to the seat. The ring he’d worn the day they’d met was missing, but an indent was still visible. Jul
ia’s mood downshifted in stages: Confusion. Disbelief. Then finally, a growing understanding that was accompanied by an overwhelming surge of disappointment and anger. “I thought you were interested in my pieces.”
“I am,” he said, his eyes glittering with an interest Julia didn’t welcome. “All of them.”
Skin crawling, Julia scooted back and stood, shaking her head in revulsion. “You’re married.”
He reached forward and grabbed her forearm. “My wife doesn’t care what I do.”
Julia shoved at his hand. “Don’t touch me.”
He didn’t release her. “Come on. Sit back down. You can show me what you brought with you if it’s so important to you.”
Just then, the cocktail waitress arrived with their drinks. With her free hand, Julia picked up one of the martinis and poured it over Bill’s head. He released her arm and cursed loudly.
Opportunities only come when you’re strong enough to take them on. This is good. It’ll toughen me up. Before walking away, Julia said, “I’m not sorry I came here tonight. You know why? Because you just made me very angry, and anger is a motivating emotion.” According to her second favorite book, Stress to Success. With that, she spun and pushed her way through the crowd, hoping her bravado wouldn’t fail before she found the door.
When she approached the area where Mr. Wandering Hands was still standing, he stepped back and tapped his friends to do the same so she could pass. Bag clutched tightly and head held high, she walked through the path they’d opened for her.
“I told you she’s feisty,” Mr. Wandering Hands said to his friends. “I’m in love.”
She paused and glared at him. “You’d have a much better chance with women if you didn’t grab at them as they walk past.”
He blushed and ducked his head, and Julia guessed he was much younger than whatever his ID claimed.
Perfect way to round off the day.
Groped by a teenager. Propositioned by a married man.
And don’t forget probably fired.
Julia exited the bar, hailed a cab, and tried to stem the tears that were welling within her. I’ll grow from this tomorrow. Right now I just feel like an ass.
I’m such an idiot. That guy is probably not even a jewelry buyer. Why did I think I could do this? I’m not a businesswoman. I don’t belong in New York City. What the hell am I doing?
She entered her building and walked up the three floors to her tiny studio apartment. Her phone rang.
“Jules. I know I shouldn’t call you tonight, but I figured if you were still in your big business meeting you wouldn’t answer.”
“Hi, Dad,” Julia said sadly as she opened the door to her apartment, then closed it heavily behind her. She hung her bag on the wall hook, stepped out of her shoes, and walked toward her bed that doubled as her couch. “How’s Mom?”
“She’s doing well. We’re hopeful about the new doctor we’re using.”
“That’s good. That’s really good. Is she awake?”
“No, hon. She already went to bed for the night. The medicine makes her tired, but she isn’t as anxious when she gets confused. I told her you were doing well, and that made her happy. So, tell me. Which piece sealed the deal?”
Julia sank onto the corner of her bed and slumped forward. “I didn’t get it, Dad. He didn’t want my jewelry.”
“Then he’s an idiot. Don’t give him a second thought.” Julia almost smiled, remembering that her father had said close to the same thing about every boy she’d pined for since grade school. They didn’t make many men like her father—gentle giants who loved with every fiber in them. Julia had always loved it when her mother spoke of how they’d met. Elizabeth had been driving home to the Carolinas, down the East Coast, after graduating from college and had planned to drive through Rhode Island without stopping. Her car had overheated within state lines, and he had pulled over to offer help. Flirtation had led to coffee. The story was a little vague after that, but her mother had never made it home. She’d stayed and married her father, and together they’d built the family business, Bennett Wood Creations, which was part showroom and part factory. Her father was a gifted furniture designer and craftsman. Her mother had excelled at finding buyers and keeping the books. They’d made a good team—an artist and a business-minded woman.
Until Mom got sick.
Flopping back into the thick, flowered comforter on her bed, Julia confessed, “I may have also been fired from my job today.”
Just as she expected, her father’s support didn’t waver. “From the security gig? That’s not a career anyway. It’s a filler job. You’ll have another one before you know it.”
I wish I could believe that. “I don’t know, Dad. What if I don’t have what it takes to make it here?”
