Regency Romance: The Rake's Fake Marriage (Historical Arranged Marriage Romance) (19th Century Victorian Romance) (17 page)

''Listen,
Tyra, I know I said I'd show you the sales figures this afternoon, but
Mrs.
Johnson has told me she's feeling ill and would like to go home. Can you fill in for her this afternoon? Tyra nodded.

The shop
was divided
into departments. Not that the clients would notice. To the untrained eye, the store was one large area full of glass cabinets. To the
staff,
however, it was different.
Usually,
there were four
sales people
on duty at
anyone
time, and two security guards. Each sales person was responsible for six cabinets. Tyra didn't know why, but she enjoyed working on the cabinets where the most expensive ladies jewelry
was housed
.

''Wow,'' she muttered when she saw the man talking to Leon. Leon had a great eye for people and was a master at keeping scruffy, drunk or loud people out of the
store.
The man Leon was talking to was none of these. He was beautifully dressed, six feet tall, and well built. Tyra wasn't an expert on men's suits, but she knew enough to see that it was expensive. Leon pointed to
Tyra,
and she watched as the man walked towards her. When he got closer,
she
saw the dreamiest emerald green eyes. She inadvertently adjusted her hair and checked to see her blouse
was tucked
into her skirt.

''Hi. I have an appointment. My name is Dima
Asakov
. I'm looking for some jewelry for my mother's birthday.''

''Certainly sir.'' Although she had never seen him before, he was obviously one of the store's high net worth individuals. Very rich people were allowed to make an appointment, during which they got VIP treatment. Why don't you pamper me instead of your mother, I could use it right now, she thought. She was quick to chastise herself for being unprofessional.

He noted her features with interest. Black, beautiful, tall, thin, lovely curves, perfect breasts and beautiful face. His mother always said it was the sign of a classy man, when the man kept eye contact with a woman, despite the size of her breasts. Whenever he met a
woman,
he reminded himself of this. Most days it was easy, but today it required a Herculean effort.

''Follow me,
Mr.
Asakov.'' The VIP suite was the most comfortable place Tyra had ever been in, but it lacked atmosphere. It wasn't used nearly as often these days. The financial crisis had seen to that.

''Please take a seat,'' she said. He chose the sofa. In the
room,
there were two
arm chairs
and a sofa. Made
of velvet,
they were red, which gave the room a regal feel. Radley had spent a small fortune getting the lighting right. The ceiling
was dotted
with tiny
spot lights
, but around the sales
table,
they were larger. The sales table was a small glass affair, between the sofa and the
arm chairs
. Just a coffee table Radley had been advised that displaying jewelry in
a homely
setting would lead to more sales.

''I'm Tyra, it's lovely to meet you. Tell me about your mother what kind of woman is she? Tyra was the only sales assistant that bothered asking questions about the intended recipient. It allowed her to make better choices on behalf of the clients, she thought.

''Yes. Where shall I start?''

''Well, how old is she?''

''She's
twenty-two
years older than me,'' he said.

''
Thirty-eight
then,'' she said playing him at his own game.

''That would make me sixteen,'' he laughed. ''No she's
forty-nine
.''
Twenty-seven
she calculated instantly.

''Sorry, I know it's a lot to ask but can you tell me, what color eyes and hair she has. Is her skin light or dark?''

''She's got blonde hair, like mine and her skin color is the same. Her eyes? Do you know, it's amazing how you think you know somebody so well and still don't know things like eye color.'' He looked embarrassed. ''Is it
very important
?''

She nodded. ''Have you got a sister?'' He nodded. ''Call her, she'll know.'' After a very short conversation in
Russian,
he hung up.

''Green,'' he said. ''Do you know what color eyes your mother has?'' When her eyes
dropped,
he felt awkward. ''Sorry, it's none of my business.''

''She's dead.
But most black people have brown eyes, so it's not so difficult in my case.
How much do you want to spend today?''

''My budget is five hundred
thousand,
'' he said it without
flinching
as if it was the kind of impulse buy mothers
make
to pacify their whining kids at the supermarket check out.

''Great, well thank you for choosing Samuels. I hope we can find you just what you're looking for.'' Tyra smiled at him. Not the usual friendly smile she reserved for people she liked, but the smile
she
hadn't used since
she
fell in love with her English teacher when she was sixteen.

''
Of course,
if you
really
want to make me happy, you can sell me the Hope Diamond at a
knockdown
price,'' he jested.

''I would, but it won't be here for a few weeks,'' she quipped. They both laughed. There was a silence as they looked at each other. It was one of those settling looks that
leaves
the participants at ease with each other. ''Where did you read we are hosting the Hope Diamond?''

''It was in the New York Times. They wrote a fascinating story about the life of the diamond, who'd owned it and where it had
traveled to
.
It's been
worn by some of the most beautiful women in the world. It would look
really good
on you.''

He's looking at my breasts, she thought. Get some jewelry in front of him to
look at
. ''Alright,
lets
get down to business. How about a matching necklace and earrings?'' When he nodded, Tyra
called
security and got them to fetch the set that Tyra herself admired more than anything in the store.

