Jessica Bartram stood on the main floor of the Louvre, admiring a ridiculously large and important diamond. Or, rather, admiring her reflection in the ridiculously large and important diamond. From her glossy brown curls and tan cashmere sweater to her Burberry exclusive skirt and power heels, Jessica Bartram was the image of a woman who was going places. High up places. Jessica’s phone buzzed, and she slid it out of her designer leather purse with one perfectly manicured hand. It was a reminder – she had a meeting tomorrow with an investor interested in making her boss’s collection of angels a traveling exhibition. She tapped the screen with what, in another woman, might have been taken as impatience but in Jessica was really a sign of danger. Jessica was thinking, and when she was thinking, no one in her way was safe. She just wasn’t entirely certain the exhibition would work. And if it failed, who would get the blame? Not the rich, unnamed investors who had suggested the project, and certainly not Mr. Stockton, the owner of the angels and Jessica’s boss. Which left the responsibility entirely on Jessica. So she tapped the screen again. And then the phone went flying out of her hand as something rammed into her back. Jessica fumbled to catch the device as the man behind her fumbled for an apology. “I’m so sorry. Terribly sorry.” The man was English, like her. However, his words held a slight accent. Scottish – it only figured. “So, so sorry. I…” Jessica turned around. “Oh. Wow. I mean, um… sorry! Again.” The man wasn’t bad looking, if one liked that sort of lost puppy look. His hair was askew, as if it had never seen a comb, and he had a faintly dazed look in his eyes. Jessica did tend to have that effect on people. “Hmm. Yes.” Jessica flicked her eyes back to her phone. “I’m Richard Mayhew.” He was still here. Why was he still here? And what was that a hand he was extending towards her? She had places to go, people to see. “Jessica Bartram.” She took the hand and shook it gingerly, rather in the manner one would touch a dead fish. However, she found his hand was nothing at all like a dead fish. It was warm, but not too warm, and not at all sweaty. If there was one thing Jessica could not stand, it was sweaty handshakes. “I …show more content…
She was envisioning her career, her relationship, everything she’d ever worked for, all of it collapsing. The girl and Richard were talking. Jessica interrupted. ‘When you call the ambulance, don’t give your name. You might have to make a statement and then we’d be late…” Richard was picking the girl up. “Richard?” What was he doing? Was he crazy? “I’m taking her back to my place, Jess. I can’t just leave her here. Tell Mister Stockton I’m really sorry, but it was an emergency. I’m sure he’ll understand.” Jessica felt something warm pricking the back of her eyes. “Richard Oliver Mayhew.” With careful precision, she made her voice like steel, not letting an ounce of true emotion through. “You put that girl down and come back here this minute. Or this engagement is at an end as of now. I’m warning you.” (Gaiman 25) He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. There was no way Richard would leave her, not on a day as important as this, not for some strange homeless girl he’d found on the street, not when he knew it could mean the end of everything. Richard left. For the first time a long while, someone had refused Jessica