The Sapphire Pendant (31 page)

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

He was lying, but she was used to men lying to her. Something was wrong. Something about him had changed and after knowing him for so many years she knew what it was.
 

“So what’s her name?” she asked casually, careful that her Midwestern accent didn’t slip through.

He turned to her so quickly she knew her suspicions were correct. “Who?”

She ran her fingers through her hair. “The woman you’re seeing.”

A muscle twitched at his jaw. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

“How long do you expect to keep this up?”

“I’ve been wearing a mask most of my life. I wouldn’t know how to function without one.”

True. His mask had kept her going for over ten years, but she could see it slipping. She was about to lose him. And she couldn’t afford to. She was getting older and had to look out for her retirement. She wanted to save enough money to go to Rome.

She crossed the room and saddled his lap. He immediately responded; she could feel a hard bulge pressed against her bottom. His mouth captured hers then he moved his lips down her chest. He abruptly stopped then sat back.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, lifted her off his lap and stood. “I have to go.”

After the door closed, Leticia glanced around her room. She’d come too far from the pathetic Ohioan town she’d grown up in to turn back now. Kenneth was her investment. She remembered when he had first come to her as a young college student: eager, fresh, and desperate. The best kind. With one look she knew he would change her life. He was her ticket to a new future and she couldn’t lose him now. All she needed was the right information and Jack could get it for her. Jack Alton was an unscrupulous writer who had been fired from a major newspaper for unethical behavior, but he still had grandiose dreams of winning the Pulitzer.
 

She picked up the phone and dialed. “Hey,” she said when he answered. “I got another job for you.”

“Good. What do you need?”

“I want you to find whatever you can on Kenneth Preston.”

* * *

“He doesn’t need a puppy,” Jessie said, unsure of Wendy’s solution for Kenneth’s withdrawn behavior.

“A dog is man’s best friend.” She gestured to the basket she had brought with her. “I wasn’t able to give him away so I’m going to take him to the pound.”

Jessie looked at the sleeping brown ball. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He limps and has a lazy eye so his vision isn’t the best. But he’s still adorable.”

Jessie chewed on her nails, thinking of how Kenneth had fed the squirrels. She probably shouldn’t, but she would. “I’ll take him.”

Wendy looked relieved. “I thought you would. I really didn’t want to send this fellow to the pound.”

“Let’s see if he can work a miracle.”

* * *

Syrah was ecstatic when she saw the puppy and she was eager to surprise her uncle. Her enthusiasm died when he didn’t come home.
 

This time Jessie wasn’t angry, she was worried. There was something else keeping him from coming home and it wasn’t work. She needed to know what. She placed the puppy in the basket and headed for his office.

She got off the elevator and listened to the quiet
swooh
as the doors slowly closed. She marveled at the strange quietness the office had in contrast to the day. She could only see outlines of the desks and chairs and the backup light bouncing off the computer screens.

She stood in front of Kenneth’s office and raised her hand to knock, but decided to peek inside instead. She carefully opened the door like a grounded child, seeing if her parents were gone. The room was dark except for the red glow from the fireplace, the only sound of biting and crackling flames pierced the silence. She pushed the door wider and saw a silhouette on the couch—only one, thank goodness.

“Kenneth?” she called in a soft voice, hoping not to startle him.

“
Qui est là?
” He turned his eyes to her, two biting black orbs full of such hostility that she took an involuntary step back.

“I shouldn’t have come,” she stammered.

“No,” he agreed. “But since you are here, you might as well come in.” He returned his gaze to the fire.

Jessie closed the door and gingerly walked to the couch. She placed the basket on the ground behind it then noticed three empty beer bottles on the table. She watched as Kenneth brought the fourth to his lips. She grabbed his wrist before he could drink.

“No, don’t,” she pleaded. “It’s not worth it. Nothing is.”

His eyes meet hers. She expected to see a glazed sheen but they were remarkably clear.
 

“You’re worried about this?” He gestured to the bottle. “It’s nothing. I don’t drink alcohol.”

