Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
PLAN OF ATTACK
I spent the rest of the week prepping for an upcoming job.
We’re setting up a protection detail for a Grammy Award–winning singer named Shyanne.
She’s set to perform two nights at the United Center here in Chicago next month.
There’s a lot to handle, and most of that involves the assignments of my men and women at each event.
Shyanne not only has the actual concert for us to cover, but she’s also doing television and radio interviews.
The issue we have relates to her entourage.
Why do these performers think they need twenty-three people to travel with them?
I know some are there to do her hair and makeup, while others are costume people.
The rest are just hangers-on, freeloaders, and bloodsucking leeches.
Yeah, I’ve got issues with those people.
Seriously, it’s nuts. Not only do we need to protect her, but we’ve also got to do background checks on the “friends” and have to keep eyes on them the entire time.
I hope my crew of fifteen people will be enough.
As I contemplate the deal with the diva, my mind wanders back to MacKenzie.
I regret the day at the jogging trail. I just didn’t expect her to recognize me and then act excited to see me.
I feel like an utter asshole. Setting my laptop and notes on the coffee table, I lay my head back and close my eyes.
“I need a plan,” I say aloud. A plan of attack.
I want to talk to her, but I don’t want her to think it was contrived, even though it’s contrived as hell.
Running my fingers through my hair, I pull the ends up and tug.
It’s a bad habit of mine, to play with my hair.
It’s surprising I’m not bald, to be honest. I take deep breaths until an idea comes to me.
“I could shop at her store. Mom’s birthday is coming up.
I’m sure she’d like more jewelry. A woman can’t have too much jewelry, right?
” Jesus, I need to stop talking to myself.
A plan is forming in my mind, and I think I like it.
I can’t do it so soon after the jogging trail debacle, so I’ll wait a week from today to stop in to the store on Mom’s actual birthday. Yeah. That should work.
The seven days pass by at a snail’s pace, but it’s finally Friday, Mom’s birthday.
I dress in my favorite jeans, soft and worn at the knees from years of wear.
People pay good money for jeans just like these, but I’ve created them on my own.
I slide on a faded gray T-shirt that says “I Wonder If Tacos Think About Me Too…” My sister bought this for me a couple of years back because tacos are my favorite food group.
I could eat them every day for every meal.
No joke. That’s why I have to work out at least four times a week.
Addiction, thy name is tacos. It’s a funny shirt, and if my first impression of MacKenzie is right, she’ll laugh when she sees it.
I pull out my black Converse tennis shoes and a black hoodie.
I’m probably underdressed for her store, but I need to look casual.
At approximately fifteen hundred hours, I step into One of a Kind.
I’ve already cased the place, so I know she’s working and that she’s got her hair pulled up into some messy bun thing on top of her head.
Her bright auburn tendrils are falling loose like they’re just not quite long enough to stay put.
She’s wearing a pair of black slacks that highlight her phenomenal ass and a plain black V-neck sweater.
It’s simple but elegant and sexy as fuck.
She’s wearing flat shoes, no doubt because she’s on her feet all day long.
She’s been to lunch, and MacKenzie is now back working in the store alone, something I really don’t like.
She’s in the back room when I step into the store and begin casually looking through the cases.
I really do need a gift for my mom, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to find anything for her here. She’s got particular tastes.
I’ve relaxed and become immersed in the search when I hear her voice. “Hi, can I help you find anything?” I look up, and she sees my face. I hear a tiny gasp, but she stays calm. She corrects herself quickly and gives me a shy smile.
“Uh, yeah. I’m looking for a gift for a special lady.” I’m not sure why I said it like that.
“Oh, okay,” she says tentatively. “Can you give me an idea what you’d like to buy for your wife or girlfriend?”
I don’t answer her because I like how she sounds a little sad—wondering about my marital status. “I’m not sure yet. Let me walk around, and when I see something I like, I’ll let you know.” I like her. I wish I could just take her home.
“Oh, okay. Sounds good.” She steps away and moves to the opposite side of the store.
I glance through the cases in the center of the store, then make my way around the perimeter.
When I reach the jewelry case in the furthest corner of the shop, near the back room, I see something perfect.
I pull myself up to my full height and search for her.
She’s watching me and biting her nail from her spot near the front of the store. “Miss? I’d like to see this necklace.”
She rushes over to me, pulling her set of keys from her pocket. “Which one?” she asks eagerly.
I point down to the delicate gold necklace below me. “That one.”
She gives me a beautiful smile. “Oh, that one is mine,” she says proudly.
“Yours?”
“Yes, I made that one.” She reaches into the case and brings out the long necklace, placing it on a pad of velvet.
“You? You made this?”
I think I’ve offended her, because she looks a little defensive. “Of course. The entire necklace was made by hand.”
“What do you mean?” I’m sincerely curious. The thing has got to be three feet long and made up almost entirely of delicate links.
“Well, I use small sheets of gold and hammer them down until they’re very thin. Then I cut them into hairlike strips to make the links.”
“Seriously? Can’t you just buy gold chain links?” Seriously, why would she do that?
