The Sapphire Pendant (17 page)

“When what?” Teresa urged.

She bit her lip. Shame rushed back to her, as fresh as before. Her eyes fell. “I tried to kiss him.” She glanced up. “He moved away.”

Michelle frowned. “Why were you trying to kiss him?”

“Because he looked like he wanted to kiss me.”

Teresa leaned forward. “What kind of look was that?”

“Never mind,” Michelle said before Jessie could reply. “What did he say when he moved away?”

Jessie shrugged. “I didn’t give him the chance to say anything. But when I was leaving, he said, ‘The problem with games is that someone has to lose.’”

Michelle nodded. “Clever man.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she said bitterly. “Perhaps you should have accepted the bet.”

“Sorry, I’m too clever for that.”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m doing this for us because I thought the pendant was important. I don’t see you doing anything to get it back.”

“I’m saving.”

“Hell, if you had just stayed married, we could have bought it back.”

Teresa touched her hand. “Jessie, that’s not fair.”

Jessie kept her gaze on Michelle’s cool face. “What’s not fair is that she thinks this is all some sort of joke. I wanted to win. I wanted to do something important and I failed again. Is that what you want me to admit? That I’m a failure? That nothing I think of is logical and of any importance?”

“You’re not a failure,” Michelle said. “Yes, I do admit that I don’t understand the way you do things, but you do them with such conviction that I have to give you credit. However, I do not believe in degrading myself for something that can be obtained in another manner.”

“It’s too late to turn back,” Teresa said. “If she loses, she has to be Deborah’s maid for a year.”

She looked thoughtful. “Will she pay you?”

Jessie stared at her, outraged. “Michelle!”

“That’s not the point,” Teresa said. “I believe Jessie can charm Kenneth. She just needs help in how to do it. Give her tips.”

Michelle took a sip of her drink. “You just need to gain his trust. You can’t just throw yourself at him when the mood strikes you.”

“I feel like striking you right now.”

“Jessie,” Teresa warned.

“I didn’t throw myself at him, as she’d like to suggest. I was subtle and, I thought, alluring.” She glared at Michelle. “You said I had everything necessary to attract a man, so I thought he might want to kiss me. I was wrong.”

Michelle buttered a roll. “I doubt you were wrong, but you have to gain his trust before he’ll become vulnerable.”

“Kissing is not about being vulnerable. People do it all the time.”

“When you care about someone, it’s different.”

“You think he cares about me?”

“Always has.”

She rested her chin in her hands. “I see Dad wasn’t the only dreamer.”

Michelle shrugged and bit into her roll.

“Perhaps you can try to arrange something for all of you to do together,” Teresa said.

Jessie shook her head. “He’s too busy.”

“He comes home in the evening, doesn’t he?”

“At this point, it seems that he either doesn’t come home or brings company.”

“So challenge him to something,” Michelle said. “Nobody’s been able to resist a challenge from you.”

Teresa waved her hand. “No, don’t challenge him. You’re too competitive as it is.” She folded her arms. “This will have to be your last dinner with us.”

“Why? You’re my strategic team.”

“Dinner is the perfect time to put on the charm.”

Michelle wiped the corners of her mouth. “Unless something gets caught in your teeth. Or you choke…”

Teresa shot her a warning glare. “Be quiet.” She turned to Jessie. “Listen to me. Eat dinner with him. It’s the perfect time to see how his day was and to chat. Then perhaps you can wheedle your way into his trust.”

“Under false pretenses, of course,” Michelle muttered.

Her sisters ignored her.

“Just remember your manners. Don’t reach across the table for anything.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Michelle added.

“Don’t put your elbows on the table.”

“Don’t slurp your soup.”

Jessie licked her fingers. “I have been housebroken. Thank you.”

Teresa handed her a napkin. “Don’t do that either. You have to be charming, graceful, and above all feminine.”

Michelle crossed her arms and leaned forward. “Which means: don’t lose your temper.”

* * *

She didn’t lose her temper for an entire week. Unfortunately, whatever charm was, she obviously didn’t have it. The food was divine; the company was not. Kenneth brought his work to the table, spreading out pens, papers, manila folders, and calculating devices as if he were in a work room instead of a dining room.
 

