I wouldn’t normally have my boyfriend go with me to a business lunch. But Griffin is no ordinary boyfriend, Miles Conniver is no ordinary customer, and this is no ordinary meeting. This is going to open an entirely new door for me. It already has.
I’ve been creating content out of my work on this ring for the last few weeks, and those videos and images have led to several messages from potential clients who want pieces that are more amazing than any other I’ve had the opportunity to work on.
Well, other than Mr. Conniver’s, of course. This commission from him isn’t in another world, but, rather, another stratosphere. But the new-client requests are not only for redone heritage pieces. They’re for from-scratch-anything-I-want designs from people who simply want to own my art.
My art.
I’ve been successful for a while, but PLDesigns is on an entirely different trajectory, to a new plane of achievement now. And I owe it all to a little mishap with a very special ring, not to mention a very special man.
I glance over my shoulder at my man, and somehow manage to catch the toe of my business pump on a chair leg. I cry out, feeling the world go wonky-donkey as I start to fall, but strong hands firmly grip my waist, righting me.
“I gotcha. You’re good,” Griffin rumbles in my ear.
“Miss Lee?” Mr. Conniver says in concern, an arm outstretched like he intends to help as well. But when he sees Griffin’s expression oftouch her and die, he lets it drop with a nod of understanding, though he looks like he’s fighting off a smirk.
Once I’m securely on my feet, Griffin pulls out a chair, and I lower myself into it slowly, as if it might evaporate into thin air from beneath me. The two men shake hands and take their seats.
A nearby waitress immediately rushes over to pour two additional glasses of water for Griffin and me before disappearing once again.
I should look at the menu. I should make polite small talk with Mr. Conniver. I should take a sip of water. I do none of those things. Instead, I blurt out, “Do you want to see it?” with huge eyes and an even huger grin.
Mr. Conniver smiles graciously. “I would love to.”
I reach into my bag and pull out the engraved wooden box I special-ordered to house the ring. Holding it tightly, I say, “This is my most favorite piece I’ve ever designed, but if there’s anything at all that you or Georgina want to change, I’m happy to do so.”
I’m nearly bouncing out of my seat—truthfully, out of my skin!—with excitement. I’ve put myself through hell, all in an attempt to create something that honors the original stones from Mr. Conniver’s mother’s ring while designing an updated piece that his fiancée-to-be will treasure for her lifetime and be proud to pass down. A generational heritage ring that’s not only beautiful and amazing but also absolute wearable perfection.
But for all my hyperactive buzzing, Mr. Conniver is as bland as can be, as though I’m simply giving him a boring business card, not the most special thing I’ve ever created. Not the symbolic representation of his undying, never-ending affection for his bride-to-be.
“I’m sure it’s beautiful,” he says kindly.
I glance quickly at Griffin, silently asking,Are you hearing this bullshit?He gives the smallest shrug of agreement that Mr. Conniver’s reaction is underwhelming, to say the least.
I pull the ring box back into my chest, holding it hostage. “I need you to get a little happier about this. Excited or eager or something. It’s the engagement ring you’re going to hold up to Georgina when you get down on one knee and ask her to spend forever with you,” I emphasize heavily.
Admittedly, telling a client how to behave is a business faux pas. Telling a Mob boss? Downright stupid. But I can’t help myself. It’s an engagement ring!
“Miss Lee,” he intones warningly, “I assure you, I am excited to see what you’ve come up with.” I tilt my head doubtfully. “And to give it to Georgina.”
He holds his hand out expectantly, and I begrudgingly set the ring box in his palm. I watch his face as he opens the box, wanting to memorize and analyze his reaction to later obsess over and dissect with Griffin.
His face is typically fairly flat, expression-wise, never giving away too much of the heavy thoughts in his mind. But when he sees what I’ve created, his jaw softens, his lips part as if he’s whispering somethingto himself, and the beginnings of crow’s-feet crinkle beside his eyes. I swear I even see a hint of shine in his eyes, something I doubt anyone’s seen in a long, long time.
He loves it. And I instantly forgive him for the lack of anticipatory giddiness, considering I had more than enough for the both of us.
Now that we’re on the same page about the awesomeness of the ring, I rush to explain my design. “You said that Georgina appears to be delicate, almost dainty, so I wanted to give it a very feminine look with the rose gold and the garden vine–like band. The vines twist in and around each other, the way the two of you are merging your lives together. And they’re rooted together on the underside, solid and strong—like she is, and like your love is. The center stone is from your mother’s ring, and the smaller leaflike accent diamonds are new. I saved the baguettes from the original source for Georgina’s wedding band, which I have ideas for too.”
His eyes roam over the ring as I describe it to him, taking it all in. He closes the box, the clack of the wood almost sharp in the air, giving me a serene look with zero hints as to his actual thoughts. “It’s better than I could’ve hoped. Thank you.” He clears his throat roughly, and I belatedly realize it’s not that he doesn’t like the ring or isn’t excited about it. It’s that he doesn’t like showing emotion with everyone watching, and people in the restaurant are definitely side-eyeing us. This time, I don’t even think it’s the unexpected appearance of a local sports hero. They’re eyeing Mr. Conniver, curious about what he’s doing, how he’s reacting, and what’s in the jewelry box. I’m sure the city’s grapevine will be buzzing in moments, if it’s not already.
He passes the box to the nearby security guard, who places it in his jacket pocket without a word.
“I’m so glad,” I gush. “I’ve agonized over it, and if you didn’t like it, I was gonna be so pissed.” I laugh, being honest, but also aware that’s not something I should say to him. If I hadn’t seen that quick glimpse of the man behind the stoic facade, I would’ve snatched the box back and made a run for it. Okay, maybe not, but I would’ve played the sceneout in my mind a hundred times—complete with me slapping Mr. Conniver and hauling ass out of this place with a yell over my shoulder that I’d sell the ring to someone who appreciated it. Considering it’s his ring in the first place, and he’s paid me twice over for the work I’ve done, I’m pleased that little possibility didn’t happen.
“Well, I’m glad to have not angered you, then,” he replies evenly, quietly amused underneath his blasé exterior. Pretty sure that line usually goes the other way. He’s most definitely the one you don’t want to piss off.
“For the band, I’m thinking channel inlaid baguettes. Something a little harder-edged to represent you in the relationship, the way the engagement ring represents Georgina, and that together make a perfectly balanced set.”
Mr. Conniver smiles thinly as though calling him hard is a compliment. “Please go ahead with that design. I’m happy to leave it to your creativity, and I’m sure Georgina will feel the same once she sees your work. How soon can you have it completed?”
