Ashley Craig looked up from the glass-and-chrome jewelry
case as her friend Letitia Saavedra de Léon burst into
her store. Before Ashley could greet her, Tisha burst into
questions.
"So? How many came? Did you get a lot of sales?"
Tisha scanned the cases eagerly, her eyebrows pulling
together as she saw the full stock still sitting inside.
Ashley lifted her blond hair off her neck, her shop's small
air-conditioning unit no match for south Florida's heat and
humidity. "Sorry, Tisha. Nobody came to the store and no
sales on the Web site."
Tisha's shoulders slumped as she plopped into the pale-peach
plush customer's chair, her expensive white linen pantsuit
taking a beating. Ashley wasn't sure who should console
whom. It was Ashley Craig Jewelry, Inc. that was struggling,
but Tisha was making a herculean effort to talk up her
jewelry designs among her well-to-do acquaintances.
"Why isn't your stuff selling?" Tisha demanded,
brandishing her arm, which bore a white-gold bangle shaped
like a dolphin with sapphire eyes. "It's gorgeous. It's
unique. It should be the hottest thing out there. What's the
deal?"
Ashley shrugged. "I haven't hit the tipping point
yet—the one magical marketing device that will take me
over the top. When I do I'll move to a new shop on Worth
Drive where all the rich Palm Beach matrons can buy my
wonderful jewels."
Letitia looked around the small, stuffy shop but didn't say
anything. Ashley appreciated that. They both knew Ashley's
problem wasn't just marketing, it was money. She sighed.
"I should have picked a cheaper career. Maybe I ought to
have stuck with making hemp bracelets for the surfer guys on
Palm Beach Island."
Tisha made a face. "Yeah, nothing says classy like a
fishy-smelling, sand-encrusted piece of wrist macramé."
"You certainly wore yours long enough." It was the
first piece of jewelry she'd made for Tisha, and it had
fallen to pieces eventually.
"I have the bits in my case at home."
"Really?" Ashley was touched. "Do the other
pieces of jewelry make fun of it?" Tisha's husband Paolo
came from a wealthy South American family and had bought her
some lovely pieces, especially after Tisha gave birth to
twin boys a couple of years ago.
"No, because they know my hemp bracelet will kick their
prissy asses. We working-class girls have to stick
together." She patted Ashley's shoulder and Ashley
squeezed her hand.
"Please don't feel bad, Tish. Word of mouth takes time,
and you've done a wonderful job bragging about me around
your friends, even hosting that trunk show for me. Why don't
you cool it for a while? You don't want them to start
avoiding you, like somebody who's trying to sell them
food-storage containers or vacation time-shares."
"All right," Tisha said grudgingly, but Ashley knew
her friend needed to stop acting as a commissioned
saleswoman. Tisha had not been born into the jet set that
Paolo's family inhabited, and she was still scrutinized for
her behavior, although her adorable male heirs had gone a
long way toward giving her acceptance. "But if you need
any help with expenses, tell me. Paolo is generous to a
fault and wouldn't care if I gave my oldest friend a hand."
"No." Her refusal came out more harshly than she
intended. "No," she repeated, giving Tisha a smile
she didn't quite feel. "I will be fine. There are
several other ideas I haven't had a chance to try."
"If you're sure…" Tisha handed her the
dolphin bracelet to put back on display.
"Positive." She came around the case to give Tisha a
hug. "You are a sweetie, Tisha."
Tisha scoffed, but looked pleased. "I mean it. You let
me know what I can do."
"You can kiss my godsons for me tonight at dinner."
Ashley ushered Tisha toward the front door and waved as she
drove away in her expensive German sedan.
Ashley flipped the lock closed. It was almost five o'clock
anyway, and a storm was powering up over the horizon if she
was any judge. She tucked away the jewelry into the safe in
the back room and straightened the cash-register area.
Unfortunately, that area hadn't gotten much action during
the day—i.e., none.
She made sure the burglar alarm was set and ducked out the
back door. Her shop wasn't in an awful neighborhood, but it
wasn't ritzy either.
Same with her car. Compared to Tisha's German sedan,
Ashley's compact car was a horse and buggy. But it got her
where she needed to go, namely her apartment building.
She parked and smiled at one of the few neighbors that she
knew, Mrs. Weinstein, who was out on her terrace pruning
tomatoes, and who called out, "Come by for some
vegetables when you change out of your work clothes."
She continued clipping away, dropping leafy stems on the
concrete. "It'd be a shame to get tomatoes all over your
fancy blue dress, especially when it matches your eyes so
well."
"I will, Mrs. Weinstein." She covered a yawn quickly.
"You work too hard, Ashley." She gestured widely
with her shears. "You're a beautiful girl, and this is
Florida. I bet there are fifty handsome young men dying to
meet you."
At least ten of those handsome young men were dying to meet
each other, but Ashley was too polite to mention that aspect
of modern dating.
Her neighbor continued, "You'd make somebody a fine
wife, and he'd take good care of you."
Ashley couldn't help flinching, but hid it by pretending to
swat away a bug. She made her excuses and headed upstairs,
her neighbor's words echoing through her head as she tossed
her mail on the white wicker table just inside the front door.
Sure, it would be easy to dress provocatively, go to the
clubs where the rich guys hung out and try to lure one into
"taking care of her." But that wasn't how Ashley
worked. Her mother, now, that was another story…
She kicked off her white slingbacks a bit too
vehemently—one crashed into the foyer wall, startling
her hamster, currently the only male in her life.