On several occasions he would further disrupt the dining experience by accepting both business and family calls at the table. He would nod his head when Syrah spoke, but both she and Jessie knew that his mind was elsewhere. Though his behavior vexed her, for the first two days, Jessie said nothing. She tried to catch his attention with a coy smile or a sly glance if he looked at her, which was rare. Nothing worked. On the fourth day, she tried to engage him in conversation as he wrote his bills.

She licked her lips. “Is there anything I could help you with?”

“No.”

She spotted an advertisement from Macy’s with a cashmere blouse circled twice in black. “That’s a lovely blouse. It would make a great gift.”

“It’s for my mother,” he muttered.

She lifted the ad and looked closely. In the margin was a woman’s scrawl detailing the size, color, and style. “Her birthday’s coming up?”

“No, she just wants it.”

“Why don’t you wait for her birthday?”

He sent her a brief glance. “Because she wants it now.”

“And as the ever-dutiful son, you’ll buy it for her.”

He licked an envelope and sealed it.

She sighed. His relationship with his mother was none of her business. She shifted her gaze to a catalog from the University of Maryland. “Are they already asking for donations?” she asked as he wrote out a check.

He didn’t raise his head. “My nephew goes there. He needs money for another semester.”

“What is he studying?”

He shrugged.

“What year is he?”

“A sixth-year junior.”

Her eyebrows flew up. “A what?”

He tore out the check. “He’s had trouble deciding what to do.”

“For two extra years? Why are you paying for his indecision? Make him get a job and pay his own tuition. He’ll make up his mind fast. Trust me.”

He took a deep breath, then slid his checkbook across the table. It stopped in front of her. “Whose name is on this?”

She chewed her lip. “Yours.”

“Then whose business is it?”

She took another helping of corn.

It was now day seven. Jessie stared at Kenneth’s bent head. Enough was enough. She had to do something to get his attention. She stabbed her peas, trying to think.

“It’s been so nice to have you eat with us, Aunt Jessie, hasn’t it, Uncle?” Syrah asked.

“Sure,” Kenneth said, not taking his eyes off the figures in front of him.

Syrah grinned at Jessie, offering her the same embarrassed expression parents give when their children are misbehaving in public.

Jessie’s patience snapped. “You know, it’s not polite to bring work to the dinner table when you have a guest.”

“You’re not a guest.”

Jessie continued to stab into her vegetables. She wouldn’t get angry. She wouldn’t imagine the peas were little Kenneths rolling around on her plate. She had to engage him in conversation, talk about something that interested him.

“I was thinking of this great idea for your negotiations with Trans Moore. I heard their president is a sucker for—”

“Thanks, but I’m really busy right now.”

It took Jessie a moment to realize that Kenneth had just made his statement the other day to help her save face. He really wasn’t interested in her ideas, which wasn’t surprising. Nobody usually was.

“Can I be excused?” Syrah suddenly asked. “I finished all my food.”

“How about dessert?” Jessie asked.

“I’ll get it later.”

“Okay.”

“Did you eat your vegetables?” Kenneth muttered.

Jessie scowled. “If you looked up from your papers, you’d see that her plate is wiped clean.”

Kenneth glanced up, noted the plate, then went back to work. “Oh. Then go on.”

“Thanks.” Syrah stood, then stared at them, as though uncertain she should leave them alone together. She had the expression of a trainer worried about leaving two prized lions in the same pen.

Jessie grinned. “We’ll be fine.”

Syrah pushed in her chair and ran upstairs.

Jessie glared at Kenneth’s bent head. “If you want to do your work, why don’t you just leave the table?”

“I think you’re forgetting that this is my house,” he said coolly.

“What’s so important that you can’t even spare a few moments at the dinner table?”

“It’s called work. I’m sure you’re familiar with it.”

Jessie clenched her teeth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He began writing down some figures. “It means that I don’t have the luxury of losing my job.”

“You’re the one who got me fired.”

“And who can you blame for your past dismissals?”

“You’re just a greedy bastard that only thinks about money.”

