One to Chase (One to Hold 7)

“If you would, send over your suggestions. I’m sure I’ll add them.”

“I’ll make a note of your sizes.”

She disappears toward the customer service bay, and I turn to the entrance. I have one additional stop I’d like to make now.

The light changes to white, and I cross the street in a mix of businessmen and tourists. The wave of bodies disperses north and south along the sidewalks of 800 and 750 North Michigan. I step forward to admire the Tiffany’s window display.

Today it’s a sparkling arrangement of deep-blue sapphire. Gazing into the depths of the stones, I can’t help my mind skipping back to the lake, the sailboat, Marcus’s ink. Uncertainty is essential, the ultimate freedom.

A flash of our bodies drenched in sweat, the sting of his palm against my ass, the bite of his teeth on my skin. Heat floods my panties, and I try to let go. I try to release my inner fight and cede my resistance into him. It almost works. I envision myself lying back, him sliding into me. As within, so without...

My toes are at the edge of the water. All I have to do is let go, let the waves roll over me, succumb to the warm waters. Fuzz is at the edges of my vision. My ears fill with the soft lapping of the breakers, and I want to let go. I want to fall.

But just as the thoughts appear, tickling fear bubbles across my chest. My breath quickens, and I’m alone, drowning. I don’t know him. I can’t trust him, and I know if I slip into that water, I’ll die.

SLAM! A small body knocks me forward, and I reach out to brace myself against the marble exterior of the store. A squeal, and the embarrassed mother apologizes as she grabs her little girl’s arm. Looking down, I watch the child laugh and wave before being dragged away.

“It’s okay.” I give her mother a little smile.

I’m back in the present, far from the crazy, and I remember why I walked over here. Stepping through the doors, I scan the maze of low, glass cases filled with various designs and selections of gemstones.

A light, polished voice greets me. “May I help you, Miss?”

“Yes,” I nod at the older man dressed in a dark suit. “I’m looking for a gift for my mother.”

“Something in jewelry or accessories? We have a lovely Dégradé scarf in a fog silk and cashmere blend—”

“I was thinking jewelry. A sort-of thank-you slash mother’s day gift.”

“Of course. Right this way.” Across the glass cases from me, he moves through the maze, and I follow, stopping when he does. “The new Paloma Picasso collection has an olive branch design that’s very popular.”

My lips curl in a smile. “I’m not sure I need to extend the olive branch just yet.”

“And I’m sure you never will.” He smiles back, and I appreciate his gentle tease. “Elsa Peretti has this sterling Cabochon ring many women find playful.”

I lift the chunky ring featuring a heart-shaped black jade and slide it onto my finger. “Hmm... it’s probably more my style than hers.”

“Of course. She’s more Carolina Herrera.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“I think I have just the thing.”

He steps away, and as I wait, my mind drifts to the spring runway shows, the sheer floral-inspired prints, bright yellows, flowing corals, and swirling violets. I’m transported to a time before a certain man appeared and upended my neatly ordered life.

I was in control in Paris. Chicago puts me off, makes me feel vulnerable. I need to leave this city. New York crosses my mind, but I brush it away. I’m here for Sylvia. She’s the reason I came back. I need to talk to her, make the past right.

“Is this a possibility?” On the black velvet, he places a stunning Venezia Goldoni heart pearl ring cast in rose gold.

“Oh!” My breath catches. “It’s perfect.”

“Give me a moment to box it for you.”

My work here is done. The tsunami in my chest has eased. I hand over my card, and I slip the pale turquoise box tied in a silky white bow into my bag. Tomorrow, I’ll finish my job with Marcus and move on to my next client. The end.

Chapter 12: Collections

Marcus