Barbara Dunlop - Flying High

He slowed his pace to say goodbye, deciding to tell her about quitting later. No point in upsetting her right before dinner. Plus, he honestly wasn’t sure if he could blurt it out to her face.

She turned from the table and patted his arm. “Striker, honey, can you run down to the wine cellar for me?”

He paused, making sure he kept his voice gentle. “I’m sorry, Mom, but I’m not going to be—”

“Tyler and Jenna are finally coming for dinner,” she said, “and we need a second bottle of merlot.”

Striker put a little more determination in his voice. “Mom, Dad and I just had another—”

She tipped her head sideways and hit him with an impatient look. “Now, Striker, you know there’s no point in talking to your father at this time of day. Go get me the merlot. You haven’t seen your brother in ages.”

The expression on her face and the rush of words told him she knew something was going on.

Had she overheard their argument? Had Jackson confided his “punishment” to her? She had to know that Striker would never stand for it.

“Jacques is making salmon in dill sauce tonight,” she continued, turning back to the table. “You know it’s your favorite.”

Salmon in dill sauce might have placated Striker when he was twelve, but he was past the point of being bribed by Jacques. He sighed. “Mom.”

“For dessert we’re having white chocolate mousse.”

He leaned sideways over the table in an effort to catch her eye. “Mom, I really am going—”

“Don’t be silly.” She made a shooing motion with her hands, refusing to meet his eyes. “Be a good son and go get the wine.”

Striker hesitated, frustration warring with loyalty, sharp words about his father hovering on the tip of his tongue. After a moment’s hesitation, he swallowed them. How the hell was he supposed to quit his job when he couldn’t even cut out on a family dinner?

Quitting would kill his mother.

He knew that.

He’d always known that.

She’d worried for years while his brother, Tyler, worked at his own business. And she’d been over the moon when her youngest son had finally come back to work at Reeves-DuCarter International last month, and the family was together once again.

If Striker left now, he’d pull the rug out from under his mother’s newfound happiness. What kind of a man would do that?

ERIN O’CONNELL couldn’t believe her boss would do this to her. “This is what you call my big break?”

“I’m asking you to schmooze with him, not sleep with him,” said Patrick Aster in an undertone, closing the boardroom door on the busy reception area of Elle Jewelers’ New York head office.

“For schmoozing, the company’s buying me a new wardrobe?” Erin felt like a prostitute. Sure, she’d been bugging Patrick for months to give her a chance to negotiate with some of their bigger gem suppliers, but not like this, not at the expense of her ethics.

Patrick walked over to the coffee station and poured himself a cup. “This is Allan Baldwin we’re talking about,” he said. “Allan freaking, High Ice Diamonds, Baldwin. Do you have any idea what kind of an opportunity I’m handing you?”

Erin crossed her arms over her cream colored blouse. “Exactly how will flirting my way into a contract get me recognition and respect in this company?”

Patrick lifted the stoneware mug as he turned to face her again. “You land the Baldwin account, and this company will kiss your little white—”

“They’ll all think I slept with him to get it.”

Patrick scoffed. “No they won’t.”

“Yes, they will.”

He took a sip of the coffee. “Well, even if they do, they won’t care.”

“You don’t get me at all, do you?”

A smile played on his lips and his eyes danced. “You’re intelligent, committed, hardworking and hungry.”

Okay. So, maybe he did get her. She’d been a regional buyer for Elle Jewelers for four years now and she was dying to break out into the big leagues. But she had her standards, and she had her pride. She wasn’t about to use her gender, her looks and her body to get her first big gemstone contract.

Patrick sighed with exaggerated patience. “All you have to do is fly to Seattle, hop a floatplane to Blue Earth Island, attend the Pelican Cove Art Exhibition—I wrangled you an invitation—and ‘accidentally’ run into Allan Baldwin.”

“Then offer him what to sign with us?”

Patrick winked. “Whatever it takes, baby.”

Erin’s jaw dropped open.

“I’m joking, Erin. It’s done like this all the time. You meet him casually, get to know him, put him at ease before you start talking business.”

“No.”

The boardroom door opened and Elle Jewelers gemologist, Julie Green, stuck her head in.

Patrick nodded in her direction. “You can take Julie with you.”

“Take Julie with you where?” asked Julie, coming fully into the room and closing the door behind her.

“To Seattle,” said Patrick. “The Mendenhal Resort on Blue Earth Island. All expenses paid.”

“The Mendenhal?” asked Julie, her blue eyes going wide.

“Elle Jewelers will throw in a new Fuchini wardrobe,” said Patrick. “For each of you.”

Julie turned to Erin, her short blond hair bobbing with her rapid nods. “Yes. Take Julie with you. Definitely.”

“Don’t get so excited,” said Erin. “He’s pimping us.”

Julie looked back at Patrick for a second, then back to Erin. She mouthed the word Fuchini. Then out loud she said, “Define pimping.”

Erin rolled her eyes.

“Have you seen their summer dress line?” Julie shot Patrick another look. “I wouldn’t actually have to sleep with anybody, would I?”

“Allan Baldwin,” said Erin.

“The Allan Baldwin?” asked Julie.

Erin wasn’t surprised that Julie recognized the name. Allan Baldwin had revolutionized the diamond industry.

With his huge diamond find in northern Canada, he’d capitalized on the demand for ethical stones. When he “branded” his diamonds by etching a microscopic killer whale into each stone mined at his High Ice property, the market had leaped to attention. Now every jewelry wholesaler in the world wanted Allan’s gems. Including Elle Jewelers.

“The Allan Baldwin,” Patrick confirmed.

Julie’s eyes narrowed and her mouth puckered contemplatively. “Well…He is gorgeous. I mean if I had to actually sleep with—”

“Gorgeous is all it takes for you to throw your principles out the window?” asked Erin.

“Of course not,” said Julie, much to Erin’s relief. “Drop-dead gorgeous and a diamond mine is all it takes.”

Patrick chuckled.

Erin shook her head.

“Didn’t you see his picture in Entrepreneur West last month?” asked Julie.

Erin had seen the picture. Allan was definitely good-looking.

Not that his looks made any difference. Patrick’s proposal was ridiculous. She threw up her hands. “I’m a professional gem buyer, not a good-time-girl.”

“Men do this all the time,” said Patrick. “Tell her, Jules.”

“Men do this all the time,” said Julie.

“What men?” Erin challenged.

Julie looked to Patrick.

“Jason Wolensky,” said Patrick.

Erin paused. Jason Wolensky was one of Elle’s top international buyers.

“And Charles Timothy,” said Patrick. “They both had a shot at Allan Baldwin, but they blew it.”

Julie nudged Erin. “I told you those millions of hours on the butt master would pay off one day.”

“So, I’m getting a chance to best the who’s who of Elle Jewelers buying staff because of my glutes?”

Erin wasn’t ready to accept that. Growing up in a stuffy little apartment in the Bronx, she may not have had much, but she’d had her mother’s wisdom. Her mother had always told her that with hard work and perseverance a person could accomplish whatever they wanted. She’d never said anything about having good glutes.