“Niamh, now that you’ve opened your own studio, you’re the boss,” Jonathan’s voice was cold, all business again. “Let this gemstone be a lesson–there’s no such thing as first come, first served in the industry. There’s no fairness, no reason, just cutthroat competition. Don’t be so naive.”
Niamh sat in her car with the windows rolled up, her hand wrapped around her phone, fingers icy with shock.
“And besides, I’ve already compensated you,” Jonathan added before hanging up. Those last two words-“compensated you“-snapped Niamh out of her daze.
So that’s what all the elaborate birthday plans were for. It wasn’t because Jonathan felt pressured by his grandfather, or because he was reminiscing about their past together. It was because he’d snatched the gemstone she had her eye on and handed it over to Marina.
Compensation.
Niamh’s hands tightened around the steering wheel, the veins on the back of her hands standing out starkly.
Aldenville–Bar Street.
When Preston Winslow stepped out of the private booth, he never expected to run into Niamh here.
She looked like she’d had way too much to drink, sprawled on the couch in a drunken stupor. If she’d been slumped at the table instead, he probably wouldn’t have noticed her at all.
The thought of calling Jonathan flickered through his mind, but he shook it off almost instantly.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” he muttered under his breath.
So what if Niamh was Jonathan’s wife on paper? It wasn’t like Jonathan cared about her. For all he knew, Jonathan was probably off somewhere with Marina right now, having the time of his life.
Preston shook his head and tried to walk past, determined to pretend he hadn’t seen a thing. After all, it wasn’t his fault she’d drunk herself into oblivion. He had no responsibility here.
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He took a few steps, then doubled back with a scowl and hauled Niamh to her feet:
She was lighter than he’d expected, and it wasn’t much trouble to support her.
“Lucky for you it’s me who found you, honestly… Why am I always getting myself into these messes?” he grumbled, half to himself, as he helped Niamh out of the
bar.
He was so focused on her that he didn’t notice Prescott, lurking in the dimly lit corner. Prescott had been watching ever since Niamh had passed out, and now he took out his phone to report in.
“Follow them,” came Jonathan’s curt order.
Preston had driven to the bar, but since he’d been drinking, he called for a ride home. He knew where Niamh was living these days, so he directed the driver to Trinity Lane.
With one arm around her, Preston rummaged through Niamh’s purse for her keys and let them both inside.
His plan was just to drop her on the bed and leave.
He switched on the bedroom light and laid her out flat. After a moment’s hesitation, he even took off her shoes.
The room wasn’t large, and half the space was taken up by piles of books. In this day and age, Preston was surprised anyone still loved paperbacks so much.
He glanced through a few–every single one about design.
“Is this really necessary?” he muttered.
He knew Niamh had just started her own jewelry design studio, but he’d always assumed it was for show, a way to prove herself to Jonathan, to mimic Marina’s
success.
But now…
Preston slumped into the chair at her desk.
It was scattered with sketches, all hand–drawn jewelry designs.
A few of them looked incredibly familiar–just like the new bestsellers from The Thomas Group. He’d even complimented Marina on them, saying she’d rescued the company’s struggling gold line.
“Could Niamh have drawn these?”
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Chapter 152
Preston couldn’t believe it.
No, he thought. She must have copied them from Marina.
