Читать книгу When Jayne Met Erik - Elizabeth Bevarly - Страница 10

By the time Jayne entered Colette Jewelers on Hammond Street, she was as wet and limp and bedraggled as a street urchin—a street urchin who had just walked eight blocks in a raging downpour, without an umbrella to shelter her from the storm. Because as soon as she had covered the first two blocks between Amber Court and Colette, the skies had opened up and dumped veritable buckets of rain down on Youngsville. It had effectively put an end to the scant drizzle Jayne had hoped would accompany her to work and had begun a deluge of biblical proportions. Not even the awnings had been able to save her after that. So now, in addition to being mismatched, she was completely wet and limp and bedraggled.

And cold, too, because the air-conditioning in the store was blasting full speed ahead, despite the inclement weather, and the chill breeze against her wet flesh and clothing raised goose bumps on her goose bumps. Although the situation was beginning to look dire, Jayne told herself to buck up. Because, after all, things couldn’t possibly get any worse, could they?

Belatedly she realized that thinking such a thing completely jinxed her. Because where she normally arrived at work to find the shop in its empty, preopening state—a condition that would have afforded her an opportunity to at least try and tidy herself up before anyone saw her—today, the Colette Jewelry showroom played host to a good half dozen of Jayne’s co-workers, who were in the shop because today was Colette employee discount day.

Oh, yes. The day was definitely going to get worse. Before it was over, Jayne, looking as bad as she had ever looked in her life, was bound to run into every last person who worked for the company. Because every last person who worked for the company worked in that very building, and virtually all of them took advantage of their twice-yearly employee discount days.

The building that housed Colette, Inc. was a massive, eight-story brick construction that comprised one full city block, located virtually at the center of Youngsville. A large showroom and shop took up the entirety of the first floor, and the corporate offices commanded the remainder of the building. The furnishings, overall, were quite luxuriant, regardless of where one might find oneself in the establishment. Rich jewel tones of varying hues darkened the walls, upon which were hung priceless works of art. Oriental rugs of equally dramatic color and design spanned the hardwood floors, and expensive pieces of sculpture filled all the spaces that weren’t used up in the display of jewelry. Bright track lighting overhead made everything—especially the finely cut gems—sparkle like, well, finely cut gems.

In addition to the offices upstairs, the building housed a formal dining room for executives and an open cafeteria for the other employees. Jayne had never seen the former, but she spent most of her lunch hours in the latter. It, too, was elegantly appointed, and furnished in much the same way as the rest of the building. She assumed the executive dining room was likewise decorated.

But her favorite place in the Colette building—besides the jewelry showroom and shop, both of which she found utterly enchanting—was the lobby of the corporate offices on the second floor, where she’d gone to meet some of her co-workers on one or two occasions. Because in that lobby was the most exquisite piece of jewelry Jayne had ever seen—a single rose crafted of rubies and diamonds and emeralds. She wasn’t sure what the history was behind the piece, and she’d never asked anyone at Colette. She only knew that it was lovely, and Jayne, like so many people who worked for the company, simply adored beautiful things.

Which was another reason why she felt so out of place this morning. Beautiful, she knew, was the last thing she looked today. And her co-workers mingling about the store now seemed to agree, because she could see them biting back smiles and stifling chuckles when they took in her appearance.

So much for things not getting any worse, she thought morosely. From here on out, she wasn’t about to form any more observations on the state of her day. It could only lead to trouble.

She was much relieved to discover that a trio of employees standing nearest the “New Designs” showcase were women she knew well. Because, like Jayne, they lived at 20 Amber Court. And all three had obviously arrived at work on time today, because none of them resembled a limp, bedraggled street urchin in any way, shape or form—oh, no. Each of them was very well put together, sartorially speaking. Not to mention quite dry.

Lila Maxwell lived on the third floor of Jayne’s apartment building and worked on the fourth floor of Colette. She was an administrative assistant to Nicholas Camden, a vice president of the company, in charge of overseas marketing. Lila was dressed today as she always was—for success. And lots of it. Her long, dark-blond hair shone like finely tempered bronze beneath the halogen lights of the showroom, offsetting her dark-brown eyes as if they were bittersweet chocolate. Her charcoal suit was stylishly cut, hugging her curves with much affection.

