Chapter 3

A private jewelry salon on Fifth Avenue.

Heavy velvet curtains shut out the street. On the black marble table in the VIP room sat a single dark gold box.

"Miss Clara. Your commissioned ring." The manager slid it toward me with gloved hands.

The lid opened and the light hit. A blue diamond — a fancy vivid blue, the kind that almost never comes up. The Whitmore family had brought in their best cutters to reset it. It was meant to be the symbol of the Whitmore-Frost marriage.

I was studying the engraving on the setting when the door opened without a knock.

"Hunter, I just want to see their signature piece—" Sienna's voice cut off the second she saw me. Then her eyes locked onto the ring and stayed there.

Hunter came in behind her and immediately scowled.

"Clara, are you following us?" He laughed under his breath. "You think putting on a tough act at the auction is going to get my attention?"

I didn't even have it in me to argue with something that self-absorbed.

"I want to try that ring on," Sienna announced, pointing. "Take it out. It should be my size."

"I'm sorry, Miss Sienna." The manager stepped in front of the table, polite but immovable. "This piece was commissioned for the Whitmore-Frost marriage. It's Miss Clara's personal property. No one else handles it."

At the word Frost, the look on Hunter's face finally changed.

"Whitmore-Frost marriage?" He stared at me, teeth clenched. "Are you done? You think inventing some story about Adrian Frost is going to make me fold? Stop embarrassing yourself."

He still thought this was all a play to win him back.

While the manager was dealing with him, Sienna reached across the table and grabbed the ring.

"Miss Sienna, put that down!"

"I said I want to try it." She forced it onto her finger, but her knuckles were too wide and it jammed. Furious, she yanked—

Clink.

The ring slipped out of her hand and hit the marble floor hard. The sound was ugly in that quiet room. The center stone survived. The setting, with all its pavé work, was bent and split open.

Hunter stepped in front of Sienna, who'd gone pale, and scoffed. "It's a broken setting. What's the number? I'll write you a check."

I stayed on the sofa and watched him the way you watch a clown who doesn't know the tent's already empty.

I took out my phone. "Mr. Hayes. I'm at the salon on Fifth. Someone deliberately destroyed high-value personal property. Contact the police, open an insurance claim, and start the process for criminal damage."

I hung up. "Four million dollars. That's just the insured value."

His face went rigid. The hand reaching for his checkbook stopped in midair.

I stood and walked toward him.

"Blake Group's liquidity dried up at the start of this quarter. The only reason Wall Street still takes your calls is the Whitmore credit line propping you up. Four million in cash? Hunter, you can't put together four hundred thousand. What exactly are you paying with?"

His eyes went red. "Clara, you're really doing this? Fine. But your father's birthday dinner is next week. This whole city is watching for that wedding. Pull the funding? Call the cops? You won't. Without me, you won't have a groom that night, and you'll be the biggest joke on the Upper East Side."

He grabbed Sienna's arm and slammed the door on his way out.

I watched the door swing and thought about how small he was.

"Miss Clara..." The manager was sweating. "I'm so sorry. This incident—"

"It's not on you. Save the security footage for my attorney." I cut him off gently and headed for the door.

His encrypted tablet chimed. He read it and hurried after me.

"Miss Clara, wait!" He couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice. "Mr. Frost just called personally. He seems to have anticipated something like this. There's a backup — a second ring with a higher-grade center stone, made overnight by the head craftsman in Paris. It's on a private jet to New York right now. He asked me to tell you: nothing about your schedule will be delayed."

Evening wind came down Fifth Avenue and caught the hem of my dress.

Listening to that — the high-handedness of it, and the absolute safety underneath — I pictured his eyes. And I looked down and realized I was smiling.

It was the first time I'd laughed for real since the accident.