He tapped his pencil against his chin and looked up at the ceiling pensively. “Oh, yes, that’s right. I don’t keep my business aboveboard for the numerous employees I have, for the community I helped revive, or to make sure that my family lives comfortably. I do it all for the bottom line.” He pointed the pencil at her. “Thanks for reminding me.”

Arrogant pig
. “You don’t need to be sarcastic.”

“Is that what I am? I thought I was being honest.”

“If you don’t want to eat, you should go somewhere else.”

He returned his attention to his papers. “You’re not my wife and you’re not my girlfriend, so don’t believe you have the authority to tell me what to do in my own home.”

She pushed food around on her plate. “Unlike the other disillusioned girls pining after you, I have no desire to be either.”

His lips twisted into a cynical smile. “Oh, so that attempted kiss was my imagination?”

Heat burned her cheeks. She didn’t know if it was from shame or temper, and she didn’t care. She put down her fork with deliberation. “No, I briefly forgot I’m not your type. You’re a very deep and spiritual man. You look for the special qualities of a woman, like how long her legs are, or the size of her chest. While I—”

“Like to play games.” He waved his pencil. “Don’t throw your insecurities about not being pretty or smart onto me.”

She could feel her hands tighten. Why was it so easy for him to open her wounds and expose her, leaving her scars bare to bleed? “That’s not true.” Jessie pounded her fist on the table, her wrist hitting a forkful of food. It flew through the air, landing on Kenneth’s crisp white shirt.

Jessie winced as she saw the food slowly trail a path down his shirt, like a lazy slug. “That was an accident.”

Kenneth removed the fork, scraped the food away, and put it on his plate. He gathered all his papers together and shoved them in his briefcase. He then lifted a spoonful of mashed potatoes and aimed it at her.

Her mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered.

He nodded. “Yes, I would.” He let the spoon go. A big splat landed on her shoulder.

She scooped up the mashed-potato glob and glared at him. “That was a mistake, Mr. Preston.” She grabbed a handful of baked beans.

He gestured to her hand. “I believe you’ll regret that, Ms. Clifton.”

“I doubt it.” She flung the beans at him, but he ducked, and they splattered the wall behind him.

“Your aim was bit off.”

She grabbed her juice and threw it in his face, soaking him. She lifted her chin. “How’s that for aim?”

He took a napkin and wiped at the juice sliding down his face. He took a handful of mashed potatoes and formed it into a ball.

“I was very good at dodge ball,” she said. She ducked when he threw the ball at her. “Ha! Missed me!” She laughed, only to have the ball hit her in the face.

Kenneth grinned. “I was also good at dodge ball. I could fake out any opponent.”

Jessie wiped her face and threw the remnants at him. Kenneth moved to another part of the table and grabbed a handful of vegetables. She grabbed more baked beans. They stared at each other, ready for the battle to begin.

“We don’t have to do this,” Kenneth said.

“I know.” She fired.

And the battle began. They grabbed and threw whatever was close, aiming and firing at random. Neither would admit that after a few moments, it became enjoyable, that they had almost forgotten what the argument was about. It was the thrill of the game that mattered; it was a way to vent their mutual dislike and attraction to each other.

“All right, that’s enough!” Kenneth said after a few minutes of battle had passed.

Jessie threw a biscuit. It hit him on the forehead and landed on the table. She picked up a mixture that had congealed together on the table.

He seized her wrist before she could throw it, forcing her to drop the mixture. “I said that’s enough.”

She yanked her wrist free. “Fine.”

He stared at her. She had an assortment of food over her face and clothes and looked like a contestant on a kids’ TV show. He imagined that he didn’t look much better.

“Look at the mess you created,” Jessie said, surveying the damage. The beautiful dining room had been turned into a kindergarten cafeteria. Food stuck to a painting, hung on chairs, and dotted the floor.

“Me? You started it.”

“It was an accident.” She pointed a finger at him. “Your spoonful was pure revenge.”

“Yes. You deserved it.”

“I deserved it?” Her voice cracked.

“You need to control that damned temper of yours.”

She walked up to him, ready to tell him off, but she slipped on some peas and crashed into him. He stepped back and slipped on some juice. They both landed with a thud.

“Oof!” he said.