Twenty
Ellory
D uane weaves us through late-afternoon traffic toward Nob Hill, the city glittering gold in the sinking sun. I lean back against the leather seat, trying not to overthink where I’m headed or who’s waiting for me there. My phone lights up with Patrice’s name, and I swipe to answer.
“Well, well,” I tease. “Aren’t you supposed to be primping for your big night?”
She groans. “Third date jitters. He wants me to come back to his place, and I can’t decide if that’s a yes…or a hell no.”
“Mmm,” I hum, grinning. “That’s the crossroads, isn’t it?”
“Exactly. He’s great—funny, smart, actually listens when I talk. But what if he’s one of those guys with cameras hidden in his smoke detectors? I could end up on some grainy video titled Geologist Gone Wild.”
I burst out laughing, startling Duane enough that he glances in the rearview mirror. “Patrice, only you would jump straight from third-date bliss to surveillance paranoia.”
“Hey, it happens!” she says defensively. “And the idea of ending up on the internet in my good bra is not appealing.”
“Simple solution,” I say, still smiling. “Take him to your place. No hidden cameras, no grainy video. Just you in control.”
She sighs. “You’re right. What if he wants to spend the night? Still feels like a big step, though.”
“Third dates usually are,” I remind her. “If you like him, go for it. If not, pour him a glass of wine, kiss him at the door, and call it a night.”
Patrice laughs, her nerves easing through the phone. “You make it sound so easy.”
“That’s because it is,” I say, though a tiny voice in the back of my head whispers how nothing in my own love life is ever easy. “Just remember—your place, your rules.”
“Okay,” she says, more firmly now. “My place it is.”
I’m about to hang up when Patrice’s voice drops. “Okay, so…full disclosure. I had a not-so-fun conversation today.”
My stomach tightens. “With who?”
“Greg Franks at GEM Designs.” GEM supplies us with and maintains many of our tools that Antoine and his team use to design, cut, and fabricate our jewelry at Olivier.
I sit up straighter in the backseat. Greg’s been our guy for years, supplying tools and parts for the cutters. Reliable. Steady. Until now. “What happened?”
“He was in a full-on tither,” she says, the exasperation clear. “Going on about rough stones, saying if we didn’t get our act together, he’d pull the maintenance and warranties on their tools. Said, with the rough stones, we would be pushing the tools beyond what they were designed to do.”
I frown. “How does Greg even know about the stones?”
“That’s the kicker. I asked him straight out, and he clammed up. Said he couldn’t say.”
I don’t even have to think. “Heather.”
“That’s what I think too.” Patrice sighs. “This has her fingerprints all over it.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Okay. Here’s what I want you to do.
Ask Greg if he’ll go to lunch with us—both of us.
If he’s that concerned, he can say it to my face.
No more whispers. We work with rough stones all the time, they’re just not flawed.
” I look at the ceiling of the car and hold back a scream as my blood pressure soars.
Patrice hums in agreement. “Good idea. Maybe, with you there, he’ll stop hedging and spill what he really knows.”
“Exactly. And if Heather’s feeding him information, I want to hear it in his own words.”
“Consider it done,” Patrice says, the earlier lightness back in her voice. “I’ll set it up.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, settling back against the seat. Outside, the streets climb toward Nob Hill, glittering with evening lights. Inside, my mind is already turning over how deep Heather’s reach really goes.
Duane stops in front of Matteo’s building, and the doorman is there to open my door. “Good evening, Ms. Matisse. You can go right up. Mr. Marino is expecting you.”
“Thank you, Miguel.”
During the ride up, I check my lipstick one last time. Nothing is worse than a big smile with red teeth.
When I step off the elevator and into Matteo’s apartment, the lighting is soft, warm and inviting. The table is already set for dinner, candles flickering gently. The space is quiet. Still. Until a tall, athletic blonde appears from the hallway.
There’s a quiet competence about her. Not flashy, just capable.
I don’t know if that makes me feel safer or more replaceable.
“You must be Mr. Marino’s guest,” she says, offering a polite smile.
“I’m Jessica Brandt, the new chef. He’s tucking Amelia in.
Should be out in a minute. Dinner’s in the warming drawer whenever you’re ready.
Can I pour you a glass of wine or mix you a drink? ”
“Oh, um…” I glance around and spot a bottle chilling in an ice bucket. “Wine’s perfect, thank you.”
She pours a glass and disappears through a door in the kitchen I hadn’t noticed before.
I take a cautious sip. The wine is crisp, citrusy, smooth. Absolutely delicious.