She was chatting in low tones with two of Jayne’s other neighbors and co-workers—Meredith Blair, who was a jewelry designer for Colette, and Sylvie Bennett, who worked as a marketing manager for the company. Meredith, as always, was dressed in her usual, nondescript style, her long beige skirt and shapeless ivory sweater doing nothing to enhance what could be a very curvy figure and truly spectacular facial features, if Meredith would only give herself a chance. Her long, reddish-brown, curly hair was, as usual, pulled tersely away from her face, held in place with a barrette that was as nondescript as her clothing.

Although she’d only known Meredith for a month, Jayne recognized her neighbor’s low self-esteem and knew Meredith went out of her way to downplay her appearance in an effort to make herself invisible. Which wasn’t going to work much longer, as far as Jayne was concerned, because Meredith designed some of the most beautiful jewelry Jayne had ever seen. She was sure to go far in the business. People were going to start noticing her soon. And then what would Meredith do?

Not that Jayne was in any position to criticize the other woman’s style…or lack thereof. At least Meredith’s clothing matched. And was dry. Glancing down at her own questionable appearance again, Jayne found herself wishing she could be invisible—at least for today.

Sylvie, on the other hand, despite the quiet, obviously serious conversation in which the three women were engaged, appeared to be her usual feisty self. Her expression was more intense than the other women’s, as if she were gearing up for battle. Her stark black curls were swept back at her nape, her dark-brown eyes flashed fire. Coupled with her deep burgundy power suit, she appeared a formidable force indeed.

Doing her best not to make wet, squishy sounds as she walked, Jayne strode toward the group. But the three women were so wrapped up in their conversation that they didn’t even notice her approach. Not until Jayne greeted them.

“G-g-g-good m-m-m-morning,” she said through chattering teeth as she halted, resigned to her fate. “L-l-l-lovely m-m-m-morning, is-s-sn’t it-t-t-t?”

The three women turned to her at once, opening their mouths to reply. But when they got a collective look at her, they hesitated. For one taut moment no one said a word. Then all three of her neighbors responded in unison.

“Jayne, if I’d known you were walking today, I would have offered you a lift,” Sylvie told her.

“I just made it in myself before the skies opened up,” Meredith added.

“You could have taken the bus with me, you know,” Lila threw in for good measure.

Jayne lifted a hand to stop the flow of commentary. After all, it wasn’t as if they were telling her anything she didn’t already know. “I overslept, so I was running late and missed the bus,” she said. “Thanks for the offer of a lift, Sylvie, but I’m sure I missed you, too. Besides, it was barely drizzling when I left home. I thought the buildings would shelter me well enough. I should have known better. It’s definitely going to be one of those days—I can feel it in my bones.”

Automatically, she reached for the brooch Rose Carson had pinned to her blouse earlier. “I did run into Rose, though, before I left. She insisted I wear this pin.” Jayne smiled wryly as her friends leaned in for a closer look. “She said it would bring me good luck, but I don’t think anything can improve this day. Things are only going to get worse from here. Mark my words.”

There, she thought. By saying that she expected the worst, surely things would get better. Then she immediately cursed herself, because in supposing things would get better, she had surely just jinxed herself again. And on top of just jinxing herself again, she’d just tried to reverse-psychology fate. And that, she was certain, was bound to be a major metaphysical no-no.

Sure enough, in response to her remark, all three of her friends exchanged curious—and clearly very anxious—glances, and Jayne got the distinct impression that things were indeed about to get worse. Again.

“What?” she demanded, her stomach clenching nervously in response to their obvious worry. “What’s wrong?”

For a moment she didn’t think any of them would answer her. Then, finally, Lila hastily replied, “It’s just a rumor.”

Oh, that didn’t sound good at all, Jayne thought. And, just like that, all thoughts of her current state of personal discomfort immediately fled to the back of her brain. “What’s just a rumor?” she asked.

This time it was Sylvie who answered. “It’s about Colette,” she said simply.

“What about it?” Jayne asked.

