Page 11 of His Jewel

Ruby

It had been two weeks. Two weeks, and there was nothing to show for it. She sat cross-legged on her bed, the sun streaming in through the open windows. She took a deep breath, as if she needed the fresh air to help her find all of his secrets, or for Josh himself to spill all of his shady dealings. Except, what if there weren’t any? Maybe her dad was mistaken.

She ran her fingers thoughtfully over the red gemstone notebook, her own thoughts drifting back to that day when she fell, and he caught her expertly. There was no denying that she felt some sort of ... heat? Charge? Between them. For her not to be able to put it into words was worrying—she was a journalist, after all. If this article went well, words would become her bread and butter. She needed to do better. But they had fallen into a comfortable rhythm ... working together. It was easy. And she was enjoying, actually enjoying, the work he had her doing, liaising with all these interesting people, the tradition she’d garnered with Cathy of them taking it in turns to bring each other coffee in the mornings, and Josh’s obvious, clear, passion for hard work and—

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

She blinked a few times before accepting the call from her dad.

“Hiya.”

“Hi, love. I’m calling for an update.”

“Hi, Ruby, how’s it going? How are you? How’s New York?” she snapped back.

She heard his chuckle on the other end of the phone. She sighed. Sometimes the man was all business.

“Yes, those are all far more important questions,” her mom chimed in. “Answer them first.”

She really wasn’t in the mood for chit-chat. So, she filled them both in on a few updates, before turning to the matter of the call.

She took a deep breath. “Look, I can’t find anything. I’m sorry. These past few weeks, working with Josh,” she winced at saying his name out loud, it had been a swear word in her household for many years, “I think ... I think maybe he’s changed.”

She bit her lip at the silence on the other end of the phone. It was deafening but spoke volumes.

“You obviously haven’t been looking hard enough, sweetheart,” he said. “He stole our clients, our business. He made us lose millions. He’s a hunter, a poacher. We’d done all the hard work, and he stole it. Look, you know this, just because you haven’t come across any proof, doesn’t mean it’s not true. Now, I’ve sent something for you to print off. Just put the document in one of his desk drawers and take a photo. Then you can add it to your article.”

He sounded like he was simply asking her out for coffee, not to commit a crime. To falsify evidence.

“You can’t be serious...”

“For our family, for our reputation, for the sake of our business, I am serious. We’ll be in New York soon and there can only be one king of the jungle.”

She heard the phone crackle, and then her mom was on the line. “It seems dramatic, and you don’t have to use it, but if you can do this for us, it would mean a lot. We love you, darling.”

Her heart was pounding. “Sure, Mom.”

That’s how she found herself standing in front of Josh’s office on a Sunday morning, paper in hand, staring at his office door like it was a bomb about to go off. Hell, she was the bomb. Could she really plant this? Could she really do this? Plant a document in his desk drawer of a fake email chain that basically showed how he poached a client? She closed her eyes for a moment. The seriousness of the situation seeping in.

Her hand closed over the door handle, the cool steel seeping into her body. She opened the door and went in, closing it behind her. It felt as though she was doing something forbidden, looking into a forbidden world, a kingdom without its king.

There can only be one king of the jungle...

God, her dad could be dramatic. There were hundreds upon hundreds of real estate companies in New York, fewer representing the higher levels of clientele, granted, but there would be room for both of them.

She opened his drawer. She’d snooped during her first few days and nearly got caught by the cleaner. But she found nothing, just some personal items, like letters from home.

She snapped a picture, placing the document inside his drawer. Guilt shouldn’t be stabbing at her insides like this. She should feel vindicated. But she felt anything but vindicated. Had her life come to this? What a mess she’d made of things. She caught her reflection in the window. Her hair a mess, her teeth digging into her bright red lips.Who are you, Ruby? This isn’t you.

She let a tear escape, sniffing back more. She’d never felt more alone in the big city.

She scrunched up the document, putting it back into her bag.

Time to go. She would call up Alana, get a cocktail, or maybe five, and drink her troubles away.

The thought of a strawberry daiquiri had her feet moving quicker, not looking where she was going. That’s why, when she collided with him, she let out a scream. His eyes widened, his hands steadying her by the shoulders. His warmth seeped into her, as well as his scent ... his natural scent. He was in workout gear, tight muscle fit, he must have just come from the gym. His eyes widened even further when he caught sight of her face, the tears staining tracks in her foundation.

He reached out a finger and caught one, brushing featherlight against her cheek. She didn’t know what was wrong with her, but she leaned into the touch, the warmth, letting her eyes flutter shut.

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