When Jayne Met Erik. Elizabeth Bevarly

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.

      And cold, too, because the air-conditioning in the store was blasting full speed ahead, despite the inclement weather, and the chill breeze against her wet flesh and clothing raised goose bumps on her goose bumps. Although the situation was beginning to look dire, Jayne told herself to buck up. Because, after all, things couldn’t possibly get any worse, could they?

      Belatedly she realized that thinking such a thing completely jinxed her. Because where she normally arrived at work to find the shop in its empty, preopening state—a condition that would have afforded her an opportunity to at least try and tidy herself up before anyone saw her—today, the Colette Jewelry showroom played host to a good half dozen of Jayne’s co-workers, who were in the shop because today was Colette employee discount day.

      Oh, yes. The day was definitely going to get worse. Before it was over, Jayne, looking as bad as she had ever looked in her life, was bound to run into every last person who worked for the company. Because every last person who worked for the company worked in that very building, and virtually all of them took advantage of their twice-yearly employee discount days.

      The building that housed Colette, Inc. was a massive, eight-story brick construction that comprised one full city block, located virtually at the center of Youngsville. A large showroom and shop took up the entirety of the first floor, and the corporate offices commanded the remainder of the building. The furnishings, overall, were quite luxuriant, regardless of where one might find oneself in the establishment. Rich jewel tones of varying hues darkened the walls, upon which were hung priceless works of art. Oriental rugs of equally dramatic color and design spanned the hardwood floors, and expensive pieces of sculpture filled all the spaces that weren’t used up in the display of jewelry. Bright track lighting overhead made everything—especially the finely cut gems—sparkle like, well, finely cut gems.

      In addition to the offices upstairs, the building housed a formal dining room for executives and an open cafeteria for the other employees. Jayne had never seen the former, but she spent most of her lunch hours in the latter. It, too, was elegantly appointed, and furnished in much the same way as the rest of the building. She assumed the executive dining room was likewise decorated.

      But her favorite place in the Colette building—besides the jewelry showroom and shop, both of which she found utterly enchanting—was the lobby of the corporate offices on the second floor, where she’d gone to meet some of her co-workers on one or two occasions. Because in that lobby was the most exquisite piece of jewelry Jayne had ever seen—a single rose crafted of rubies and diamonds and emeralds. She wasn’t sure what the history was behind the piece, and she’d never asked anyone at Colette. She only knew that it was lovely, and Jayne, like so many people who worked for the company, simply adored beautiful things.

      Which was another reason why she felt so out of place this morning. Beautiful, she knew, was the last thing she looked today. And her co-workers mingling about the store now seemed to agree, because she could see them biting back smiles and stifling chuckles when they took in her appearance.

      So much for things not getting any worse, she thought morosely. From here on out, she wasn’t about to form any more observations on the state of her day. It could only lead to trouble.

      She was much relieved to discover that a trio of employees standing nearest the “New Designs” showcase were women she knew well. Because, like Jayne, they lived at 20 Amber Court. And all three had obviously arrived at work on time today, because none of them resembled a limp, bedraggled street urchin in any way, shape or form—oh, no. Each of them was very well put together, sartorially speaking. Not to mention quite dry.

      Lila Maxwell lived on the third floor of Jayne’s apartment building and worked on the fourth floor of Colette. She was an administrative assistant to Nicholas Camden, a vice president of the company, in charge of overseas marketing. Lila was dressed today as she always was—for success. And lots of it. Her long, dark-blond hair shone like finely tempered bronze beneath the halogen lights of the showroom, offsetting her dark-brown eyes as if they were bittersweet chocolate. Her charcoal suit was stylishly cut, hugging her curves with much affection.

      She was chatting in low tones with two of Jayne’s other neighbors and co-workers—Meredith Blair, who was a jewelry designer for Colette, and Sylvie Bennett, who worked as a marketing manager for the company. Meredith, as always, was dressed in her usual, nondescript style, her long beige skirt and shapeless ivory sweater doing nothing to enhance what could be a very curvy figure and truly spectacular facial features, if Meredith would only give herself a chance. Her long, reddish-brown, curly hair was, as usual, pulled tersely away from her face, held in place with a barrette that was as nondescript as her clothing.

      Although