"Hey, Teddy, did you miss me?" She made kissing
noises at the black-and-white teddy-bear hamster in his
cage. He looked at her with as much interest as a hamster
was capable of and ducked into his wheel to run a few laps
to nowhere. Just like Ashley.
She grimaced. Pity, your party of one has arrived.
Ashley gave herself a mental shake and moved through her
evening routine, changing into a white knit tank top and
pink boxer shorts. After she picked up some tomatoes from
Mrs. Weinstein, Teddy got some hamster chow and Ashley made
herself the human equivalent in the form of a microwave dinner.
She was sitting on her futon watching the jewelry segment of
a cable shopping network when her phone rang. Dang, she
didn't want to be envious of other people's success, but
honestly, some of those items looked as though monkeys had
designed them and gorillas had made them.
She answered the phone. "Hello?"
"Ash!" Tisha shouted.
Ashley jumped, spilling the pity-party potato-chip
refreshments. "What's going on? Are the kids okay?"
"Fine, fine." She continued breathlessly, "Are
you sitting down?"
Ashley gazed at the crumbly wreckage of her tank top and
futon. "Yeah, so tell me what's going on?"
"Have you heard of Enric Bruguera?"
"Of course. He owns Bruguera Boutiques—one is
on Worth Avenue, like we talked about earlier. They
have super-popular boutiques in Palm Beach, New York, Paris,
Rome…" Ashley couldn't remember where else except
that no matter where a Bruguera Boutique was located, it had
women flocking to wear the innovative designs.
"Bibi Herrera texted me that his boutique is helping
sponsor the polo tournament at the Bella Florida Polo Club
and the man himself will attend. He may even donate several
pieces for the Polo Ball's silent auction."
"I'm sure they'll command a fortune." And take more
potential sales out of her pocket. On the other hand, Enric
Bruguera was a household—rather mansionhold—name
among the polo set and she wasn't.
"Ashley, this could be the perfect opportunity to meet
him! You're the one who told me that these kinds of
boutiques are supplied by various designers. Maybe he needs
a new designer."
"Designers flock to him—it's not as if he posts an
online help-wanted ad."
"So, flock to the man!"
"How, Tisha?"
"My husband is a rich Argentinian, Ashley. He can get
me—and a guest of my choosing—into any polo
tournament in the world."
Ashley imagined herself and Tisha stalking the world-famous
jeweler. "Maybe we can follow him into the men's room
and I can slide my portfolio under the stall door."
"Don't be silly, Ashley. The doors are full-size. You
can't slide anything under them."
Ashley rolled her eyes. If that was Tisha's only objection,
they were in trouble. "Tell you what—I will
call his headquarters and ask to make an appointment
with him while he is here for the tournament."
Her friend blew her a raspberry through the phone. "Not
good enough. Don't you remember that old saying we learned
in high-school history class? Fortune favors the bold.
Calling his office and trying to get through six layers of
assistants is not bold."
"Really? We learned that saying in high school?"
"Chica, I took it for my motto. How do you
think I got the nerve to sneak into that private party after
I saw Paolo going into the club? I knew he was the
one."
Ashley remembered it a little differently, as Tisha had
texted her that she had discovered the hottest ass in south
Florida, and she had to see if the rest of him was just as
sexy. She was saved from memory lane by an incoming call.
"Hold on, Tisha, it's my store's landlord."
"Ash, I told you I'd help with your rent—"
"Hello?" Her palms started to sweat. There was no
good reason her landlord should call her at home.
"Señorita Craig, I am sorry to disturb you at home, but
there is a problem at your shop."
"What kind of problem, Señor Olveda?" Thoughts of
robbery, vandalism and expensive mayhem struck. Her fingers
bit into the plastic phone case, but she hardly noticed.
"The tobacco shop next to yours caught fire. Your shop
was not damaged by the flames, fortunately."
Ashley jumped up. "I'll go right away." Her jewelry
was locked in a fire-resistant safe, but if the building was
severely damaged, someone could walk out with thousands of
dollars in merchandise.
"Of course, of course, you need to see for yourself. The
insurance company is sending men to board it up. But the
larger problem is…"
"What?"
"Smoke damage," Señor Olveda added reluctantly.
"Myself, I enjoy a good cigar after dinner but when
hundreds of pounds of tobacco catch fire all at once, well,
it is not a good smell. In fact, the fire department called
out, how do you say, the hez-met team."
She groaned. "Haz mat—hazardous materials."
Great, just great. Now her shop was a public health hazard.
She had visions of men in white biohazard suits stomping
through her business.
"Between the smoke and the water damage from the
firehoses, the insurance company says the building will be
unusable for several weeks, if not a couple of months, while
it is cleaned and repaired."
Frozen with horror, she couldn't say anything. A couple of
months without her shop? How was she supposed to stay
afloat? She skated close to the edge as it was. Maybe it
wasn't as bad as he said. "I'm coming right away, Señor
Olveda."
"Of course, of course. You will need to make
arrangements to take your merchandise somewhere else."
She winced. Another expense—hiring security guards to
transport her jewelry to rented safety-deposit boxes. Even
if her business insurance reimbursed her, it would take
months to get the funds. "I'll see you in a few
minutes."
She rushed around, tossing on old clothes that she could
throw away. Her phone rang again. Tisha had gotten tired of
sitting on hold and had called again, wanting to know the dirt.
Ashley filled her in quickly.
"That's terrible! I can't believe it. What will you
do?" Tisha sounded close to tears.
Ashley straightened her spine. "I'm going to stalk Enric
Bruguera and slide my jewelry designs under the men's-room
stall door."