“You keep saying upmarket, but I don’t think I want to change the friendly atmosphere of the store,” she said, her eyes never leaving the collection of drawings.
“You won’t have to; the shop is already light and airy, and your product placement knowledge is really good,” he complimented.
“Well, Tori is the one who does that,” she explained.
“Is she the woman who was making obscene gestures behind my back?” He asked.
Brierley coughed as the words fell on her. Mortified that Tori had been caught red-handed, and that she’d agreed with her friend’s dirty sense of humour.
"You have a very big mirror in your store, Brierley," he informed her. He'd seen everything, and it had been extremely difficult not to turn around and shout at her for her lack of professionalism. "So, while I understand friendly and familiar, maybe not too familiar?" He suggested. It was invaluable to have a laugh in the workplace, but not at the expense of potential customers; having said that, he wasn't entirely opposed to the reaction of having been caught out. The way her cheeks were flushing bright red was adorable. His brow twitched.
“I am so sorry,” he heard her apologise.
“Don’t sweat it.” His rumbling voice growled, getting his thoughts back into the realm of business. “If I get you some silver wire, would you be willing to try some of these designs out?”
“I’d be honoured,” she said, leafing through the pages once again. There were some she liked more than others. Her leaning was towards the more exotic designs, ones that involved looping, intricate swirls of silver. It was then that she asked, “When you say ‘upmarket’, how upmarket do you mean?”
“If you mean price,” he ventured, wondering when this would come up. “I figure for some of the simpler designs,” he flicked back a few pages to point to some of the basic shapes, “Startingfrom around seventy to a couple of hundred, and then the more complicated ones for more than that.”
Her eyes widened, “You’re not serious?” She asked.
“It’s basic psychology, people always want what they can’t have,” he said, looking pointedly at her. “If you underprice, you’re saying your creations aren’t worth much. You tack a high price on it, and suddenly everyone wants a piece of it. Customers will believe that what you’re selling is worth it and more, which it is. It’s all about believing in what you’re selling and making others think it has that same value. And, I promise you, people will pay for it.”
She turned the page of the portfolio again, her eyes widening at one particular design that she couldn’t wait to try! She pointed at it to tell him, looking towards him. He was looking down, not at the designs, the softness of his gaze was entirely on her. The serene smile on his face didn’t quite hit his eyes, and she suddenly became aware of the closeness between them. She latched onto his words,‘People always want what they can’t have.’She was suddenly applying that sentiment to him, too. She had told Tori, less than twenty-four hours ago, that she was only interested in building her business, and here was a wonderfully creative, corporate orc to help her do just that. So why did she want to boldly grab the length of his beard between her fingers and pull him down to kiss her?
Breht cleared his throat and looked away. Breaking the illusion. He raised a brow towards her, and she looked away, back at the pages. “May I keep these?”
“They’re yours,” he informed her, standing, reluctantly putting some distance between them. “There’s just one other thing.”
“What’s that?” She asked after closing the portfolio and carefully zipping it up. Holding the portfolio across her chest, protecting it from harm. She couldn’t believe that the orc was willing to give a part of his soul to her as carefree as he had done.
"Do you trust me?" It was a loaded question. He wanted to help Brierley—genuinely wanted it, with a clarity that surprised him. But underneath that desire was something uglier: the desperate need to prove that he could succeed where it mattered, that he could build something real and lasting. That he was worth something. His mother had spent fifteen years showing him that nothing he did was ever quite enough, and here he was, about to attempt the impossible again. He knew, somewhere deep down, that this might not be enough either. That Brierley's success might not finally convince Dura—or himself—that he had value. But he was compelled to try anyway, driven by a wound so old and so deep that he couldn't stop reaching for the unattainable. His emotions were a mess, churning a complicated mixture that threatened to boil over. No matter how calm and collected he may appear on the outside.
“Yes,” he heard Brierley answer. The second she answered, the vivacious smile he gave her melted away every one of her lingering reservations.
“Then, let me have the keys to the store, and I’ll do what I can to turn it around while you work on making some of those designs?” He suggested, confidence returning to his baritone words.
“What about the silver?” Brierley asked. Pulling her handbag off the floor so that she could do digging around for the store keys, she could hear them jingling in the bottom of her bag, but finding them was another matter entirely.
“I’ll get it sent to you,” he replied, having an answer for everything. “I’ll just need to make a few calls.”
As he took his phone out of his pocket, he stood up and crossed the park. A faint frown on his face as he powered the phone up again.
The cold touch of metal on her fingers had her pulling her keys from the depths of her bag. She felt a hesitation grip her before she handed them over, but the way he was chatting enthusiastically on the phone, seeing him animated as he paced, clearly coming to some sort of business arrangement, begged her to put her trust in him. She held the set of keys in her hands, looking over at the stocky orc. Swinging back and forth was the keyring her Grandma brought for her all those years ago, as though encouraging her to place her trust in him. Swaying between the two of them.
When he came back towards her with all cheerful smiles, she held her hand out and dropped the keys into his larger paw. They landed with a jingle in his palm, and he put them into his suit trousers pocket.
“Would you like me to give you a lift home?” He offered, “Might even beat your delivery.”
“Wow, that’s fast!” She said, he’d only just got off the phone. “Sure!” She confirmed.
Breht led her away from the park to where his car was awaiting him. On the way, the shouting of her name stopped them. As they both turned to see who called out to her, he put his arm protectively around her waist. The instinct snuck up on him, as though from nowhere. He hurriedly removed his hand, inappropriate as the gesture was.
Scrambling towards them was a tall, skinny-framed man. “I just dropped by the shop and was surprised to find you closed. So I’m glad I found you.”
It was then that the man caught sight of his glowering face, “Well, stone me! Breht!” He greeted. “It’s good to see you. And, what timing too, I’m having a little get-together tonight, it would be great if you both came. Just a small house party, reunion.”
“Yes! Tori told me the other day, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Brierley agreed instantly.