Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“I can hear you!” I shout through the door. I’d still prefer an inch of steel core for a door, but my current door does have this as an advantage.
“Shit, she heard that,” he says to whom I’m assuming is Miles Conniver on the line. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell her.” He hangs up and says through the door, “He says to answer your phone.”
I have two seconds of confusion because my phone is completely silent on my desk before it rings, scaring the shit out of me.
Let’s get one thing straight, I’m not answering that phone, because that’s creepy as hell on a good day. On the day after some scary guys try to get your home address from a public servant, show up to your job, and then show up at said address? Hell no, I’m not answering. Nope, not talking to a Mob boss. So I go over and decline the call.
It rings again instantly.
Guess Miles Conniver isn’t used to being ignored. Well, we’re all learning new things, I suppose. I send it to voicemail again, then pick it up and bring it closer to the door, where I can keep an eye on Dumb and Dumber in the hall.
And still, it rings again.
“Lady, you’d better answer it.”
“Or what?” I ask, watching them through the peephole. The two guys look at each other in confusion. They’re probably not used to people refusing their boss either.
“Pretty sure you’ll lose the biggest customer your little jewelry business has ever had,” he quips, laughing like this whole thing is some joke and not the most terrorizing experience of my life.
Instead of ringing again, a text message comes through.
Please answer your phone. I’d like to discuss my ring. —M.C.
That’s totally step three of my solidly thought-out plan, but I was going to leave it for last, procrastinating while I figure out what the hell I’m going to say. But apparently, I’m doing the hard things first.
I glance at my little framed cat art with the “Faith Over Fear” motto. I have no faith this is going to go well. And I’m full of fear that I’m going to disappear and end up on milk cartons all across the country.
Still, when my phone rings again, I answer. “Hello?” In breaking news that solidly demonstrates what a completely brave, total badass I am, my voice only cracks a little.
“Miss Lee?”
“Yes?”
“This is Miles Conniver. A mutual acquaintance of ours told me that we have a piece of jewelry in common.”
I frown in confusion, because what did he say? “A mutual acquaintance?” Then it hits me. “Oh, did Johnny K find your ring?”
The other end of the line goes silent for long enough that I pull the phone away from my ear to make sure we didn’t get disconnected. “He has. It will be back in my possession within the hour. The ring is what I’d like to speak with you about.”
“Okay,” I drawl out. Honestly, even though I already decided to return the ring to its rightful owner after Griffin told me it was essentially stolen to begin with, I’m still disappointed that I won’t get to work on the gorgeous ring.
“I’ve looked at your work and find it to be quite unique.”
“Oh, uh . . . thank you.”
“I understand you had already created designs for my ring, and I would very much like to see them if you’d be willing to share?”
Excitement shoots through me, but is quickly tempered by my entrepreneurial spirit and business acumen. Plus, a healthy dose of “yeah, sure, buddy,” because that sounds like code for “come into my white panel van and see the cute puppies.” “Of course, I’d be happy to share those with you. For either a consultation fee, if you intend to have another jeweler complete the work, or with a deposit, if you’d like my custom, concierge-level experience from design to completion on the piece.”
Saying that to one of the wealthiest, most powerful people I’ve ever spoken with is truly terrifying. That he chuckles is worrisome. “How much did you pay for the ring initially?”
Normally, I would never tell a customer what I paid for the piece they’re purchasing. Mostly, because it doesn’t matter. What they’re investing in is my vision, my design, my work, my art. This is a unique situation, though. “Ten thousand dollars.”
“One moment.”
My phone dings in my ear, and I pull it away to look at it. There’s a notification at the top of the screen alerting me that I’ve received a $10,000 Zelle payment. I should be over the moon thrilled about that because it’ll clear my credit card balance, but there’s a bigger issue. “How did you do that? How do you know my username?”
“Miss Lee, I can know anything I desire to know.” I hear a smile in his voice, like he finds my confusion and shock to be quite amusing. But he’s all-business when he speaks again. “Now that we’ve handled that, I would like to see your ideas. As I said, the ring will be in my hand within the hour. Depending on your designs, it could be in yours shortly after if you’re available for a commission piece.”