“Well,” Sylvie began again, “it’s like Lila said—just a rumor.”

Jayne switched her gaze from one woman to the other and back again. “But what, exactly, is it?” she demanded more frantically. “What’s wrong? Why do you all look like you’re expecting the end of the world?”

“It’s a hostile takeover of the company,” Meredith blurted out with an artist’s kind of spontaneity.

“A hostile takeover?” Jayne echoed. “What do you mean a hostile takeover? Why would anyone want to hostilely take over Colette, Inc.? It’s such a nice company.”

“That’s why someone wants to take it over,” Meredith pointed out. “Word has it that someone—and nobody seems to know who—is buying up shares of Colette in an effort to have controlling interest.”

“But that won’t affect us, will it?” Jayne asked hopefully—and probably naively, she couldn’t help thinking.

“Well, there is that pesky business of our jobs,” Sylvie said mildly. “Hostile takeovers have a tendency to lead to downsizing, and downsizing has a tendency to cause unemployment. Oh, but hey, other than that…”

“But…but…but…” Jayne sputtered. Unfortunately she had no idea what to say.

“Look, there’s no need to panic,” Lila said emphatically. “It’s just a rumor.”

But rumors were almost always at least grounded in truth, Jayne thought. And this one was doubtless no different. “What happens if Colette is taken over?” she asked. “Hostilely or not? What will happen to our jobs?”

Jayne was completely ignorant when it came to all things corporate related. Although she genuinely enjoyed her job as a salesclerk, she really wasn’t much interested with the workings of the business as a whole. Her familiarity with Colette, Inc., was limited to the history of the company that was common knowledge in Youngsville, what she’d heard from her neighbor co-workers, and what she’d learned herself in employee training a month ago. About how Abraham Colette, whose family had been in the jewelry business in Paris for generations, came to Youngsville from France in 1902 to start over. About how he married a local girl named Teresa and started his own branch of the company, which soon became known for having the most precious of precious gems in the most exquisite of settings.

Even during the Depression, Colette, Inc., had flourished, thanks to Carl Colette, Abraham and Teresa’s son, who naturally followed in his father’s footsteps, and had had the foresight to bring in investors a decade earlier. As a result, over the years, Colette had become known nationwide, even worldwide, for its unique and elegant pieces, pieces created by only the finest designers and craftspeople.

Which, Jayne thought further, probably went a long way toward explaining this hostile takeover business.

“What will happen to our jobs if someone takes over the company?” she asked again when no one offered a reply—which wasn’t exactly reassuring. “I can’t lose this job,” she said further. “I was lucky to get it in the first place, and that was only because Rose put in a good word for me. I’m not trained to do anything. I’d never find something else that pays as well as this. I need my commissions,” she added, swallowing the hysteria she heard bubbling up in her words. “I have a brother and sister to put through college.”

“Look, everybody, just relax,” Lila said, “it’s only a rumor, okay? There’s no need for us to go off half-cocked. Everything is probably going to be fine.” She glanced down at her watch. “The store’s going to be opening in a half hour, Jayne,” she said. “And you’ve got a lot of employees in here who want to make purchases. You and Amy better get on the stick if you want to open on time this morning.”

“Right,” Jayne said, pushing to the back of her mind for now—well, almost to the back of her mind, anyway—all thoughts of hostile takeovers. “Right,” she said again, steeling herself. Work—an excessive amount of it—was exactly what she needed right now, she told herself. Something to take her mind off just how badly her morning…her week…her month had begun.

It can’t possibly get any worse, she told herself again. And this time she didn’t worry about jinxing herself or offending fate by doing so. Because for the first time in her life Jayne was confident that that was true. Things couldn’t get any worse from here. No way. Whatever else the day ahead held, it was only going to be better.

It would be, she promised herself.

It would.

