Passion on Park Avenue (Central Park Pact #1)(13)

After a few wrong guesses, she found the drawer she was looking for. She pulled out the blush-pink velvet pouch with the gold monogram logo. She’d gotten the sample last year, and she’d loved everything about the company, the packaging, their goal of designing watches with classic silhouettes and modern flair.

Naomi hadn’t ordered from them—yet. The price was just a bit too high. But their product stuck out in her memory among hundreds, if not thousands, of pieces, and she kept them on her radar.

She handed the pouch to a confused-looking Claire.

“Open it,” she urged.

Claire tugged at the ribbon and slid the watch into her palm.

“Oooh,” Audrey breathed.

Naomi smiled at Audrey. “You’re really a sucker for rose gold, huh?”

“Shiny and pink?” Audrey said reverently. “Somebody hold me back. But this . . . this one is all Claire.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Claire said. “Is it too . . . young for me?”

Naomi rolled her eyes. “I’d say we’ve got a few years before we need to start decorating your walker with rhinestones. But if you don’t like it . . .”

“No, it’s beautiful,” Claire said quickly, holding up the watch for a closer look.

It was beautiful. The slim rose-gold links of the band were just the right amount of bling without being over-the-top.

“The slightly larger watch face is in right now,” Naomi explained. “It used to be that women thought the smaller the better, since, you know, we’re supposed to be dainty and all. But I actually think the slightly larger size accentuates women’s smaller wrists.”

But the band and the size of the watch face weren’t the highlights. The tiny champagne flute at the five o’clock position was.

“The champagne really should be at noon,” Audrey said, tilting her head to steady it. “That’s my appropriate champagne hour.”

“Cheers to that,” Naomi said before shifting her attention back to Claire. “What do you think?”

Claire took a deep breath, and then opened the clasp of her current watch. “I think that I don’t want to see this watch from Brayden for a while.”

Naomi deliberately didn’t glance at the piece as she tossed it on the desk. The watch deserved better treatment. But a gift from Brayden Hayes did not. She noted that Claire’s eyes tracked the discarded watch, and realized the other woman wasn’t ready to say goodbye entirely yet. But she put the new watch on. Progress.

“Oh, Claire,” Audrey announced, looking at Claire’s wrist. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s not set to the right time,” Claire pointed out.

“The actual minute’s not important right now,” Naomi insisted. “It’s about the moment.”

Audrey nodded. “Absolutely. It marks phase two of our fresh start.”

“What was phase one?” Claire asked with a smile.

“Us figuring out if we could be friends,” Audrey said as though this were obvious.

She had a point. After that day in Central Park with these ladies, Naomi had wondered if maybe it was a fluke. A strange little bubble of reality fueled by grief and anger and the need to best the man who’d bested them.

No, not bested. Fooled.

But in the past couple of months, Naomi had realized that as different as the three of them were, they had something in common other than having slept with Brayden. They were strong. Resilient. Most important of all, they liked one another. Naomi had never made much time for female friends. Sure, she counted Deena as a friend. She was close with a bunch of her senior team. But for Naomi, work had always come first. Above romance, and above friendship. But these women gave her hope . . . gave her the sense that maybe she could be something more than a girl boss and ballbuster.

“So what’s phase two?” Claire asked, still looking slightly skeptical.

“Moving on. Naomi’s got a head start. Her office is moving. She’s moving. She’s got a date—”

“Business meeting,” Naomi corrected with exasperation.

“Whatever. You’re moving forward.”

Am I?

Naomi’s thoughts flicked back to 517 Park Avenue, to Oliver Cunningham’s glacier-blue eyes. To people who didn’t care how much money you had but how old it was. People who, even now, Naomi was letting make her feel inferior. Less.

And then, as though Fate was looking down on her and reading her very thoughts, Deena knocked on the door and popped her head in. “Sorry to interrupt. Ms. Gromwell from that Park Avenue building is on line one. Says it’s a pressing matter. Her words.”

Huh. Well, at least they wanted to give her the news over the phone instead of reject her over email. It was more than she was expecting.

“Give me one sec,” she told her friends, leaning over her desk and picking up her phone. “Naomi Powell.”

“Ms. Powell? This is Victoria Gromwell, from 517 Park Avenue. I’m calling to check on your availability next week. We know it’s last-minute, but the board is hoping to make a decision by the following weekend.”

It took Naomi a moment to register the woman’s words, and when she did, her response wasn’t exactly eloquent. “What?”

There was a long moment of silence, and Naomi heard it loud and clear as disapproval, but she didn’t care.