''So, tell me about yourself, Tyra?'' he said. She could tell it was genuine interest, not just conversation filler.

''There isn't much to know really,'' she said.

''That can't be true. I'm sorry if this embarrasses
you,
but you are very attractive. A woman like you must have a lot of stories to tell. I bet you get hit on
everyday
.''

I do, she thought. In the subway, on the street, in restaurants, almost everywhere. ''No, not really.''

''You're kidding me.
In that case,
the male population of New York must be blind.''

''Alright, I lied. I do get comments all the time. I can't go anywhere without someone looking at me in an inappropriate manner or whistling at me.''''And do you like it when a man whistles at you?'' he asked in a lower tone of voice.

This isn't
the kind of conversation you should be having with a
client;
she told herself. Not able to help herself, she continued. ''Sometimes. It
depends on
who's whistling. If it's a group of guys on a building site, I don't mind because I know it's just a bit of fun. If it's a
guy
on the street next to me, it's too
close,
and I feel threatened.''

''And if I whistled at you now? How would that make you feel?''

Don't answer that, he's flirting with you. ''I'd like it,'' she said as her eyes rolled away in embarrassment.

''Let's see.'' He looked around to make sure the door was still closed and made a wolf whistle. ''There. Did you enjoy that?''

She was ashamed to say she did. It had been months since she'd had any real attention from a man. Just before her parents had died, she had talked with Natalie about it.
Natalie told her it was because she was so beautiful and most men felt intimidated by her.
She remembered telling Natalie she was mad.

“It was nice. Flirty.'' she an answered.

''Flirty? That's an interesting word.'' He was about to say more, but security arrived with the jewelry.

''There, what do you think?'' she asked when the magnificent pieces were lying on the table in front of him.''

''Why are you so sad?'' he said, ignoring what was in front of him. He noticed her eyes look into his and then down to the jewelry. The speed with which she did it, implied she wanted him to concentrate on what was in front of him, not on her. ''Why?'' he insisted.

''My
mom
and dad died in
a horrific
car crash a few weeks ago.''

''Jesus, I'm sorry. That's awful. How are you coping?''

She admired him. Most people would have changed the
subject,
but he didn't. ''Not very well.''

''I'm not surprised. Can you talk about it?'' Tyra had once read a book about body language and the way he was sitting said to her that he was interested in her
well-being
and not after
a cheap
disaster story.

''I don't know if I can talk about it. To be
honest,
I haven't
really
tried too much. I've mentioned things to Natalie, my best friend, and to
Mr.
Samuels, but
really
talk to someone about it, no. I haven't done that.''

''What happened?'' He asked directly.

''Well, in the first instance it was my fault.''

''Were you driving?'' he asked logically.

''No, my father was driving. It's a long story.'' She suddenly felt tired and alone. She realized she didn't want to talk about it.

''Tell me. I want to help you. How do you expect to get better if you never tell anyone about it?''

She was sick of feeling the way she did, and
she
desperately wanted to feel like
she
had before the accident, but she was afraid to let go. She was holding onto the pain because she felt
she
should
be punished
for what she did.

She decided she would try and open up. ''I moved to New York from a small town just outside the city seven months ago. I applied
for
and got this job.
I was so happy.
I got a tiny apartment in Queens and decorated it just how I liked it. Pink everywhere.'' She rolled her eyes to the ceiling in a display of irony. It should have been black, she mused. ''Mum was
forty-two
when she had me. They had tried for twenty years to have a
baby,
and it finally happened.'' Dima reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean tissue. She dried her eyes and cleared her throat. No, I'm going to tell him, she
told
the voice of doubt in her head ''They were so happy with me. They weren't rich, but they worked hard to give me
a good
childhood. I wanted for
nothing,
and I felt their love, every single day. How many people can say that?''

Dima nodded and thought about his
own
family. Polar opposite to Tyra's. Back in the days when he'd lived in a one bedroom apartment in Moscow, his drunken father had beaten him black and blue for the slightest misdemeanor. His mother had tried to protect him, but when she had, he had thumped her so hard, she'd had no choice but to cower away. What his father had forgotten was that little boys have good memories, and when they grow up they become
strong
. The look on the old bastard’s
face
when Dima had throttled him still amused him.

''When I left home, they were gutted.'' Tyra continued. ''
Of course,
I was
twenty-two,
and it was time. They realized that, but I could see how upset they were. What I couldn't understand was that they didn't come and visit me in my new home. I went to them most weekends, but they didn't come to me. I don't know why.''

''Maybe they were afraid?''

''Why?''

''Because they didn't want to let go of their child. The child they so loved and cherished. Perhaps seeing you as a young adult, not needing them anymore was too much.'' He noticed how the look on her face had changed. Exploring her feelings seemed to have lifted a cloud, albeit a tiny one. ''They tried for twenty years to have you. Sure it would have been hard to let go, no matter how old you were.''