Her father cleared his throat. “You can always come home, Jules. You know that.”
“All it would take to get the books current is one good deal, Dad. I have to try.”
“It’s just a business, Jules. It’s not what matters.” The sadness in his voice tore at Julia’s heart. Her father would do anything for her and for his wife, but he wasn’t a businessman. He’d tried to downplay the seriousness of his situation, but Julia knew how close he was to losing everything.
Her mother would have known how to turn it around. She would have known exactly what to say to the bankers, who had begun pressuring her father to sell the land to local developers before they claimed it and auctioned it off themselves. The hardest part of Alzheimer’s was, although her mother was there, still laughing and playing cards with her father, the sharp woman she’d been was gone.
Leaving Dad and me to fend for ourselves.
And we were cut from the same dreamer cloth.
No, I will no longer limit myself with narrow definitions of who I am. I’m a reasonably intelligent person. I can learn to be a businesswoman.
I must have some of my mother in me.
It was that decision that had started Julia reading motivational business books. Surround yourself with those you want to emulate. Want to land an opportunity? Put yourself where opportunities are plentiful. Want to be a business shark? Swim with sharks.
Less than four hours from her home and boasting one of the world’s largest collections of jewelry businesses, New York had been a natural choice for Julia. Working nights allowed her to frequent the Diamond District and learn which pieces were selling and which weren’t. It was a culture shock, but not all bad. New Yorkers were sharply dressed, blunt in their speech, and willing to fight to death for a taxi. She respected them even as she struggled to keep up with them.
“It does matter, Dad. It matters to me.”
“It’s not a weight that belongs on your shoulders. I have some options I’m considering.”
Julia sat up and wiped her tears away. “Don’t do anything until I come home, Dad. This is going to work out. You and Mom have been the best parents anyone could ever ask for. I would still be selling my jewelry out of your furniture store if Mom hadn’t gotten sick. You always believed in me.”
“That’s what parents do, Jules.”
“No. Not all parents, Dad. Good parents. And I know I don’t have to do this for you. I want to do this. I will do this.”
With a voice that was thick with emotion, her father said, “New York is about to discover an incredible artisan. I believe that. You’ll find a buyer. You know why? Because you have your mother’s heart. She was always a scrapper. If this is what you feel you need to do, then you get back out there, Jules, and you fight for it. Not for Mom and me. But for you.”
Wiping away a fresh tear, Julia said, “I will, Dad. I’ll make you proud.”
“I’m already proud, Jules. Now go get some rest. Tomorrow is a whole new day. Love you.”
“Love you more,” Julia whispered and hung up. She fell back onto her bed and covered her eyes with one arm.
It won’t be hard for tomorrow to be better than today.
Although, today could have bee
n worse. I could have accidentally killed Gio Andrade with that lamp instead of just stunning him. An image of her boss, eyes flashing with fury while he touched the wound on his temple, brought a fresh flush of color to her cheeks. Her breath caught as she remembered how he had looked when he’d turned around from his secretary’s desk—so arrogant, so in control.
Well, I knocked that right out of him.
She groaned at the memory.
And then actually wondered if he was attracted to me.
Because nothing is hotter than a good ol’ smack to the side of the head.
I’m sure he’s lying in his ridiculously plush bed thinking about me tonight.
Yeah, right.
Oh, my God. I’m going to be arrested when I go to work tomorrow.
Gio restlessly turned over in his bed. Another sleepless night. This time, however, he wasn’t thinking about any of his international projects. Nor was he cursing his family for distracting him from more important matters.
No, tonight he was plagued by the image of a woman he had no business thinking twice about. If there was one rule Gio had always adhered to, it was never mix business with pleasure.
Rolling onto his back, he tested the tender skin on his bruised temple and winced. He should have told Paul to fire her on the spot. That crazy brunette was obviously completely unsuited for security work. Beyond not recognizing the owner of the business she was supposedly guarding, she was dangerously unpredictable.
A fact that didn’t stop his cock from stirring to life at the memory of how her legs had seemed to go on forever. He shook his head and groaned as the movement sent a knifelike pain through his head. Still, his erection grew as his traitorous mind conjured images of what she would have looked like in just those high heels.