Unconscious Hearts, Page 22

  I carefully slide the purse closer. At least the woman--whose name I still don't know because she skipped past good manners and jumped right to angry--was right about one thing; it does look brand new. However, that doesn't really make one bit of difference in the value of her purse because it's definitely fake. A good fake, really good, but fake all the same. Sometimes I'm shocked at just how good counterfeits can be.

  It's the nature of my business to deal with counterfeit bags. It really sucks when you can tell the person trying to sell it had no idea, but that rarely happens. As in, maybe once a year. With the price tag on luxury items, people usually do their homework when they're buying from someone outside the actual store. No one is willing to part with thousands of dollars without a guarantee that what they're purchasing is authentic--which is why we offer a money back guarantee if there is ever anything sold that isn't authentic from Trend. A guarantee we have never, not once, had to honor.

  It's the people who come in here and automatically have their defenses up and show us all their cards before we even have a chance to exchange names.

  Just like this woman.

  I keep inspecting the bag, making sure that she sees me as I check every inch of the purse. At this point, I could give her a full-page checklist of the things I found, but I'll give her the easy and indisputable ones so that I can speed this up.

  "Well, you done? I'd like to get my money and get out of here."

  Smile plastered on, I neatly lay each handle on the side of the canvas, but keep the bag near so I can show her where her purse maker screwed up the most. "Unfortunately, ma'am, my associate was correct in her first assessment." She starts to argue, but I just shake my head. "Please, if you don't mind waiting to ask any questions, I'll tell you why."

  She grunts, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. "Go on then."

  "Certainly." I pull each side and open the top of the purse and turn it so she can see the heat stamp on the inside pocket. "Right here, on the heat stamp, the font isn't correct. Louis Vuitton has a few little tweaks to their font that never changes. The leg on the L is too long. The O's are too oval. The space between the two T's in Vuitton is too big. And the leg on the R starts in the middle of the hook above it. There are, of course, a few exceptions to every rule of thumb, but not with this particular model." I reach inside and locate the date code tab, pointing it out to her. "These, however, never change. Always two letters, indicating the location of the factory, and four numbers arranged specifically to tell you the exact week and month it was made. With much older bags, there wasn't a date code, but we're talking before the 80s. With yours, the code is saying--with the first two letters--that it is a bag produced in the United States. However, if you look under the heat stamp I just showed you, it states there that it was produced in France. You will never have a bag where those two things don't match."

  "Look here, lady. I know this bag is real. I bought it myself."

  "That might be the case, but I can guarantee you it wasn't Louis Vuitton that manufactured this purse, regardless of when you bought it."

  "Just because some bullshit letters are the wrong shape and some screw-up with a hot stamp?"

  "Heat stamp. But, yes, those reasons as well as a number of others. If you would like, I can show you those too, but it won't change the fact that we won't be able to buy this purse from you."

  "Bullshit, bitch. I want to speak to someone above you."

  I steady myself so I don't lose my cool. "There is no one above me. As I stated earlier, I'm the owner of Trend. As much as I wish I could help you, everything I just explained to you is also listed on the buying policy I gave you. You might have also read on there that we reserve the right to deny an item for many reasons other than just lack of authenticity. I assure you."

  "You can take that assurance and shove it up your ass."

  She grabs her bag and stomps toward the door, slamming her hand against the glass and shoving it open. I keep my eye on her while she strides angrily to her car. When I hear the rustling of a bag, I look from the car as it peels out of the parking lot and frown at Piper. She's still watching the parking lot, small smirk on her face, chewing on a chip she must have just put in her mouth.

  I snatch the bag from her and frown.

  "Hey! What the hell, Ari! Give it back. That's my dinner!"

  I pull it farther away when she tries to grab it back. "I don't think so. You know the rules about eating on the floor. You want your chips, take them to the break room and I'll cover the register until you or Hannah get back up front. You better not be eating out here when I'm not here. What kind of example does it set for the rest of the staff when my number one is breaking the rules?"