Wandering into the living room, I drift toward the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
The view sweeps across the northern edge of the San Francisco peninsula.
Rain fell earlier, and the streets still shimmer, glinting under the streetlights.
The entire city feels lacquered, like someone polished it just for tonight.
God, I love this city.
In the reflection, I catch a glimpse of movement behind me—Matteo. His eyes are locked on mine.
My pulse stutters.
He walks up quietly, his hair still a little tousled, his faded INXS T-shirt hugging every sculpted inch of his chest. He slips his arms around my waist and presses a kiss to the curve of my neck. The second his lips meet my skin, heat floods between my thighs.
“You smell amazing,” he murmurs, his mouth grazing across my neck, licking, nibbling, teasing until my knees nearly give out.
I melt into him.
When he pulls back, my body protests the distance.
“If we don’t stop, we’re going to end up in my bed doing very, very wicked things,” he says, his voice deliciously rough. “Let’s eat first. Then you can tell me why the hell today’s meeting happened in my office instead of in yours.”
“If you insist.” I smile, trying to calm the fire simmering just under my skin. “But only if you tell me why you bailed on the mine tour yesterday.”
“I will. But you first.”
I’ve been dreading this conversation. Not because I don’t trust him but because Heather’s reach is long, and Matteo’s world is messy. We’re both juggling too many fires. “Fine. But bring the bottle of wine. I’m going to need it.”
We head into the kitchen. Matteo opens a few cupboards, then peeks into the oven, clearly unsure where dinner is. I try not to laugh.
“Jessica said it’s in the warming drawer.” I point. “Same one I have at home.”
“You’re very smart,” he says, kissing the tip of my nose. For a split second, I consider dragging him to the bedroom and riding him like the bull he is. But I take a deep breath and behave.
“Not smart,” I tease. “Just hungry.”
We sit down with plates piled high with buttery shrimp and scallops, the scent of lemon zest rising with the steam. Matteo dims the lights and candles flickers between us.
“This is so much better than a restaurant,” I say. “No interruptions.”
“No one to see me do this.” My foot slides from my ballet flat and stretches beneath the table, brushing against him. His sharp inhale is immediate.
I grin and pull away. Later .
I take a bite and groan. The bread is warm, crusty, perfect for dragging through the lemon-butter sauce. “This is amazing.”
Matteo exhales like he’s been holding his breath. “We can do this.”
I’m not sure if it’s meant for me or for himself.
We slip into easy conversation about the visit to Luster, and I gush about the stones we saw, the way Dante and Antoine clicked, how inspired the collection felt.
“But what made you switch the meeting location?” he asks. “Not that I’m complaining. It gave Dante a chance to show off even more. But what about the other designers?”
“Antoine’s the lead and completely onboard. Including the others would’ve tipped off Heather.”
“Heather. That’s your dad’s girlfriend, right?”
I refill my glass. “That’s one word for her. My best friend Sophie prefers ‘gold digger.’”
Matteo throws his head back and laughs. He gets it.
“Is she the first girlfriend you haven’t liked?”
“My father has dated plenty of women,” I say. “But he met Heather a couple of years ago on a dating app for older adults. I don’t blame him. He’s charismatic, vibrant, and built our company from scratch.”
Matteo leans forward, listening. Not interrupting. Just…listening.
“But Heather is a manipulative bitch,” I say, the words sharp but true.
“We actually went to camp together when we were thirteen, but that’s not the problem.
She’s two-faced. When we’re all together she’s overly friendly, too inclusive, like she’s trying too hard.
But the second we’re alone, she’s working an angle.
One that usually ends with me pushed out of the business. ”
“Are you sure she’s trying to edge you out?” he asks gently. “Maybe she just wants a seat at the table.”
I let out a dry laugh. “She’s been working the board behind my back, trying to block me from being named my father’s successor.”
“That’s serious. Does she want to run the company herself?”
“She hasn’t said it outright, but yeah. I’d bet on it. And she knows that won’t happen as long as my dad and I control the majority.”
“Does she even have the experience?”
“She worked her way up at Benderson Jewelry.”
“The mall store?” His brow lifts.
I nod. “Not exactly our clientele, but she gets the basics. She managed a retail location, something she brings up constantly, like I don’t understand how a jewelry business works.
I’ve never run a storefront, but I’ve been in them since I could walk.
And I’ve run the organization the last five years.
I know this company as well as my father does. ”
Matteo grins. “I love seeing you all fired up.”