Page 42 of The Best of Friends

“You’re not telling me what you think. There’s more. I know there is.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. “Call me crazy, but does the world really need another hundred-and fifty-thousand-dollar necklace? On what planet does a twenty-thousand-dollar price tag on a ring indicate that it’s more accessible to a younger buyer? Who has that kind of money—not counting your family and all the people you know? Conventional wisdom says that a guy should spend two months’ salary on an engagement ring. Let’s say he makes sixty thousand a year, which is pretty average. That’s ten thousand dollars, pretax. You’re talking twenty, and it’s not even an engagement ring. This may be your world, but it’s not mine, and it’s not normal.”

“The Worden brand is upscale.”

“Everyone in this room is really clear on that.” She pushed to her feet. “I don’t know what you want me to say, David. They’re lovely. And I’ll never be able to afford them. Why can’t you find someone to make jewelry for the rest of us? Don’t we deserve something nice, too? I’m not saying we’ll get the same quality of metal or stones or diamonds the size of small dogs. But something pretty. And affordable. Isn’t that good business, too?”

He rose. “We’ve never gone in that direction.”

“You could try it. Have you heard of Tacori?”

“Sure. Great jewelry.”

“They sell it on QVC.”

“What’s QVC?”

Her expression turned pitying. “It’s a television shopping channel. Everything from vacuums to cookware to jewelry. Tacori does a line for them. It’s exclusive and pretty and affordable in a huge way. I have some earrings, and I always get compliments when I wear them. There are only a handful of people who will ever be able to afford Worden jewelry. What about the rest of us?”

When she said it, the idea sounded simple and obvious. “I’ll look into it,” David said.

“I hope so. Just don’t tell Elizabeth it was my idea.”

“Seven-point-five million,” Jayne breathed as she read the flyer David handed her. “I went online and found a mortgage calculator. That’s over forty thousand dollars a month, assuming twenty percent down. A month!”

“I’ll put more down,” David said.

“Sure, because of the payments.” She looked up at the long driveway. “I like the palm trees. Very L.A. Six bedrooms, five baths. That means someone has to share. I don’t get it. Why would anyone be willing to share? Of course, there’s a separate apartment for the maid. That’s important. You don’t want the help living in.”

“You’re babbling.”

“I know. I’m overwhelmed.”

She was also having second thoughts about helping David with his house hunting. After her little rant earlier in the week, she’d expected him to cancel their appointment. But he hadn’t, and she wasn’t sure why. Nor did she know what she’d been thinking when she told him the Worden jewelry cost too much. Had she really talked about QVC?

The family was rich at a level she couldn’t comprehend, and she’d known them for years. The house in front of them was proof of David’s net worth.

“There’s private beach access,” she said, “but it’s going to be a hike down. And you’ll be dealing with fire danger when the winds come.”

“You’re a worrier.”

“Sometimes. I’m just saying, you’ll want to test out the sprinkler system.”

They walked toward the front door. It was large, with etched glass on either side. The real estate agent opened the door.

“There are so many amazing features to this house,” she said, leading them inside where the two-story entryway stretched for what seemed like miles. “As you can see, this has more of a rustic feel to it, with many natural and green touches. There are solar panels to generate electricity, extra-thick walls to keep the temperature even, and renewable products used wherever possible. The wood beams were recovered from a sixteenth-century cathedral in Germany.”

“Where all good wood comes from,” Jayne whispered.

David nodded but didn’t say anything. He seemed distracted. Maybe he was pissed about what she’d said about the jewelry. Or thought she was being critical about the house. Or judgmental. Which brought her back to wondering why she was here. She should have told him no, that she couldn’t go house hunting with him. Only that would require a level of self-control she simply didn’t have.

The agent led them into a beautiful kitchen the size of an airport terminal. There were three ovens, an eight-burner stove, separate stainless refrigerator and freezer, either of which could have held a couple of bodies, and cupboard space for twenty. There were hand-painted tiles for a backsplash and a huge bay window above the sink.

“I’ll leave you to explore it on your own,” the agent said. “Then meet you by the stairs.”

When she’d left, David ran his hands across the counter. “It’s kinda big.”

“Everything is lovely.”

---