  "Give it to me," she complains, holding her hand out. I place the bag back in her hand and arch a brow. She starts walking toward the break room. "You know what? If I want to eat my feelings, I should be able to without you making a hostile work environment. Just because you don't like snack time doesn't mean others can't enjoy it!"

  "Oh, hush," I chide, giggling when she sticks her tongue out at me. Thank God there aren't any customers in here. Piper throwing a fit over food would just be the icing on the cake after the pleasant fake bag pusher. Even if she is joking.

  "Just for that, I'm going to drink all your Cokes from the fridge while I'm back there!"

  She walks into the break room, and I'm left laughing even harder now. Bethany, one of the newer girls, comes from the back, wheeling a cart full of new stock behind her. She looks around before stopping in front of the counter.

  "Is Piper okay? I thought I heard her yelling."

  "No! I'm not okay. The snack warden is being a food bully!" Piper yells from the break room door, standing just inside the room with the tips of her shoes just kissing where the show room technically starts. She has a Coke in one hand and her chips in the other. "Good news though, Bethie. We've got free Cokes on Ari for the rest of our shift!"

  I have to hold my sides from the cramp my laughter is giving me. It's been weeks since my funny best friend has cracked a joke. Even if she was breaking the rules, it was worth it to get a little part of her back.

  "What the fuck?" Piper hisses, dropping the bag on the floor inside the break room and hustling toward me.

  I swipe my eyes, my amusement dying instantly when I see the expression on her face. The bell chimes over the door, but I'm too focused on my friend to turn.

  "Pipe?" I question. "Are you okay?"

  She's still glaring over my shoulder, something murderous in her eyes.

  "You are not to be believed!" she snaps, still looking behind me. When she gets close enough, she slams the unopened Coke down on the glass counter, continuing toward the door at my back.

  "Ari?"

  My eyes feel like they're about to bug out of my head when I hear that voice. Piper's brilliant display of madness makes sense now. Everything seems to move in slow motion as I start to turn around. Bethany's confused face is the last thing I see before I finish turning the rest of the way. Piper looks seconds away from unleashing the uncontrollable energy vibrating off her.

  It doesn't even faze him, though.

  No. He's just standing there, a step inside the store. If seeing him isn't enough of a shock, the desolation on his face damn sure is. Piper's right, he is not to be believed.

  "Thomas," I say coolly, proud of myself for sounding a lot better than I feel. He flinches, and I know the use of his full name hit the mark I meant to strike. Just as I hate Paris, he despises Thomas.

  "You have a second?"

  I frown. Piper growls.

  "A second for you to turn around and march right back to whatever snake den you slithered from? Yeah, she has a second for that, Thomas Vale!"

  "Pipe, love you for this, but it's okay."

  She whips her head to me. "It's okay?" Disbelief in her tone.

  "Yeah, it really is." I don't blame her for the skepticism. She watched me suffer for years all because of what this man's acti
ons set in motion. She picked me up so many times, I would be more concerned if she wasn't shocked. But ever since that morning four and a half months ago, she hasn't had to save me from myself once. It's because of that morning, the man I ran from, and the help the sequence of events that preceded that run led to, I know I really am okay.

  "We'll be in my office," I tell Piper. "Thomas," I add, turning and walking away without checking to see if he follows.

  I feel my calm strengthen as I keep walking. Each clip of my heel against the floor acting like a soundtrack of proof to how much I've healed and grown.

  I'm not lost.

  I'm not alone.

  I have people in my life who care about me. Nothing Thomas can say will change that, and for once, there isn't a single bit of pain to be found smothering me.

  He's no one now.

  The door to my office shuts quietly at the same time I glance up from the chair I had settled in behind my desk, steepling my hands together on the wood surface. My eyes track his movements as he takes a seat in the chair across from me, his gaze doing a sweep of the room as he does.

  "What do you want, Thomas? It's been an awfully long time to just show up for a chat."

