‘No, no, no.’
The courier paused halfway to her desk, his gaze befuddled. ‘Beg your pardon, miss? Do I have the wrong floor? I have a delivery for a Miss Everhart. Can you redirect me if this isn’t the right office? I’m afraid I’ll need a signature from her.’
She shook her head. ‘No. I mean, yes, you’re in the right office but, no, you don’t need a signature. You won’t need one because you won’t be making a delivery.’ She was aware her voice bordered on hysterical but she couldn’t help it. ‘The gift is being returned,’ she added for complete and undeniable emphasis.
His nervousness increased. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. There’s a non-returnable, non-refundable condition attached to the gift.’
‘That’s not true,’ she stated firmly. ‘I’m Miss Everhart, and I’ve dealt with your establishment before. I know for a fact that’s not the case.’
Sweat beaded on his forehead. Saffron almost felt sorry for him. ‘Well...yes, miss, in most cases it is. But not this time.’
‘Why not?’ she demanded, but deep down, she knew the answer.
‘Because the client specifically requested it.’
She resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut in panicked exasperation because...of course he did. The man could outthink the shrewdest opponent without breaking a sweat, could execute a dozen chess moves in a dozen games simultaneously while lounging behind his desk with his eyes shut. Why she’d think he wouldn’t use such a contingency on this occasion was almost laughable.
But Saffron wasn’t in the mood to laugh.
Her gaze dropped to the case, her stomach knotting tighter. If it’d held a nest of deadly scorpions, she would’ve been more welcoming.
The courier cleared his throat. ‘If I may say so, Miss Everhart, this is no ordinary piece. I believe permission was sought, and given, by Her Majesty for her necklace to be replicated. It’s one of the most exquisite pieces our establishment has had the privilege of creating.’ His tone bordered on reverence, his bewilderment at her reaction evident.
She didn’t doubt him. But the reason for its appearance in her life was blaring thunderously in her ears, blocking everything save for the fact that if she didn’t refuse this, if she delayed taking control of her life, she would be lost for ever. She’d already given four years of her life. Lived on the edge of her emotions. She couldn’t give another day. Another minute.
The man in front of her wasn’t the problem, though. The man seated on his throne-like chair behind the grey steel doors twenty feet from her was.
With brisk efficiency that disguised the churning mix of panic and dread inside her, she signed the delivery document and took possession of the package, knowing in her heart that she was making a huge mistake.
The door shut behind the courier. Saffron remained rooted in place, the box growing heavier with each second. When she could bear it no longer, she returned to her desk, sat down heavily and opened it.
The tiered diamond and ruby necklace was flawless.
Breathtakingly beautiful in a way no blatant bribe from a ruthless, coldly dismissive man had the right to be. At least it wasn’t a choker. That symbolism would’ve been a step too far.
She suppressed a hysterical laugh and stared, awed despite herself, at the most stunning piece of jewellery she’d ever seen in her life. Her fingers itched to caress the precious stones, to experience their sparkling beauty through touch as well as sight.
She snapped the box shut before temptation took hold, and, just like the flowers, set it out of arm’s reach.
She couldn’t...wouldn’t be swayed.
For far too long she’d given herself a pass, let the irresistible enticements of her position, specifically her proximity to the most charismatic man she’d ever encountered, lead her towards that one final act of insanity.
Well...never again.
Jaw gritted in a futile effort to stop the electricity that zapped through her every time she recalled that fateful night in Morocco, she read through the document she’d redrafted a dozen times and hit print.
The whirring sound of the printer spitting out the single sheet was both reassuring and terrifying. She was finally doing this, taking the ultimate step. Soon, she would be in complete control of her life. But first, there was the small problem of getting over this last monumental hurdle.
Saffron had no doubt that it would be a formidable battle.
She picked up the paper, folded it in two and rose.
With a cursory knock, she entered the lion’s den. Just in time to hear the exclusive phone reserved for super-VIP clients ring.
She froze in the doorway, her breathing nosediving as her gaze landed on the man reaching for the silver phone.
Joao Oliviera.