1
Mason
Nine days before Christmas
The Chicago skyline filled the windows of my corner office as I listened to my very competent assistant list the fires she’d put out. Since she’d never failed at any task I’d given her in eight years, I was only giving her part of my attention.
The rest was on the city streets below. From the fiftieth floor, it wasn’t possible to see the bundled-up people hurrying along the sidewalks, but I could see the traffic, already heavy even though it wasn’t yet rush hour. Buses, cars, Ubers… where were all those people going? To work? From work? Christmas shopping?
“And I said we’d send over the files tomorrow,” Patricia concluded, and then there was a pause. “Are you listening to me?”
“Always. Did you get everything on the Christmas list?”
“Always. The gifts have been purchased, wrapped, and delivered to everyone on your list.”
It was as I figured, but it was good to know. Christmas shopping had never been my forte, and once I started my own management consultant firm, it had been a pleasure to outsource that particular duty. “Did you get yourself something nice?”
“Of course. Who deserves it more?”
I had to smile at that. Patricia kept my life and my business running smoothly, and she deserved every penny of her generous salary plus whatever it was I’d gotten her for the holidays. “So I guess that takes care of Christmas.” Even though she’d done all the work, I felt a little smug. It felt good to have that kind of thing finished by December 16.
“Not quite.”
Now I turned to her. She was a petite woman in an impeccable cranberry-colored blazer and skirt. Were it not for the lines at the side of her sharp blue eyes and the gray in her hair, she could’ve been one of the up-and-coming executives at top Chicago corporations whom I worked with frequently. “What else is there to do?”
She arched one delicate eyebrow and stared me down.
Realization hit. “Crap.”
“Indeed.”
“Couldn’t you just—”
“No. You yourself told me that I was never to pick out a present for your mother, that you’d do that personally. Were those not your instructions?”
“I wasn’t asking you to get it.” I tried to look offended at the idea, but my assistant was usually pretty good at calling my bluffs. “I was going to ask if you had any suggestions. You’re her age—er, I mean, you’re closer to her age than me.”
Patricia put her hand on her hip. “Nice save.”
“Thank you.” I sat down at my desk and rested my head in my hands. “She’s just so hard to shop for.”
“But you know her better than anyone else in the world.” Patricia’s tone had softened slightly.
“True.” I’d adored my mom for all of my thirty-two years. But that didn’t mean I had any clue what to get her. “If you could just give me a couple of ideas…”
“It seems to me that a man who waltzes into the most successful companies in the city and tells them how to run their businesses better could figure it out himself. Have you asked her?”
“Not this year. But you know what she always says.”
“I do.” Patricia sounded amused as she shook her head and walked away.
If I called my mom to ask her what she wanted, she’d say one thing. The same thing she’d been saying for a decade. The one thing I couldn’t—wouldn’t?—no, couldn’t give her: a grandchild.
When all else fails, throw money at the problem. That’s how I found myself a few hours later at one of the most expensive jewelers in Chicago. Diamonds, precious metals, and priceless gems shone out of every display case.
And not a single thing jumped out at me as being appropriate for my mother. She had good taste, and I didn’t—at least not for things like this. For a moment, I wanted to strangle Patricia. A woman would handle this particular mission far better than me.
I wasn’t the only male looking a bit lost. A young boy stared into a display case by the door, his nose all but pressed against the glass. The prim and proper sales associate, who had introduced himself as Richard Murdoch, at your service, was garbed in a gray three-piece suit and looked as if he wanted to wipe up every fingerprint the boy made on the glass. Even the uniformed guard by the door was staring the young lad down, and I wondered how the kid had gotten inside.
It didn’t appear he’d be staying for too much longer. Murdoch had apparently had enough. On a whim, I walked over to the boy’s side, raising a hand to hold off the older gentleman.
“Who are you shopping for?” I asked.
The boy looked up at me with sparkling blue eyes. His light brown hair was ruffled from the winter weather, and his cheeks were pink. He didn’t look more than seven or eight.
“My mom,” he said.
“Me too. It’s not easy, is it?”
“No.” The boy glanced at the snooty man behind the counter before returning his gaze to the diamond earrings in the case. “I have to get her something nice. It’s for her birthday and Christmas.”
The earnestness in the boy’s voice made me smile, though I was not without sympathy. That made his task twice as hard as mine. Still, this didn’t seem the best place for him to shop. “Maybe your mom would like a scarf from one of the sidewalk stalls. It’s pretty cold these days.”
The boy shook his head. “She works really hard, so I want to get her something special. I have almost eight dollars.”
With effort, I managed not to laugh. “She sounds like a good mom.”
“She is.” He straightened up and spoke directly to the sales attendant. “Can I see these earrings, please? The sparkly ones.”
“Certainly not,” Murdoch answered instantly. “Young man, I realize you haven’t finished smudging every glass surface in the showroom, but I think it’s time you went elsewhere to do your shopping.”
Though he didn’t break eye contact, the boy’s face fell, and I spoke without thinking. “No harm in letting him see them.”
The older man’s dignity slipped as he turned his astonished gaze on me. “Mr. Ross! Surely you of all people know what kind of establishment this is.”
So he knew who I was. Good, that would make things easier. “I do. And I intend to spend a large amount of money here.”
“I’m very grateful, sir, but—”
“And I’d be grateful if you’d show my new friend the earrings.” I looked down at the boy and he smiled tentatively up at me. “Guys shopping for their moms have to stick together.”
With a huff, the offended employee used a silicon-tipped tweezer to lift one diamond earring and then the other onto a velvet tray. Carefully, he placed the tray on top of the glass display. “Don’t touch those, young man.” His eyes never left the boy as he addressed me. “Now, Mr. Ross, how may I be of service?”
Deciding that the boy had the right idea with diamonds, I walked to a nearby case full of bejeweled necklaces. Murdoch hissed at the guard to watch the boy before joining me. “I’d like to see the necklace in the middle and the one on the far right.”