“Well”—she places her hands on her hips—“because I can’t buy them the way I like them and it’s more personally authentic to do them myself. Besides, I like that each link is unique.”
I bend down to get a closer look. Sure enough, each tiny link in the chain is different, varied. “What are on all of these little gold dots?”
“On the discs are things from the sea like fish, coral, etcetera. There are ten in all. I’ve hand engraved or embossed them all. They’re placed every three inches.”
“This is unbelievable. My mom grew up in Nantucket. She loves the ocean. I’ll take it.” It’s seriously perfect for my mom.
I think I’ve shocked her. “But, um, it’s twelve hundred dollars,” she says, emphasizing the price.
“That’s it? For all the work you did on this, I’d think it would be double that.”
“Uh, well….”
“Can you gift wrap it for me?” I’ve really thrown her for a loop.
“Sure. No problem.” She takes the necklace and steps into the back room. Stepping back out, she asks, “Did you say this was for your mom?”
I smirk. “Yeah.” Relief washes over her face. “You know what? Do you have another one of those necklaces?”
Her eyes double in size before she says, “Well, um, not here. I’m working on another one, but there are insects on the disc shapes. It’s the same length—thirty inches long, but it’s in white gold.”
“That’s perfect. When will that be finished?”
Her face has turned pink. “I should have it finished by next week.”
“Next Friday? Can I pick it up then?”
“Of course. Sure. Great. Marvelous,” she mumbles nervously as she turns back to wrap up the necklace.
My sister will want one too, and since her birthday is next month, I’ll get her the same gift. A few minutes later, MacKenzie returns with a beautifully wrapped gift. She pulls out an iPad and presses a series of buttons. “Okay, your total for your necklace today will be $1,296.”
I pull out my black Mastercard and hand it to her. Blinking, she swipes the card and waits. “Would you like a copy of the receipt now, or would you like it emailed to you?”
“Email, please.” Sweet, this will give her my email address and my name. “It’s samstone@.”
“Oh, so you’re Sam Stone?”
“Yep. I’m Sam. What’s your name?” I give her one of my lady-killer smiles.
She turns a bright shade of pink but responds, “Mac, er, I mean MacKenzie. MacKenzie Parker.”
“Well, MacKenzie Parker, you make beautiful jewelry.” I raise my hand to shake hers. “It was very nice meeting you.”
She raises her hand, and when we touch, I feel a vibration run through my body. I know she feels something too because I watch as her eyes grow round and her beautiful rosebud lips open slightly in surprise. I don’t let go of her hand. I look her in the eye and ask, “Have we met before?”
She quickly pulls her hand back and begins busywork. “Um, no, I don’t think so. Thanks for shopping at One of a Kind. Have a nice day?”
Is that a question? I watch as she scampers into the back room again.
I hear her moving things around. There’s quite a lot of banging and slamming of drawers.
Is she angry? I’m not sure what to do, because she still has my gift in her hand.
I need the gift. I’m having dinner with Mom tonight.
I step around the case and make my way to the back room.
MacKenzie is bent over a long wooden table, her head resting on the wooden surface.
I clear my throat. “Miss? Are you okay?”
She stands up so quickly she tilts off-balance. I lean forward and grab her around the waist before she can topple. She turns her body to face me; we’re inches apart.
“You, um, you can’t be back here,” she whispers.
I haven’t let go of her yet as I peer down at her beautiful face. “I know where I’ve seen you before.”
She blinks and says almost breathlessly, “Where?”
I give her a small smile. “You were the best New Year’s Eve kiss I’ve ever had.”
She blinks and says nervously, “You were mine, too. I like your shirt. It’s funny. Do you really like tacos?”
I look down at my tee and smile. “From my sister. It always makes me laugh, too. Yes. I love tacos.”
“Why don’t you marry them?” she whispers.
I’m shocked by her comment. A laugh jerks out of my mouth because I haven’t heard that since grade school. “I would if it was legal in Illinois.”
I watch as her eyes pinch shut, her head falls back, and her fantastic giggle escapes from her gorgeous mouth. I did it. I made her laugh.
My hands itch with the need to touch more than her waist. I want to run my finger down her beautiful face and trace around those smiling lips.
Her skin looks like it would be soft as silk.
I’d like to let my lips touch a few of those adorable freckles on her cheek and nose.
I’d love to run my tongue along the column of her neck, the pulse point below her ear that right this minute is beating like a drum.
I bet she’d taste so sweet. Ah, Jesus, I’m getting a hard-on.
Luckily, my hips aren’t touching her, or else she’d know.
The desire to kiss her is strong. I think she feels it, too, because her face is slowly moving toward mine.
I’ve got to check myself. It’s too soon.
I pull away, reaching out to grab my gift off the wooden table. “I’ll see you next week. Thanks, MacKenzie.”
Flustered and still pink with embarrassment, MacKenzie steps back as well. “Sure thing. Thanks. Um, I’ll have it ready for you.” She turns, pretending to clear the table of her gift-wrapping materials.
I step out of the back room and out the front of the store. “Shit,” I mutter to myself. “I almost went too far.”