By mid-afternoon, Erik Randolph wasn’t feeling quite as optimistic about his marital prospects as he had upon waking that morning. For one thing, the gloomy weather, which traditionally boded ill, anyway, had dampened his mood—so to speak. But what had dampened his mood even more was the fact that, astonishingly, of the three women to whom he had proposed marriage so far today, none had accepted his offer. None. Talk about boding ill…

The first of those women had been his sister, Celeste’s, best friend, Marianne, who was enjoying a few days with Celeste at the Randolph estate before returning to graduate school. Erik had known her for years, of course, and rather liked her, even if he didn’t know her all that well. Still, he had thought it reasonable that she might warm to his offer of marriage, however temporary, because Celeste had confided to him recently that Marianne had a huge crush on him.

Well, all right, so maybe Celeste’s revelation hadn’t been all that recent. Maybe it had been more than a decade ago, when Marianne was eleven, but that was beside the point. Erik had still been surprised when she declined, citing a desire to return to her studies. Her tuition for the fall semester, she had explained, had already been paid in full.

Fine, then, Erik had thought. On to prospect number two: Diana, the daughter of the Randolphs’ housekeeper, Mrs. Martin. Erik had known Diana for ages, too, seeing as how Mr. and Mrs. Martin had come to work for his family when he was still in high school. But for some reason Diana hadn’t seemed to think Erik was serious about his offer of marriage, had simply giggled riotously when he’d outlined his proposal, and had kept giggling no matter how hard he had insisted that he was, in fact, quite serious. Finally, wiping tears from her eyes—and still giggling—Diana had declined, thanked him, anyway, and headed off to work. He had heard her giggling all the way down the hall.

Erik’s third rejection had come only moments ago, from the waitress at Crystal’s on Marion Street, an upscale eatery that claimed one of Indiana’s only Cordon Bleu trained chefs. And although said waitress hadn’t seemed to take his suggestion quite as lightly as the other women had, she had ultimately declined due to a previous engagement—literally. She’d told Erik she felt obliged to marry her fiancé the following month.

Nevertheless, he held firm in his conviction that his search for a wife would pan out—today. He was even so sure of that, that he had dressed in his best suit, a Hugo Boss charcoal pinstripe, and a Valentino silk necktie with an elegant geometric design, knowing that such an outfit would make an impression. Now, as he approached Colette Jewelry, Erik felt more than optimistic that he was on the right track. Finding a wife with whom he could enjoy wedded bliss for a full year, he was certain, would be a piece of wedding cake.

The whimsical thought made him smile as he pushed open the door to Colette Jewelry and strode into the main showroom. He’d been in the store many times over the years, of course, to purchase baubles for his feminine companions. But where he normally turned left, toward the specialty pieces, now Erik went right, toward the wedding and engagement displays. As he strode in that direction, he overheard two women chatting, and glanced up to see that two of Colette’s salesclerks were busily rearranging one of the wedding-and-engagement showcases.

Perfect, he thought. Whatever new inventory the women were putting out, that was what he wanted. He was known for being on the cutting edge of, well, just about everything. So if there was something new happening in engagement rings, Erik Randolph wanted to know about it.

The two salesclerks had their heads bowed in soft conversation, he noted as he drew nearer, presumably about the display they were in the process of putting together. So rapt was their concentration on their conversation, in fact, that they didn’t even notice Erik’s approach. He was about to clear his throat to make his presence known—after all, this was most uncommon at Colette, to be overlooked by the sales staff—when one of the women’s remarks made him hesitate.

“I don’t know what I’ll do if there is a hostile takeover,” said the woman closest to him, a redhead. “If Colette is gobbled up by a rival company, I could end up unemployed. Without this job, I can’t possibly pay for Charlie and Chloe’s tuition and living expenses.”

“It’s a bad situation all around,” the other clerk, a brunette, agreed. “But it’s just a rumor, Jayne. Don’t borrow trouble.”

“I can’t help it, Amy,” the woman identified as Jayne replied quietly, soberly. “I keep worrying about what would happen to Charlie and Chloe—and to me, too, for that matter—if I lose my job. I’m barely making ends meet as it is.”

“Maybe you could go on that Millionaire question-and-answer show,” the brunette called Amy said lightly, clearly joking. “You’re pretty good with trivia. Or, better still, maybe they’ll have another one of those shows about marrying a multimillionaire, and you could go on that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jayne, the redheaded salesclerk, agreed with a chuckle. “Even though that one didn’t quite turn out the way they planned,” she added, “I’m sure that would solve all of my problems. Yeah, I’ll just go out and find myself a multimillionaire to marry, if only momentarily. Because I’d probably at least wind up with some nice parting gifts, right?”

