Page 2 of Come Away With Me (The Andrades 1)
“Or what? What would you do?” He stepped closer.
Good question. Julia looked behind her, then back at him. See, this is why I should have taken the salesperson job at the mall. But I thought, Night security—that will give me more time to read and network during the day. Where are you, Paul, when I need you? That’s it. Paul. “I won’t have to do anything, because my partner is already on his way up. In fact, the next time that elevator opens, it’ll be him, and he is twice your size and has taken just enough steroids to have a little rage, if you know what I mean. I’ll do what I can to hold him off, but if he catches you, that gorgeous face of yours will never look the same.”
A predatory smile stretched his lips. He closed the short distance between them, effectively pinning her against the wall between his arm and the door. “I don’t believe you,” he said, his voice deep and husky. He studied her as if he were trying to solve a puzzle. “Are you going to tell me what you’re really doing here?”
Her voice tight in her throat, she said, “I told you. I’m security.”
He opened his mouth to say something, and Julia lost control. Attraction peaked and collided with panic. Her frantically searching hand closed on a lamp on the table beside them. With one swift move she cracked him in the temple with it. He stumbled back and raised a hand to the assaulted area. “What the hell . . . ?”
They both froze. His eyes lit with a fire that set her heart racing.
In the doorway, a male voice broke in. “Mr. Andrade. Are you okay? What happened?”
Julia put the lamp down quickly and swayed a bit beneath the realization of what she had just done. “Mr. Andrade. As in, George Andrade?”
Still looming angrily over her, he said, “Gio. No one calls me George.” He addressed Paul curtly. “She works here?”
“Yes, sir. For over a month.”
Glittering black eyes bored into Julia as she smiled awkwardly back at him. “I didn’t recognize you.”
“Evidently.” He rubbed the red mark on his left temple.
Paul stepped forward with concern. “I’m so sorry, sir. This is my fault. I ran next door to get medicine—”
Gio held up one hand to silence Paul, and the gesture proved impressively effective. In this jungle, money trumps muscle, Julia thought sarcastically. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Right now—”
Tomorrow. Tonight. Time. Crap. Julia glanced at the clock. Seven thirty. Shit. She turned apologetically to Paul. “Oh, my God, Paul. I am so sorry. I’ll take the heat for this. I promise. This was all my fault. Write it up however you need to. I would, but I can’t stay. I’m already late.”
She made the mistake of meeting the eyes of the man who still looked dazed from his encounter with the lamp. She instinctively reached toward his temple in sympathy, then dropped her hand. “I’m sorry. I should have studied the photo book Paul gave me better. It’s just that you were dressed like . . . and then you were all . . .” She frowned. “You could have just told me who you were and none of this would have happened, but we don’t have time to go into that now. Don’t be mad at Paul, okay? He has a stomach bug. But normally, he’d die to protect you. Who else can you say that about?” She glanced quickly at the clock again and said, “I totally understand if you need to fire me, but can you do it tomorrow?”
She turned and fled.
After her whirlwind departure, Gio looked across at Paul. “Just tell me you didn’t issue her a gun.”
Chapter Two
Julia stepped out of the taxi and onto the busy sidewalk in midtown Manhattan. She hesitated for a moment, reread the address she held in her hand, then squared her shoulders, shifted her jewelry-laden messenger bag higher on her shoulder, and strode toward the entrance of what appeared to be a bar.
A bar? And if the crowd in the windows was any indication, a popular one at that. Julia stepped inside and tried to remain optimistic. With a live band? New Yorkers play by their own rules. Who needs to discuss business in an office when you can do it and watch live entertainment at the same time? This doesn’t have to change anything. So, there won’t be room for me to use the mini display case I made. I’ll just show him individual pieces. The band began to play a fast song with a heavy bass line that virtually shook the photos hung on the wall. People stood shoulder to shoulder, and Julia squeezed between gyrating couples as she searched for a familiar face.
The scene was worlds away from the small ocean-town bars Julia was used to, but she didn’t let her determination waver. I’ll go to an office, to a bar . . . hell, I’ll meet someone in a back alley . . . I don’t care. I will sell my jewelry in New York. This crowd, that band—they won’t stop me.
A roving hand caressed her derriere as she squeezed between a cluster of inebriated men. She spun on the offender and grabbed him by the collar of his neck, pulling him down so she could speak directly into his ear. “I grew up in a neighborhood of all boys. I will seriously fuck you up if you touch me again.”