His words weren’t slurred, but she still didn’t trust him. Some men could handle alcohol surprisingly well.

Seeing her disbelief, he held the bottle out to her. “Come then, taste it.”

Jessie took a small sip, gasped and began coughing. It was like swallowing heated gasoline that rested in the middle of her chest to burn. Kenneth fetched her some water and rubbed her back.

“Ginger beer?” she finally managed, tears in her eyes. “I hate that stuff.”

“Yes, pure Jamaican ginger beer.” He took a long swallow then placed the bottle on the table. “Keeps me awake.”

She wiped the tears with the back of her hand. “I can imagine.” She sniffed. “Funny the place smells like flowers.”

He decided not to comment, glad that the bouquets were hidden from view by the darkness. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Is something wrong at home?”

“No. I was worried about you.”

“Worried about me.” He repeated the words as if trying to decipher the meaning. “Worried about me?”

“Yes.”

“Strange, I’ve never heard that before.” He shook his head, remembering something. “No, I’m wrong. I had a teacher say that to me once in elementary school: ‘Kenny I’m worried about you,’ she said.”

“Did she have a right to worry?”

He glanced at her then turned back to study the fire.

Jessie refused to be afraid of his silence. She decided to tease him. “I can’t imagine what she could have worried about. Did you get a B plus or something? Perhaps a wrinkle in your trousers or—”

“You see those flames, Jasmine?” His voice, though thick, was barely a whisper. “When I was a little boy I once thought they were so beautiful that I wanted to touch them. So I did and ended up with blisters on my hand.” His eyes captured hers. “Have you really ever played with fire?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t suggest you start.”

“I just want to help.”

His tone was bland. “That’s just great because help is what I need. See I’ve got this tiny little problem. My brother is dying and there’s nothing I can do. My niece wants to stay with me and I know that she can’t.”

“Why not?”

He ignored her. “And then there’s this woman who is trying to seduce me so that she can throw me over her shoulder like a chewed bone.”
And then of course some board members want to sell the company or see him out of office
.

“That’s not true. I wouldn’t do that.”

He didn’t look at her. “How did you know I was talking about you?”

She didn’t reply.

He turned to her. “I wasn’t talking about you, Jas. You could never seduce me.” Her gaze fell. Good. One point for the home team. He was surprised she didn’t argue...didn’t challenge him. It was rare for her to back down from a challenge. “Why are you here?”

“I thought you needed a friend.” She reached out to touch him. He grabbed her wrist before she could. “I am not in the mood to play your games do you understand? You will lose.”

“You’re hurting me.”

He immediately let her wrist go, amazed he’d been holding it so tight. “Sorry,” he muttered.

She rubbed her wrist. “I’m not playing a game. You were wrong at the cottage. I don’t see you as a trophy.”

Damn, she was good. One point for visitors. He returned his gaze to the fireplace. She came to him as the seductive Delilah, ready to use his weakness to destroy him and claim him as her prize. He knew she would do anything to win, he’d seen her play before. Fortunately, he was used to games. He’d played them all his life. He could feel the air tightening around him; the heat of the flames burned his skin.

Jessie slapped him on the back. He took a gulp of air.

“Damn it. Why do you do that?” she asked.

He had learnt the habit as a child to keep himself from crying. He had perfected it to keep himself from feeling pain, dreaming that he would pass out one day and never wake up. He always did. “You’re still here?”

“I’m not leaving without you. You need to go home and get some sleep. Your foul mood is probably a direct result of sleep deprivation.”

He shook his head and stared morosely at the flames. If he allowed himself, he could actually believe that she cared.

“Kenneth—”

He threw his hand up in an angry gesture and burst into
patois
, speaking so fast it sounded like gibberish, but Jessie understood every word.
 

She stared at him stunned, not by his words, but that he spoke
patois
at all. She never would have suspected perfect Kenneth Preston spoke, what her mother had called, the gutter language of Caribbean society. Her mother had banned them from speaking it at home, even though she and their father would slip into it when certain guests arrived. But Kenneth spoke it as fluently as a Kingston vendor selling jerk chicken by the roadside. She bit her lip, fighting the need to giggle.