Erik snapped his mouth shut at hearing both the remark and the woman’s laughter. Because the first had been a comment that was simply too serendipitous for words, and the second had been a sound that was simply too musical to ignore. Whoever the woman was, she had a wonderful laugh, one that made something pop and fizz and settle in a warm place very close to Erik’s heart.

And what an interesting sensation that was, too.

When she glanced up to find Erik looking at her, he noted that she also had a charming way of blushing. Well, my, my, my. For such a gloomy day, things sure were brightening up all of a sudden.

“Hello,” the redhead said softly, her voice as pleasant as her laughter had been. “Can I help you?”

Erik smiled. Oh, if she only knew.

What was it he had been thinking he required in a wife? he asked himself again as he gazed upon the redhead named Jayne. Oh, yes. First and foremost, she would have to be beautiful.

He considered the salesclerk behind the counter again, taking in the wide eyes, the fair complexion, the smattering of freckles, and the…unusual wardrobe that appeared to be kind of…damp?

We-ell, he thought, she was kind of cute. In a soggy, mismatched, ragamuffin sort of way.

“Actually, Miss…” he began, deliberately leading.

“Pembroke,” she told him. Then she asked her fateful question once again. “Can I help you?”

Erik’s smile fell some when he recalled that he’d also been thinking earlier that he wanted his future wife to be blond. And preferably brown-eyed, as well. He noted the pale-red hair again and thought, Fine. So she was strawberry blond. It was close enough. And although her eyes were a striking lavender color, he’d never said they absolutely had to be brown, had he? No, he had not. He’d simply indicated that it would be preferable, that was all. Let it never be said that Erik Randolph couldn’t make compromises. Lavender eyes it would be.

“As a matter of fact, you can help me,” he told her. “I’m looking for something very specific.”

She smiled at him, and he decided then that he liked her smile very much. That was going to be so helpful in the coming year.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” she told him.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that for a moment,” he assured her, recalling that the third item on his list of wifely requirements had been reasonable intelligence and a fair amount of articulation. Even if the woman behind the counter had barely spoken two dozen words so far, she did seem to at least have the capacity for both.

Still, he had wanted the future Mrs. Randolph to be knowledgeable about current fashion trends, hadn’t he? he further reminded himself. And, noting the woman’s outfit once more—however reluctantly—there was no way he could make excuses for her there, could he?

Unless, of course, she was way ahead of Erik in fashion sense, he told himself. Which, although unlikely, was certainly possible. Who knew? Maybe a month from now, everyone who was anyone in Youngsville would be wearing burnt orange and raspberry with chartreuse accessories. Hey, it could happen. After all, bell-bottoms and fringed vests were back in style, weren’t they?

He mentally tallied the rest of his wife to-do list. A demure and mild disposition had been desirable, he remembered thinking, which, clearly, this woman had. And he’d wanted his wife to be a free thinker, too. Taking in her outfit again, he realized that wasn’t going to be a character trait she lacked at all. A knowledge of the social register—well, they could study together, he told himself—and an appreciation for the arts. Again, more studying might be required.

Ah, well. No one was perfect, he reminded himself. And they would be spending a year together, so all this studying would give them something to occupy their time. Jayne the salesclerk did, at least, seem to claim the majority of the desirable traits Erik required in a wife.

Which was good, because he decided in that moment that she was exactly the woman he needed. She had just stated quite clearly that marriage to money—temporarily, no less—would solve all of her problems. And having a woman married to his money—temporarily, no less—would solve all of Erik’s problems, too. He needed a wife. She needed money. Their encounter this afternoon, clearly, was fate. It was providence. It was kismet. It was destiny.

It was perfect.

He smiled again when he realized just how well this was going to work out. Obviously, the two of them were meant for each other. Now all he had to do was convince Jayne—what was her last name again?—of that, too.

