Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Dexter
“I can’t wait to meet this woman,” Beck said, craning his neck to survey the bustling room as if he had a clue what Hollie looked like. He was overly invested.
I’d been light on detail when he’d pumped me for information about my date with Hollie.
Partly in an effort to throw him off the scent and also because it had taken me by surprise.
Yes, she was fun and warm and so beautiful.
But the way she’d called me out—us both out—for hiding things on our date, the way she’d confessed what she’d been trying to hide and had me do the same .
. . It wasn’t what I’d expected, which made her all the more intriguing.
I’d thought she’d just be another date, just a bit more of a challenge.
And I suppose I thought she’d be funny, given her messages after we’d first met.
But I hadn’t imagined her to be so . . . beguiling.
I never talked about what my brother had done, conspiring behind my back to sell off everything my parents loved to a predator.
As much as I’d like to put it down to the cheese, I knew differently.
She’d been right when she’d accused us both of dancing around secrets and half-truths, but we’d been on a date at a restaurant that pretended to be tucked into the Swiss Alps, not on a psychiatrist’s sofa.
You weren’t meant to confess your deepest, darkest secrets on a first date.
Hollie hadn’t got that memo, and apparently, I didn’t mind too much.
There was something in those green-blue eyes that made me want to tell her whatever she wanted to know.
“You’re not going to meet her tonight,” I said. “This is a work thing. We’re here to find out which five jewelry houses are through to the finals. You’re supposed to be moral support.”
“But she’s here?” he asked. “In this room?”
God, why did I have to bring Beck? He needed to accept that what he’d found with Stella wasn’t for everyone.
“Focus, Beck. Moral support. Remember?”
He snapped his head around. “What? Are you worried or something? Of course you’re going to make it to the finals.” He looked at me as if I’d just told him I was worried about losing a leg bowling, or crashing my car in an empty car park. He had complete faith in me. That’s why he was my brother.
“So how many events like this are there?” he asked. “You seem to have had a lot of man dates recently.” Today’s reveal of the finalists was a buffet lunch overlooking the Thames.
“A lot,” I replied. “They’re trying to raise a ton for charity. I said to Primrose I’d much prefer to write a huge check than turn up at all of them but—”
“No, you need to show your face,” he said. “You don’t want to piss off the organizers and have them think you think you’re too good to mix with your peers.”
“It’s not that. I’m just antisocial.” It wasn’t just that. And Beck knew it.
Beck chuckled. “I know. But they don’t. Sometimes you’ve just got to play the game.”
He sounded like Primrose. But the people I surrounded myself with all had my best interests at heart and that’s why I was here. “That’s why I have so many man dates.”
I spotted Hollie across the room and the tips of my fingers twitched with a need to touch her. It was difficult to miss her. She was all tumbling pre-Raphaelite curls and pale skin, like she belonged in a different century.
My gaze slid from her to who she was talking to and my stomach began to churn.
Charles Ledwin, CEO of Sparkle and a face I’d never forget.
He’d aged, but his face young or old was burned into my memory.
The first time I saw him he’d dropped into my parents’ shop on Hatton Garden as if he were a customer.
Only instead of trying to buy a ring, he offered to buy the place.
My father had barked out a laugh and sent him on his way, but he’d appeared a couple more times.
It was as if he were circling the place, waiting for his prey to weaken.
When my parents died, I told my brother we shouldn’t accept the offer, that we should run the place together, just as our parents had wanted.
But David had been selfish and greedy, and he’d taken Sparkle’s money.
Even now, thinking back to what he’d done, the wound was still fresh. How could he have cared so little for me?
A microphone squeaked across the room, catching everyone’s attention.
The head of the environmental charity being supported by the lunch made a short speech before thanking the room for their donations.
Despite each event being voluntary, every jeweler who’d entered the competition had written a check in support of the charity being spotlighted.
It was smart of the Finish royal family to design a mutually beneficial arrangement—the jewelers all got publicity and the charities received generous donations.
“And now down to business,” the host said. “It’s time to announce the five finalists whose designs will be produced ahead of final judgment.”
“Wait,” Beck said. “There’s no actual jewelry been made yet?”
“Not officially. We’ve submitted the designs.” I’d been able to source most of the stones already and the pieces were all but finished. The only thing I didn’t have was the emeralds, because of my change of heart from Columbian to Zambian.
“These guys are judging off plan, I see.”
“Yeah. It’s not like a building though. A piece can be made or broken because of the stones.
” I understood why the organizers with the Finnish royal family had decided to break the competition down like this.
They wanted the maximum number of entrants at the beginning because that would generate the most publicity and money for the charitable causes being supported.
And it wouldn’t be fair for some of the less-established jewelers to make the pieces unless they were going to have a fair chance at winning.
It would be a huge financial outlay to make a collection for a royal wedding.
I understood all that. I just didn’t agree with it.
It was possible to get a feel for a piece when you saw it on paper, but it didn’t tell you everything about the final ring or bracelet or tiara.
Someone else took over the lectern—I had no idea who.
For years I’d kept my focus on me and my business, not taking too much notice of what was going on in the industry.
It worked for me. I hadn’t gotten bogged down in gossip and politics.
And I’d found a path from which I could honor my parents without hearing the condolences and constant comparisons.
The first name was announced—Garrard. No surprise there. Conservative and steady choice. Then Graff, followed by Cartier.
Two slots left.
I glanced over at Hollie. I’d never seen her anything but smiling, but now her jaw was tense and her expression steady, as if beneath the soft curls and wide smile a layer of steel hid.
“The fourth finalist to go through is Van Cleef and Arples,” the emcee said.
Hollie turned toward me and gave me a forlorn look that conveyed a mutual understanding—at least one of us would leave this room disappointed. I had no idea she’d seen me.
“And the last finalist is . . . Daniels & Co.”
I took a deep breath as Beck clapped me on the back. “Knew you had it.”
I glanced over at Hollie, who looked back with an expression of shock and dismay. I really wanted to go over and comfort her but didn’t want to risk bumping into any of the people from Sparkle. Besides, I’d sworn I’d not greet her in public.
Shit. I pulled out my phone.
“You are a shitty date,” Beck said. “Aren’t you going to get me drunk?”
“Hang on a minute,” I replied, typing out a short message to say I was sorry to Hollie.
I stuffed my phone back in my pocket and watched as she read my message.
She looked up and gave me a forced smile.
I should be delighted that Daniels & Co was in this final without Sparkle. But I had no sense of victory.