style="font-size:15px;"> He stepped out of the elevator and found Tamara’s apartment. But just as he was about to hit the bell, the door opened.
As a first impression, Tamara made quite an impact. In two seconds flat, he registered a short V-neck purple dress, black peep-toe sandals with bows and an opal pendant nestled on the pillow of her cleavage.
His body hummed to life.
“What are you doing here?” Tamara asked, her voice cool and clipped, though her eyes flashed fire.
He twisted his lips sardonically. “That makes twice. Is that the way you greet all your clients?”
“Only the ones who aren’t welcome.” Then belying her words, she stepped aside. “What do you mean by client?”
Sawyer walked into the boxy but airy loft. “I want to have a piece of jewelry designed, if you’ll recall.”
Tamara’s face registered disbelief before her eyes flashed fire again. “You can’t be serious.”
“That makes twice again. I seem to have a knack for eliciting the same reactions from you.” Then he added, in answer to her question, “In fact, I am serious, and I thought you’d be happy about the offer of business.”
He watched as she clamped her mouth shut. Splendid. He’d stopped her adamancy with a tantalizing lure—a reminder of what he had to offer, and what she stood to lose.
Sawyer scanned the loft. It looked like what his prior investigation had revealed: an apartment that also served as an office and business headquarters.
Near the back, he could see a partition that appeared to section off a sleeping area. To his right, near the entry door, there was a kitchen with light wood cabinets and black appliances. In front of him, the space was dominated by a comfy work area—a deep-red velour couch and armchair, a few potted plants and a large glass-topped table cluttered with what looked, at a glance, like the tools of the jewelry-making trade. A workbench stood off to one side.
The 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