“I apologize for your having to wait,” she said, just as the silence was beginning to stretch taut. “We didn’t mean to ignore you. We just didn’t hear you come in.”

“Oh, no harm done,” he assured her. “In fact, I found your conversation to be quite intriguing.”

Jayne’s eyes widened in obvious concern. “Ah…” she began eloquently. “You mean that, um, that stuff about a hostile takeover? Oh, that was all totally false.”

“Yeah,” her co-worker quickly agreed, with a very adamant nod. “That was a complete fabrication. We were just playing What-if.”

Jayne nodded again. “I mean, who’d want to hostilely take over Colette, you know? It’s unthinkable.”

“I couldn’t care less about a takeover,” Erik said amiably, honestly. “Hostile or otherwise. That wasn’t the part of your conversation that I found intriguing.”

The two women exchanged glances, then Jayne directed her attention back to him. “Oh,” she said softly.

Erik, in turn, directed his attention to the brunette. “Do you mind?” he said politely. “I think Miss…

“Pembroke,” redheaded Jayne repeated.

“Miss Pembroke, here,” he continued, “can see to my needs.”

The brunette gaped softly at his less-than-subtle dismissal, but she nodded and strode toward another jewelry case. Nevertheless, her watchfulness, Erik noted, didn’t stray far from her colleague. Which he supposed was understandable. You never knew what kind of oddball was going to stumble in from the street and make some bizarre, unacceptable suggestion.

He turned to look again at Jayne Pembroke—Pembroke, he reminded himself firmly, lest he forget again; it really wouldn’t do to forget one’s fiancée’s name, would it? Pembroke, Pembroke, Pembroke—calling up the most disarming smile in his ample arsenal. “No, it wasn’t the takeover part of your conversation that was so intriguing,” he said again. “It was the part about you marrying a multimillionaire.”

Her expression, he noted, changed not one iota, save an almost imperceptible arching of one eyebrow. So he had no idea how to gauge her reaction. Very quietly she replied, “Oh.” Nothing more. Just Oh.

So Erik plunged onward. “Because you see, I myself happen to be a multimillionaire,” he told her with much equanimity.

“Oh,” she said again. And again her expression reflected nothing of what she might be thinking.

Erik took it to be a good sign. Then again, he took most things, short of natural disaster, to be good signs. That was just the kind of man he was.

“Or, at least, I will be a multimillionaire,” he clarified pleasantly. “Once I get married, I mean.”

Jayne Pembroke’s expression cleared then, making her look…relieved? Maybe this was going to be easier than he’d anticipated.

“So you’ve come in to buy an engagement ring for your intended,” she said, her smile returning.

“Yes,” he agreed happily. “That’s it exactly. A ring. A fiancée—and, hence, a wife—will, after all, expect a ring, won’t she? Two rings, actually. One to signify the engagement and one to signify the marriage. Which,” he added, “when you get right down to it, is a damned nice gift, considering the fact that she will only be my wife for one year.”

Now Jayne’s smile fell again, and her expression grew puzzled. “One year?” she echoed, sounding disappointed.

“Well, you can’t expect me to stay married any longer than is necessary, can you?” Erik asked, fighting a twinge of indignation. Honestly. They weren’t even married yet, and already she was finding fault with him. “I mean, I do have other obligations, you know.”

Now Jayne opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged.

“Not that my wife will have to worry,” he said, jacking up the wattage on his smile. “Because it goes without saying that, after we go our separate ways, she will end up with some—” he wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully “—lovely parting gifts.”

Now Jayne, he noted, was looking at him as if she had just discovered he’d escaped from a hospital for the criminally insane. Hmmm, he thought. Perhaps they weren’t quite on the same wavelength as he had assumed they were. Perhaps he wasn’t going about this the best way he could be going about it. Perhaps he wasn’t making himself as clear as he could be making himself.

So Erik straightened to his full six feet, tossed his head in a way that he’d been told by several women was quite boyish and charming, brushed his dark hair back from his forehead, and smiled what he liked to think was his rogue’s smile. “What I’m trying to say, Miss Pembroke,” he began in his most enchanting tone of voice, “is…will you marry me?”