‘Delighted to meet you.’ Jack extended a hand in greeting.
Fern draped herself on Braydon’s shoulder, no doubt her attentiveness one of the main attractions for Braydon, who loved to be the centre of attention. ‘Nice to meet you, Jack. I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘Is that right?’ Jack wondered whether Fern had met his father yet, and assumed the only reason she wasn’t fluttering her eyelashes at him instead was because Kent Churchill had a woman in tow tonight.
Jack was only in his late twenties, but his father was usually the better prospect. A handsome man at fifty-nine, Kent Churchill was distinguished with dark hair, peppered with just enough grey to make it the look women seemed to go for, and he had a natural charisma that seemed to effortlessly win people over. Kent had a slight dimple in his chin that Jack had inherited, and with that, an air of money about him. Chairman of The Diamond Touch jewellery chain, the title made women fall over themselves to get to him first. He was a cobra with his business, squeezing until he got his way.
Jack excused himself from Braydon and Fern and went to greet the Petersons, a couple who were semi-normal and unpretentious. With Clara and Scott Peterson, he talked about the latest winter jewellery collection at The Diamond Touch,the latest jewellery hitting the shelves of their competitors.His mother had been the driving force for the family business that Kent Churchill started in response to his wife’s creative flair and talent. Her pieces had quickly garnered attention and become in demand all over the country and internationally, and gradually the business had grown into the empire it was today. Kent and Jack had continued her legacy and Jack felt his pride stir in her memory, something he rarely felt with the daily grind of helping to run a business he had no real passion for.
When Kent came over to join them, Clara was quick to offer a compliment. ‘It’s lovely to be here again. You throw such wonderful parties!’ She clasped her hands together in excitement. Jack wondered whether she got out much.
When Scott Peterson excused himself and his wife so they could find a couple more glasses of champagne, Kent took Jack to one side. ‘Braydon has done a wonderful job this season.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I hope you’re keeping things civil between you.’
‘Of course I am.’ Jack spoke more quietly. ‘I’ve secured contracts with major retailers so you don’t need to tell me he’s valuable to the business.’
Kent pulled a face. ‘I’m not all that keen on him myself, you know.’
‘First I’ve heard.’ Jack was surprised at his father’s candid response.
‘In business, son, you learn to keep your friends close but your enemies closer.’ He tapped the side of his nose.
It all sounded so cloak and dagger to Jack, he wondered what Braydon could’ve done to irritate his father. But the conversation ended when Kent turned to kiss Marian when she ambled up behind him. Jack hoped he hadn’t really seen Marian’s hand caress his father’s ass. It was enough to bring up those canapés again. And they were really quite good.
‘We’ve an early meeting first thing in the morning,’ Kent told Jack. He swilled the whiskey in the bottom of his glass.
‘I’m out tomorrow.’ Jack gave Marian a clipped smile.
‘It’s an important time in the lead-up to Christmas.’ Kent fixed him with a glare. ‘I shouldn’t need to tell you that.’
‘I’ll be back the day after.’ He offered no further explanation and turned when Nicole approached with the remaining two canapés on a tray.
‘How’s it going?’ she whispered when Marian and Kent blended in with the crowd.
‘It’s bearable.’
Nicole nodded and discreetly slipped away. She knew his feelings. He didn’t revel in the high life like his father did; he didn’t feel the buzz that seemed to drive his father forward all the time. Each day, when the jewellery store closed, when meetings were over and negotiations had taken place, Jack was happy to have space and time to himself. He’d run through Central Park, sip a coffee as he wandered aimlessly through the city or take a drive way out of Manhattan to see friends. But the business was his mother’s legacy and he couldn’t betray her memory. He was in this for keeps, whether he liked it or not.
During the evening, canapés and champagne were plentiful, diamond rings and necklaces sparkled, business was discussed, family lives were appraised and gossip was devoured—which businessman had left his wife for someone young enough to be his daughter; whose business was in serious trouble; whose kids were running up debts bigger than their trust funds. Appetisers were served, plates were cleared and the main event of the turkey was devoured, with much praise to the Churchills for throwing another annual Thanksgiving Party that would no doubt grace the society pages soon enough.
When Fern’s leg brushed against Jack’s beneath the table one too many times, his phone ringing in his pocket rescued him.
‘Business,’ he explained, knowing full well it wasn’t. It was Reese, his latest love interest, a tall, leggy blonde who partied hard and was a lot of fun.
‘Hey you.’ He took the phone up to the second floor and into the bathroom where he could lock the door and have down time away from all those people.
‘I’m wondering what time you can come over, that’s all.’
He envisaged her lying on the bed, scantily clad, in her studio apartment a few blocks away.
‘I won’t be able to get away yet, but soon, promise.’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’
He bit his lip, already feeling better than he had all evening. ‘What are you wearing?’
‘My heart.’
He knew exactly what she meant: the rose-gold heart pendant encrusted with tiny diamonds in its centre, the gift he’d given her for her birthday in June. He hadn’t bought many women birthday presents, he’d never been that serious about anyone, but this one was high maintenance and a gift hadn’t been a choice, he suspected, if he wanted to keep seeing her.