Kenneth narrowed his eyes. “Don’t laugh.”

She covered her mouth with both hands her eyes beginning to water.

“I’m warning you.”

That did it. She threw her head back and laughed, slapping her thigh.

He frowned. “It’s not that funny.”

“Me never did tink—” she couldn’t finish, a fresh wave of laughter washed over her.

Kenneth rested his head back and covered his eyes, chuckling a little to himself. “Damn.”

She finally quieted. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

She decided not to argue; she reached behind the couch and picked up the basket with the puppy. She placed it on the space between them. “Here.”

“What is it?”

“Isa gift fi you,” she said playfully. “Tek it nuh.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in reluctant amusement. He glanced down at his watch and frowned. “Did I forget me birt-day again?”

“No, I just thought you’d like it.”

Kenneth opened the lid, half expecting rubber snakes to leap up at him, but instead he found a curled up ball with brown fur: a sleeping puppy. He felt warmth ripple over him. He reached down to touch it then changed his mind. He closed the lid. “I don’t want it.”

“Why not?” Jessie lifted the puppy out of the basket and set it on her lap. It yawned, blinked its eyes then went back to sleep. “You were wrong the other night. I did learn things about you and I remembered them. I remembered how you always wanted a house surrounded by trees, that you loved summer storms and that you feed the squirrels because when you were little you weren’t allowed to have a pet.”

Kenneth inwardly groaned. Score two for the visitors.
 

“It may have been a crush, but I did care about you as my friend.” Jessie held the puppy out to him. “Come on. Give him a chance.”
 

The puppy looked at him with sleepy golden brown eyes.

“I don’t want him,” he said trying to be firm though his voice was not.

Jessie sighed dramatically. “Then I guess he’ll have to go back to the pound. His original owners weren’t able to sell him because one of his legs isn’t fully developed so he limps.”

Kenneth flashed her a glare of disbelief.

“I’ll show you.” She placed the puppy on the ground, sat on the couch and called him. He came bounding towards her like he’d fallen into a distillery, weaving to and fro until he reached her. “I’m sure as he grows he won’t be as awkward.”

Kenneth felt himself weaken, but still said nothing.

“All the other dogs will probably recognize his weakness and terrorize him.”

The thought of the little puppy being bullied tore at him. “Give him to me.” Kenneth took the puppy and examined its crooked leg. “I’m sure that this leg just needs to be mended properly then he’ll be fine.”

“Right,” Jessie said. There was no need to mention that there was nothing a veterinarian could do.

He began to stroke the puppy’s fur, delighting in the soft feel. “I’ll only keep him until his leg gets corrected. Then I’ll give him away.”

“Okay.”

As if recognizing his new father, the puppy began licking his face. Kenneth held him out at arms length and stared at him. “I’m a busy man. I can’t own a dog.”

“What are you going to name him?”

“I’ll let Syrah decide.”

Jessie shook her head. “No. He’s yours for now, you decide.”

“Dionysus.”

“No.”

“I thought you said—”

“You are not naming him after the god of wine.”

“Dion then.” He put the puppy down and watched it explore the room, but it tripped and bumped its head on the leg of the coffee table. It laid down and began to whimper. Kenneth picked him up and rubbed where it had hit its head. “Silly thing.” He put the dog down again and it bumped into the couch. Kenneth turned to Jessie.

He sent her a black look. “Let me guess, he’s blind too.”

“Only mildly. They think he has a slow eye or something. The room is probably too dark for him.”

Kenneth shook his head and swore. “Figures you would give me a deformed mutt.”

“He’s not deformed.”

He frowned. “That’s true. Right now he’s using my coffee table as a toilet.”

“He just needs to be housebroken.”

“Just what I was looking for,” he muttered. “Something else that needs me.” The puppy came up and stared up at him, his gaze a little cross-eyed. Kenneth instantly loved him.

“If you really don’t want him, I’ll take him back.”

“You knew damn well when you brought him in here that I would keep him. Nuh try fi mek a poppy show of mi.”