Page 33 of Gilt

Jerry is already waiting by the door when I pull into the lot. When I was a lot younger, Dad kept the place open 24 hours. He did some pretty good business considering he didn’t mind taking items off drunk people’s hands. He also got robbed a few too many times. Then Mom walked out, and he had to be practical, not that there weren’t many nights that Becca and I spent sleeping on cots in the warehouse.

“Hey, Emma,” Jerry greets me, holding out a Starbucks cup. “Cappuccino, right?”

“Jerry, if you’re trying to get on my good side, it’s working.” I take the cup from him, and he starts to unlock the door. It takes longer to roll up the metal security gates than it does to turn on the computer, but there’s little else that we have to worry about. The shop has a bookkeeper, and a toddler could run a transaction. The rest is all instinct.

“Is your Dad coming in?” Jerry asks as I rearrange a pile of Star Wars memorabilia. I put Princess Leia in the front of the case because she’s my favorite. I shrug in response to his question. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I just thought maybe...” He trails off before he wanders away.

I’m not sure, but I think I make him nervous. I can’t exactly blame him for assuming that I might know if Dad was coming in, but as usual, I left him snoring off a hangover on the couch. The shop is closed on Sundays, and through some miracle, Dad hasn’t heard about what happened to Nathaniel West, which means he doesn’t know that I was there that night. I guess Mom has been keeping secrets from him long enough that it didn’t occur to her to mention it. Not that they’re on speaking terms unless major parenting intervention is required.

I’d taken the coward’s path and decided to stay in my room all day. We’d passed each other a few times, coming in and out of the kitchen, but he’d been asleep before I’d put dinner in the oven. Usually, I’d push it and wake him up, but I figured I’d better enjoy the calm before the storm. I have no idea when Jameson is going to show back up, but I have no doubt that he will. Eventually, even that will filter through Dad’s alcohol-soaked brain.

By 2:00 pm, I’ve bought a handful of old Beatles records and calmly informed a hysterical woman that her five-carat diamond was a knock-off. I’d count it as a successful day except Dad still isn’t here. At this rate, I’m going to be doing more than helping out in the shop this summer. The melodic tingle of bells alerts me to a new customer, but when I glance up, I find Jameson stalking through the entrance. I’m out from behind the counter before Jerry can greet him.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, trying to sound more forceful than flustered and failing. I can’t have Jameson showing up whenever he feels like it. He might not care about going toe to toe with my dad, but I have to live under the same roof as him. “You should go.”

Jameson looks around the store. Apart from the cluttered collections of pawned treasure, the place is vacant. “Is your dad here?”

“No.” I begin to tap my foot on the floor. “He could walk in any minute, though.”

“Then we’ll deal with that if it happens.” His tone is dismissive. What must it be like to never think more than ten minutes in advance? I guess he has the luxury of living that way.

Jerry walks over and eyes us suspiciously. He shoves his hands into his pockets, and puffs his chest out. “Can I help you with something?”

He directs the question at Jameson, who merely looks at him like he’s a bug that needs to be squashed. “I’m being helped already.”

“Jerry, this is a friend,” I say quickly, trying to defuse the situation before Jerry picks up the phone. “He came by to drop something off. We’ll just be a second.” I grab Jameson’s arm and pull him into the back room.

“This is interesting,” he says as he takes in the stock of odds and ends.

Vintage toys sit forlornly next to unlit neon signs. In the corner, a dusty jukebox no longer plays music. He studies an old Monte Carlo half covered by a tarp. If the store is like a closet of junk, the backroom is a graveyard of sorts. This is where we send the items no one wants. “If there was a place on earth comprised of other people’s treasures, this is it.”

He picks up a Fender guitar. “I always wanted to take lessons.”

I take it away from him and place it carefully back on the shelf. I don’t even want his fingerprints in my world. “You break it, you buy it.”

“Maybe I’ll just buy it, Duchess.” But he makes no move to pick it back up.

“Let’s try this again. Why are you here?” I’m rapidly losing patience with his air of mystery. It might have been sexy the other night, but now that the veil has been lifted, I know what’s underneath: another spoiled rich boy who has the power to buy himself out of trouble.

“I wanted to see you. Isn’t that reason enough?” he asks.

Considering our family history and the events that drew us together, it shouldn’t feel like enough, but I have to work hard to keep myself from softening in his presence. He looks good today, as if that’s news. Unlike the last time I saw him, he’s cleanly shaven, and his hair is styled into that messy, wild chaos that begs to be grabbed onto. His grey shirt accents the silver in his tumultuous eyes, and there’s a devious grin playing at the corners of his far too-kissable lips. It’s totally unfair that someone can look this good and be that rich too.

“You’re staring at me,” he accuses, but he’s not put off. In fact, he seems turned on.

I look away quickly. “I thought you had something on your face.”

His hand flies up to brush against his chin. “Did I get it?”

“No,” I lie softly, moving closer. I brush my fingers along his smooth jaw. “Now it’s gone.”

Before I can pull back, his palm covers the back of my hand, holding it against his face. “I wish it wasn’t,” he says.

It takes far too much willpower to draw away from him. If I could bottle up the amount it requires, I’d make a fortune off people who wanted to quit smoking or to lose fifty pounds. Maybe what they really need is a moment trying to resist him to see how much easier everything else in their life feels after.

“I want to take you out,” he says.