  His hands move, and I catch the glint of light that reflects off the shiny gold band on his hand. Funny, seeing that there actually does nothing.

  "I, uh ..." he starts, his Adam's apple bobbing when he stops speaking to swallow. "You look good, Ari."

  I snort and lean back. "You're a ghost for seven years, and now you pop up to tell me I look good? Thanks, but that isn't something I need you to tell me."

  He flinches. Aside from the odd shadow of unease, it doesn't look like he's changed a great deal. His blond hair duller but still sporting the same cut he had since the day we met. Short and boring. His suit is perfectly pressed, gray with a light blue shirt as he always wore. I couldn't help but notice he's even kept his lean runner's body over the years. No beer gut for him.

  So different from Thorn, my gentle giant. Seeing Thomas after all this time, I'm struck by just how different they really are. Dark against blond. Blue-green magic against dull brown. Powerful body against wiry and almost thin. Tall against ... average. The man who owns my heart against the one who never deserved it.

  Just as quickly as the image of Thorn popped through my mind, I feel the rush of courage loving him has given me flourish.

  "This ... it's not easy being here. Seeing you."

  A laugh bubbles free. "You 'see' me every day, if I'm not mistaken." Reminding him of his wife--my twin.

  His eyes flash, stark white agony and sadness tangling together. He's not even trying to hide it. Heck, it's almost like he's intentionally projecting it toward me.

  "I see someone who looks like you, Ari, but will never come close to being anything more than an imitation."

  "I hate to point out the obvious, but"--I point at his hand, the one with the wedding band--"aside from the evident proof that she had to have been something more to do what you both did to ensure that band was placed on your hand by her and not me, I believe you told me you got lucky and had the right sister the last time we spoke."

  "I've seen you," he whispers uncomfortably, shifting in his seat and leaning forward, elbows to thighs.

  "There sure does seem to be a lot of 'seeing' accounting to your confusing state, Thomas."

  "I thought I was right, you know," he continues, ignoring my sarcasm. "I really thought I had the right one."

  "Such a blessing for you that they had twins at the pick-a-bride store. Heaven forbid you pick incorrectly." I roll my eyes.

  "It wasn't like that, Ari."

  I toss my arms in the air. "It pretty much was, Thomas. Look, I don't know why you're here, but please just get it over with so I can get to the rest of my plans for today."

  Something washes over his face, a wave of emotion that is gone too quickly for me to understand. "You never moved on. I always wondered if that was because I was wrong, and you were waiting for me to realize that. I would remember things that you would do, things London doesn't do, and just fucking wonder. Always popping up in my mind. Then, almost instantly, you would hit my memories, and then like I conjured you up myself, you would just appear."

  "Thomas--"

  "Are you happy?" he interjects.

  "Unbelievably so."

  He glances down, looking at his feet, and his head nods slowly. "I thought as much."

  "You've seen why I'm happy, haven't you?" I question, knowing that could be the only explanation to why he would just show up after this long looking upset. He doesn't want me, but he doesn't want anyone else to either. He just didn't know that until I found Thorn, my time alone, with no one, ended for good.

  He keeps nodding, then looks up. I have to fight the urge to flinch when I see his misty eyes.

  "I needed to know. I had to hear it from you. Needed to see for myself that what I did wasn't still affecting your life."

  "Then please, Thomas, hear me. I'm beyond happy. You and London, you don't even cross my mind anymore. The only thing I think about from that time is my parents. If anything, I should thank you. If it wasn't for what you two did, I wouldn't be able to really understand just how beautiful my life could be."

  He doesn't speak. Heck, I'm not even sure he's breathing.

  "I'm where I was always meant to be, with the person who I undoubtedly know was made for me. So, thank you for ensuring I was ready for him when fate brought him to me."

  He blinks.

  "Forget about whatever it is that you've held on to, Thomas. I have."

  Silence ticks on when I finish laying it out. The open door to his emotions has closed, and he's become stoic and still.