It wasn’t true, but it didn’t have to be. Not according to The Power of Believing, a book she had purchased to cheer herself up back in Rhode Island—a book that had changed her life. Want to succeed? Believe that you can. Want to intimidate someone? Believe that you are someone they should fear.
The drunken man took a step back and raised both of his hands in a move that showed he was backing away. That small triumph bolstered Julia’s confidence. I can do this.
As she turned away from Mr. Wandering Hands, she saw Bill Pritt waving her over to a corner booth. She slid into the booth next to him with relief.
Dressed in an off-the-rack suit and tie, Bill looked exactly as she remembered him from the day she’d met him: a slightly out-of-shape businessman in his early forties. They’d both been hailing taxis on Fifth Avenue and, when one came, he’d offered to share the ride with her. A quick look at his left hand revealed he was married, and that had given Julia the reassurance she needed to join him. While the taxi navigated the heavy traffic, he’d asked her what brought her to the Diamond District, and the story of why she’d come to New York had spilled out of her.
She hadn’t expected him to be interested, but he had listened attentively and then surprised her by telling her he worked for a large jewelry chain and was always scouting for new designers. They’d exchanged phone numbers and Julia had smiled her way through her shift that day. Their meeting had been a sign. Unable to help herself, she’d called everyone back home to tell them about the opportunity. Now all I have to do is close the deal.
Smiling down at her, he leaned in closer than she was personally comfortable with, but likely necessary given the deafening level of the music. “I was getting ready to leave. I thought you’d changed your mind.”
Forcing a bright smile onto her face and shaking off the disaster the night had already been, Julia said, “Absolutely not. I was thrilled to get your call.”
“I’m glad,” he said and waved the cocktail waitress over. “Two dirty martinis.”
“I don’t actually . . .” Julia almost said “drink,” then thought better of it. What am I going to ask for? A soda? Why not go all out and order a Shirley Temple? Remember, sophisticated. Strong. Of course I drink martinis. “Thank you.”
When they were alone again, Julia said, “I brought all kinds of samples with me. These are in copper and aluminum with fake gemstones,” she said, pulling a few pieces out of her bag. “I have a couple made with more expensive materials, but I don’t like to carry them around with me. Of course, if you put in an order, all of these will be made with the highest quality materials I can afford.” Why did I add that last part? It makes me sound like . . . like who I am. An amateur. “I mean . . .”
He put his left hand down on her thigh and gave it a suggestive squeeze. “Let’s not talk business yet.”
Julia sat up, grabbed his hand, and dropped it on the table as if it were a napkin that had fallen to the seat. The ring he’d worn the day they’d met was missing, but an indent was still visible. Jul
ia’s mood downshifted in stages: Confusion. Disbelief. Then finally, a growing understanding that was accompanied by an overwhelming surge of disappointment and anger. “I thought you were interested in my pieces.”
“I am,” he said, his eyes glittering with an interest Julia didn’t welcome. “All of them.”
Skin crawling, Julia scooted back and stood, shaking her head in revulsion. “You’re married.”
He reached forward and grabbed her forearm. “My wife doesn’t care what I do.”
Julia shoved at his hand. “Don’t touch me.”
He didn’t release her. “Come on. Sit back down. You can show me what you brought with you if it’s so important to you.”
Just then, the cocktail waitress arrived with their drinks. With her free hand, Julia picked up one of the martinis and poured it over Bill’s head. He released her arm and cursed loudly.
Opportunities only come when you’re strong enough to take them on. This is good. It’ll toughen me up. Before walking away, Julia said, “I’m not sorry I came here tonight. You know why? Because you just made me very angry, and anger is a motivating emotion.” According to her second favorite book, Stress to Success. With that, she spun and pushed her way through the crowd, hoping her bravado wouldn’t fail before she found the door.
When she approached the area where Mr. Wandering Hands was still standing, he stepped back and tapped his friends to do the same so she could pass. Bag clutched tightly and head held high, she walked through the path they’d opened for her.
“I told you she’s feisty,” Mr. Wandering Hands said to his friends. “I’m in love.”
She paused and glared at him. “You’d have a much better chance with women if you didn’t grab at them as they walk past.”
He blushed and ducked his head, and Julia guessed he was much younger than whatever his ID claimed.
Perfect way to round off the day.
Groped by a teenager. Propositioned by a married man.
