“Of course, I do, Mr Merloft.”
“Call me Breht,” he suggested. Being addressed so formally pressed an awkward feeling upon him. He’d known Brierley for some years, even though they had fallen out of touch for a part of that time. Considering they would be working closely together over the next couple of days, being addressed in such a manner each time would only exacerbate things.
“Okay, Breht,” she was testing the sound of his name on her tongue. “When?”
He’d be the first to admit he liked the way his name sounded coming from her lips. Usually, he was addressed with the human version that did little to complement his orcish heritage. Her lilting voice captured the unusual pronunciation, emphasising it. Something about hearing it from her made it feel entirely different.
“Can you get someone to cover the shop in the morning?” He asked, trying to push his thoughts away, temporarily. “I need to solidify my ideas this afternoon, so I have something to show you.”
“I’ll close for the day,” she confirmed.
“Great, I’ll see you then.” He heard her saying a cheerful goodbye and wordlessly brought the call to a close. He pulled the cheap meal back towards him. Although it had gone cold, he took a bite, and it tasted so much better than he had expected.
Chapter 5
Therewasnothingmoreperfect than waking up by the sea. With the warmth of the rising sun bearing down its warm rays. Promising another glorious day at the beach.
Even at the earlier hour of their meet-up, there was a small handful of families sitting on the sand, making castles and either laughing or crying whenever a sibling demolished it. Breht watched them with casual interest while waiting for Brierley. His thoughts were racing, excited about showing her the ideas he had and discussing with her what they could change to project Ohpaua into the limelight. Sure, his ideas were grand, and it was a bit of a gamble, but what ventures in business weren’t, especially when the situation was already at dire straits?
He sat on the picnic bench, enjoying the early morning. It was an unconventional place for a business meeting, but the call of good weather made for a much better boardroom than a stuffy cafe. A gentle breeze flicked through the grass at his feet, stirring up shades of verdant strands that swayed in lazy swirls.He stared across the turf, circling over the key points of his spiel when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He plucked it out in case it was Brierley trying to contact him. The tell-tale signs of ‘Withheld Number’ displayed on the screen, and he diverted the call; if it was important, they’d leave a voicemail. If it were Rosani, she could go to hell. But damn, was she trying to make it hard to ignore her.
“Good morning,” Brierley greeted him, and he stuffed the phone back in his pocket. So lost in his own dramas, he hadn’t noticed her approach.
“Morning. Did you sleep well?” He asked, offering out his hand as he rose from the picnic bench. The formal gesture didn’t match his familiar words.
She took a moment to take his hand, and he understood her hesitation. They were caught halfway between old friendship and the formality of business. The combination was unfamiliar territory, and he was making things up as he went along. When her fingers touched his palm, a jolt seared through him, and he shuddered with delight as his fingers closed around hers. Her hands were small in his own; when he stood next to her, his broad shoulders dwarfed her. Instantly bringing out the instinctive desire to protect, to keep her safe. To cherish.
“Can I get you a drink?” He offered, hoping that the suggestion would put her at ease. While he could instantly launch into his perfected pitch, he figured that she’d much prefer a casual interaction; half the battle of business was understanding your client, which put him at an advantage. Hours had been spent poring over the details of her business the previous evening.
“Sure,” she replied.
“Be right back,” he stated, the grin on his face paramount, only to be wiped off when his phone started ringing again. He drew in a deep breath and checked the screen. The same placement of a withheld number greeted him. He silenced it and put it back, noticing he’d been sent a voicemail. Something for him to delete later.
He ordered a couple of drinks from the kiosk and waited while they were being concocted, looking back at the woman waiting for him to transform her life. Brierley was leaning on the table with her head resting on the back of her hand, curiously looking at the portfolio case that he’d left behind. Then she was looking in his direction, the corners of his mouth twitched into a hesitant smile, snapping back down on her seat as though a child being caught doing something wrong. He offered a serene smile in return, shaking his head, she could be as naughty as she damned well pleased! He’d soon set her straight.
“Sir?”
His attention was taken from staring across the park at Brierley by the kiosk holder. How many times had the outdoor barista called for him? They certainly looked a bit irritated with him. “Right, thanks,” he said, picking up the two drinks and heading back towards his awaiting client.
He strode back across the park and placed the drink in front of Brierley. She took it in her hands with a smile on her face. “You remembered?” She asked about the drink, taking the plastic lid off.
“Sure did, with the caramel shot too,” he remarked about the iced coffee he recalled her having a particular taste for. “No cream, just milk.” He’d seen her buy the drink at least a thousand times; her insistence that there was to be no whippedcream on the top of her drink was something that often came up in conversation.
He took the lid from his own drink, letting the warm day cool the boiling contents. Black and so thick with sugar that you could stand a spoon in it. He took his seat on the park bench across from her, holding the cup in his large hands and asked, “So, what were your conditions?” He’d been mulling over what her restrictions could be and had a couple of guesses written into his pitch. Hearing them from her directly would allow him to factor in her boundaries and limitations.
“The main one is I don’t want to change the Paua Shell I work with,” she informed him, “It’s the heart of everything. My grandmother fell in love with the colour and shine of the shell when she went on holiday to New Zealand one year. She was very dear to me, more like a mother than my mother, sort of dear. So, changing that would cripple the entire premise of the business.”
“Gotcha,” he replied, getting into the business mindset as she spoke. He wanted to ask about her real mother. Brierley’s sweeping statement of how her mother was absent from her life resonated with him. A keen connection to her swept over him in a way that hadn’t occurred to him prior. It was purely the need for professionalism that kept him quiet on the subject; it felt too soon to pry. “Anything else?” He asked, putting the hot coffee to his mouth, drinking, regretting the touch of boiling water against him and placing it down again.
He nodded, encouraging her to continue laying out her restrictions.
“I would still like to be the person who makes everything. When I’m sitting there, concentrating on making a piece, therest of the world just vanishes, and hours can pass in an instant. I don’t get that sense of peace any other way.”
“Is there anything else I can’t touch?” He asked for clarification. Brierley was the beating heart of Ohpaua, the main appeal of her bespoke jewellery company. Removing her would stop it dead; the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.
“I’d rather not change the name, mostly for logistical reasons.”
He chuckled in appreciation of her practicality, “Understandable, we can rebrand without changing the name.”
