Elizabeth Bevarly – When Jayne Met Erik (страница 3)

Suddenly, Erik understood his restlessness, his edginess, his need to go out and meet that life-altering experience head-on. His thirtieth birthday was two weeks away. Damn. This was just what he needed. He’d dedicated his entire summer to zigzagging around the globe, miring himself in denial over the fact that he would soon be thirty years old. Now, suddenly, there it was, staring him in the face. His thirtieth birthday. Only two weeks away. Fourteen days. That was all he had left to his twenties. Two lousy weeks, fourteen lousy days.

Thirty. He was about to turn thirty. God. When had that happened?

It wasn’t so much the chronological significance of turning thirty that bothered Erik. Although he’d very much enjoyed his twenties, he didn’t consider thirty to be the end of his life. On the contrary, he knew several people who were actually in their thirties, and they seemed to be having a surprisingly good time. Many of them even claimed that their thirties were actually more enjoyable than their twenties had been.

Not that Erik was quite willing to go that far, but he wasn’t all that averse to turning thirty. Or, at least, he wouldn’t be. Not if it weren’t for the fact that he had a familial obligation he needed to meet soon. Like, by his thirtieth birthday. Like, in two weeks. Like, in fourteen days.

Fourteen lousy days.

Because within fourteen lousy days, Erik had to acquire something very specific in order to claim an inheritance, currently in trust, left to him by his paternal grandfather. Certainly it wouldn’t break Erik financially if he declined the inheritance—even without his grandfather’s riches, the Randolphs were an exceedingly wealthy family. But Erik’s father was adamant that Erik take possession of the estate that the elder Randolph felt was his entitlement.

Damien Randolph, Erik’s father, hadn’t gotten along particularly well with his own father—in fact, the two men had stopped speaking to each other more than a decade ago. As a result, Grandfather Randolph had split his entire estate—his entire estate of $180 million—between Erik and his two sisters, bypassing his own son entirely.

Of course, it was all contingent on one small stipulation. Because Grandfather Randolph had feared that his grandchildren would never outgrow their notorious playboy and playgirl habits—and for good reason, too, Erik couldn’t help but think now—the will stated that in order to claim their share of the estate, each would have to meet that one simple stipulation before his or her thirtieth birthday. Not that Erik’s sisters had to worry about it for some time—Celeste was four years younger than Erik, and Maureen was eight years younger than he—so Erik would be the test subject. And because he did have a good relationship with his own father, Erik felt rather obligated to meet his grandfather’s requirement, and keep in the Randolph family as much of the Randolph wealth as possible. Really, it was the least Erik could do for his father.

And hey, his share did amount to sixty million dollars.

It wasn’t every day that a man acquired an estate that large and that secure. Grandfather Randolph had been a very wise investor. Once Erik inherited, he’d be set for life. Not that he wasn’t already pretty much set right now, but a man could never be too sure.

And had he mentioned that his share did amount to sixty million dollars?

Still, there was that one simple criterion Erik was obligated to meet before he could take control of his inheritance, and he had to meet it by his thirtieth birthday. Really, it wouldn’t be all that hard to do. What Erik needed to find could be found almost anywhere. He just hadn’t gotten around to looking for one yet, that was all. Now that he only had fourteen days, though, he supposed he should get hopping.

But where to look first, he wondered? Did the Yellow Pages have a listing for what he needed? If he looked under W, would he find a section labeled Wives?

Ah, well. If not, no problem. Should he find a shortage of wives in Youngsville, he’d just pick one up somewhere else. Chicago was right across Lake Michigan and was quite a bit larger than his own community. If he couldn’t find a wife here in town, then surely they had plenty of potential wives over there.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he was going to have to keep the wife he found. Grandfather’s will stated quite clearly that Erik need only remain married for one year in order to collect his inheritance. He supposed his grandfather thought that a year of settling down would be enough to keep Erik settled down. Grandfather Randolph had been so utterly smitten by his own wife that the thought of the marriage ending prematurely had never crossed his mind. The old man had probably thought that Erik need only spend enough time in the company of a good woman to become equally smitten himself.

In a word, Hah.

Not only was Erik much too pragmatic to believe in anything as…as…as silly…as romantic love, but he was also much too entrenched in his globe-trotting playboy lifestyle—not to mention he liked that lifestyle way too much—to ever abandon it. Still, he could put it on hold for a year if it meant maintaining the family status quo, couldn’t he? Especially if it meant maintaining the family status quo and inheriting millions and millions and millions of dollars.

Sometimes, he thought, one just had to make a sacrifice.

Content with his decision to start wife hunting that very morning, Erik rose from his bed. As he launched himself into a full-body stretch, he began his mental shopping list, making note of all the qualities he would require in his wife. She would, it went without saying, have to be beautiful. And blond. He’d always liked blondes, so that’s what he would look for in his wife. Eye color wasn’t especially important, but brown eyes on a blonde were always a good thing, in his opinion. His wife would also have to be reasonably intelligent and fairly articulate. He did so dislike empty conversations. Not that she would need to expound on physics and genetics—au contraire—but knowledge of the current fashion climate would be most welcome.

Let’s see, what else…? he wondered.

She would need to be demure, perhaps even coquettish, and it would be preferable if she had a mild disposition. She should be a free thinker, but open to suggestions, and she would have to have some working knowledge of the social register, not to mention the ins and outs of proper etiquette. Erik attended a lot of parties, and he expected his wife to be as comfortable in such settings as he was himself. She’d need to have a sense of style, a love of fine wine, an appreciation for the arts…

He really should start writing this down, he thought. So much to do, so little time.

A rousing clap of thunder reminded him that he would be doing it in less-than-agreeable weather, too. Still, that would only add to the challenge, wouldn’t it? And Erik did appreciate challenges. Provided, of course, they weren’t too challenging.

Then again, what could possibly be challenging about finding a wife? He was one of Youngsville’s most eligible bachelors. He’d read that himself in the Sunday magazine section of the Youngsville Gazette not too long ago. Therefore, it must be true. He was practically a local celebrity. Any woman would jump at the chance to be his wife. He had everything to offer—good looks, wry wit, cheerful disposition, good finances, a nice home. All right, so that last was actually not his, in name. That was a minor technicality. It was still a nice part of his personal package. In fact, the only thing Erik could think of that he lacked as a potential suitor was—

A ring. An engagement ring. He’d certainly need one of those if he was going to attract the right woman. A wife would first have to be a fiancée, and he couldn’t have a fiancée without the proper ring. Of course, only the finest ring would be suitable for Erik Randolph’s future wife. And everyone in Youngsville, Indiana, knew where you went if you wanted to purchase the best in jewelry.

Colette, Inc.

That would be Erik’s first stop on his wife-hunting safari today, he decided. He’d find just the right ring, one that was beautiful without being showy, exquisite without being ostentatious, elegant without being plain. Much like the woman he hoped to find, he couldn’t helping thinking whimsically.

Yes, Colette, he was certain, would have exactly what he was looking for.

Two

By the time Jayne entered Colette Jewelers on Hammond Street, she was as wet and limp and bedraggled as a street urchin—a street urchin who had just walked eight blocks in a raging downpour, without an umbrella to shelter her from the storm. Because as soon as she had covered the first two blocks between Amber Court and Colette, the skies had opened up and dumped veritable buckets of rain down on Youngsville. It had effectively put an end to the scant drizzle Jayne had hoped would accompany her to work and had begun a deluge of biblical proportions. Not even the awnings had been able to save her after that. So now, in addition to being mismatched, she was completely wet and limp and bedraggled.