  "Thomas, really, you came here because you said you needed to see I had moved on. You got that assurance. I've said all I wish to say. If there's more, please get on with it. I have somewhere I really want to be."

  He frowns but gives the tiniest nod. "You're right. I just needed to see for myself that you were what appeared to be true." He stands, and I stay in my chair. "I hope he can keep you that way. For what it's worth, I'll always remember the good times we had, and I'm sorry for my part in what happened back then."

  "It's in the past, Thomas. Go back to your wife."

  He lets out a heavy breath, then turns and grabs the doorknob. But I call his name before he can open it.

  "Tell my sister to stop contacting me. No more calls. I mean it, Thomas. I've had to deal with her constant bullshit, misplaced guilt, and angry rants for far too long."

  "I'll take care of London. Be happy, Ari." He waits, clearly hoping for something more from me, but when it becomes clear that I'm well and truly done, he opens the door and exits my office.

  The chapters of my past--the ones I felt a heavy-handed backstroke had erased from existence--no longer feel like they were lost years to me anymore. The binding of my life's book shifts inside my mind, making room, and replacing those old chapters with something rewritten. Rewritten with the lessons I had to be taught from the pain I no longer felt.

  Until that moment, I don't think I realized just how far I've come in the time since Thorn came into my life and gave me more than I could have ever dreamed of. Thorn gave me the drive and Dr. Hart gave me the tools, but I was the one who took those gifts and built a path of courage toward the beautiful life I deserved. The one Thorn was at my side step by step for.

  I look toward the closed door that Thomas left through and feel a symbolic door inside me shutting as closure settles.

  The past locked away behind it conquered with a finality.

  The future before me bright with promise, not a shadow left in the sky.

  All the beauty that is you

  I pull into the drive at Thorn's house later that night. It's a miracle that I was only thirty minutes past the two hours I told Thorn I would be here by. I had left Trend with more than enough time to be here, but in the end, it didn't matter. Not when I have a cat that seems to have o
nly one job on this earth ... to terrorize me. He's been wailing loudly since we left my house. I swear my ears are seconds away from bleeding. He started tossing himself against the sides of his carrier about five minutes ago when his complaints went unappreciated. Five very long minutes.

  I knew from past experiences that Dwight did not travel well. As in, at all. So the carrier had become a must. It's also why we rarely brought the cats over from my place. It had never been this bad before. That was also because Dwight didn't show his ass much around Thorn, and each time before, Thorn had been with us.

  At least I could count on Jim. He started purring in my arms while I held him and loaded everything in the car. I decided to test his car riding abilities before going in to chase down the cat beast, Dwight, by doing a quick spin around the block with Jim. He curled up in the passenger seat the second I turned on the car and hasn't stopped purring once.

  Thorn is waiting for me when I pull into the empty space in his massive garage. A space I knew he made possible. Not only because I watched him free it up himself, but because he had told me the night before he did it that he was making sure I had a spot of my own.

  Making room for me.

  Making it known he wanted that before it had even been something I thought of.

  "Hey, honey," I greet softly when he pulls my door open for me.

  "Babe."

  "You know, you wouldn't have to babe me if you would have just waited a second for me to get out of the car and give it to you. Now you've said it and you want it without giving me some space to stand." He continues to look down at me for a second before stepping back--which wasn't much of a step, if I'm being honest with myself. Jim gives an adorable kitten meow, so I scoop him up before climbing up from my seat into the sliver of space Thorn allotted me. "Bend down, honey."

  He bends instantly.

  "Hi," I breathe against his lips, then press mine to his and kiss him with everything I've got.

  He makes a sound deep in his chest, his hands sliding into my hair as he holds me close. Jim wiggles and twists. I lose him when I feel his little body lift off my arm. I feel him move so I know he's safe but don't stop greeting my man the way he likes to be greeted. I pull away first, even though that's the last thing I want, because I have an evil cat to free before he harms himself.