His Black Sheep Bride / The Billionaire Baby Bombshell: His Black Sheep Bride / The Billionaire Baby Bombshell. Anna DePalo
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entire space was marked by a high ceiling and accentuated by large, inverted-U-shaped windows that let in plenty of natural light—a precious commodity in Manhattan’s pricey real estate market.
Hearing a click as Tamara shut the door behind him, he walked with deliberate casualness to a nearby waist-high glass display case.
He let his eyes scan the bracelets, necklaces and earrings on display, all made from some type of green gemstone.
“It’s green agate, in case you’re wondering,” Tamara said crisply as she stopped beside him.
He looked up from the case, and she regarded him challengingly, almost defensively.
“I was reading your stare,” she explained.
“You have a unique style.”
“Thank you, I think.”
His lips quirked up. “You’re welcome.”
She looked pointedly at his custom-made business suit, as if making a silent judgment about the contrast in their two styles.
Perhaps she was also wondering why he’d bothered to fit a visit with her into his busy work schedule.
He wasn’t about to accommodate her unspoken question, however. Because the truth was, though it was late Wednesday afternoon and the middle of his workweek, he’d cleared his schedule in order to come downtown and find her. And if Tamara knew the importance he’d attached to his visit, she’d clam up and retreat. Or more likely, it would raise her hackles again.
“What sort of commission do you have in mind?” she asked finally, saving him from a response.
He figured it was too much to hope she’d had an abrupt change of heart about creating jewelry for him. More likely, her curiosity was simply piqued. But he’d work with that for now.
“A coordinated set,” he said blandly. “Earrings and a necklace.”
“Of course,” she responded with a corresponding lack of inflection. “Do you prefer a particular type of stone?”
He looked into her eyes. “Emeralds.”
“A popular choice—” she gave him a saccharine smile “—but I can’t help you. I focus on bridge jewelry made with semiprecious stones—”
“Designing fine jewelry with precious stones can’t be much different,” he countered.
Tamara hesitated before conceding grudgingly, “No, it’s not.”
“Great, then there’s no problem,” he responded smoothly. “Which stones do you like?”
She frowned. “I don’t see how that enters—”
“You’re a professional designer,” he diverted. “I’d like to know what you think. What stones do you prefer, assuming money isn’t an issue?”
She clenched her jaw. “Emeralds. Dark-toned ones.”
He gave a satisfied smile. “Then we’re in agreement. Make them big, and surrounded by diamonds.”
She pursed her lips. “Has it ever occurred to you that I simply might not like a commission from you?”
“Never.” He flashed a smile. “You’re in business to sell jewelry, and I’m here prepared to spend six figures.”
With an oblique reference, he cast another lure for her. He was a seasoned player at the negotiation table and now he brought his skills to bear.
She looked exasperated. “You are decisive.”
“Yes, I am.” He hid his satisfaction in the chink in her armor. “Aren’t most of your clients?”
“I don’t usually do custom orders,” she responded. “It’s not how I operate. The people who buy my jewelry appreciate something offbeat.”
He grinned. “Not your usual high-society bling bling.”
At her nod, he added, “Then I hope you can … accommodate me.”
It was sexual banter, but he was careful to keep his expression innocent. Nevertheless, she regarded him with suspicious displeasure for a moment.
“No request is too unusual,” she replied finally.
“What a relief.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I’ll need a deposit, and you’ll have to give me time to contact my suppliers and find the right stones. Fat emeralds are not among my usual orders.”
Touché. Still, he was happy to have her think of him as gaudy and tasteless as long as it got him one step closer to his goal. “Naturally, I understand. I hope I’m not putting you out.”
“Not any more than the unexpected appearance of a persistent would-be client,” she shot back.
The shadow of a smile touched his lips. Tamara certainly knew how to give as good as she got. What a waste she would have been on Tom. Sawyer was not the least bit repentant about his ruthless maneuvering.
Rather than respond directly to her jab, he turned the conversation in the direction he wanted it to go. “I thought you’d be happy about an expensive order.” He glanced around at their surroundings. “I understand you could use some help.”
Now that he had her on the hook, he could afford to drive his point home.
Tamara hesitated. “What makes you think so?”
“I have my sources.”
She scowled suddenly. “Have you been talking to my father?” She held up a hand, as if to stop him. “No, wait. Don’t bother answering that question.”
“For the record, it was through my own digging. But what I didn’t find out on my own, your friend Tom was happy to volunteer.”
She ignored the reference to Tom and braced one hand on her hip, her eyes narrowing. “You had me investigated?”
He let his lips quirk up on one side. “I like to know who I’m doing business with. Avoids nasty surprises.”
“So I should be flattered?” she demanded, looking outraged. “Is it a compliment that I merited the same full-blown investigation you might accord to a prospective business partner?”
“In or out of bed,” he added to get a rise out of her.
Her face flushed with color. “I see.” She gave him a sweeping look. “And I suppose none of your … girlfriends were infuriated by having to pass muster? Was the privilege of sleeping with you just too great a prize?”
He gave her a slow grin designed to incense. “No complaints yet.”
“Oh!”
For a moment, she looked as if she was speechless with outrage, fishing around for the right words for a proverbial clobbering.
Finally, she bit out, “I suppose that’s why you’re here today—to order a trinket for one of the lucky winners?”
He cocked his head to the side, and then raised his hand to slowly brush a tendril back from her face.
She stilled.
“You could characterize it that way,” he said in a deep voice that held just a hint of laughter.
She brushed his hand aside. “Fine,” she huffed, her voice nonetheless holding a hint of breathlessness. “It’s not my business why my clients come to me—or how.”
“Not too discriminating to do business with the devil?” he baited her.
She gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Let’s step over to my desk to discuss what you’re looking for.” She paused, and then added emphatically, almost warningly, “In a necklace and earrings coordinate set, of course.”
He gave a