Eighteen #2
“An elderly gentleman. He’s got just under two thousand acres. I’ve made offers, but he’s never entertained a sale. No heirs. It’ll go to his estate eventually.”
The helicopter banks south.
“Gold companies border us to the west and south. East belongs to a family I’ve been trying to reach for years. Maybe Luca will have better luck when he takes over.”
Luca chuckles through the comm. “Let’s not rush that.”
From above, the desert is unexpectedly breathtaking—raw, vast, sun-bleached. It’s a quiet kind of beauty. Untamed. Endless.
The rest of the day unfolded in a blur of site visits—Antoine snapping photos, rattling off design notes while Tom Caruso laid out projections and timelines. By the time the tour ends and we’re ready to return to San Francisco, the weight of numbers and possibilities have me drained.
We’re silent on the flight back. It’s been a long day. I should be going through my email like everyone else, but I don’t feel up for it.
And when I think of Matteo…I feel it. The drop. The pull. I’m already falling for him
Maybe I already have.
I text Matteo when we land, but I didn’t hear from him, so I just went home.
Visiting the mine yesterday was incredible, and I’m so glad we went. Antoine practically buzzed the entire drive back, tossing out idea after idea for what we could do with the two types of stones. His mind was already ten steps ahead.
Today’s a big one. We’re previewing the first batch of polished stones, and I’m thrilled.
Olivier just finalized an exclusive deal.
Only we will have the right to use Luster’s rough diamonds for jewelry.
Antoine was practically giddy when we signed the paperwork.
The frosted and bubble stones are ours. No one else will touch them.
It was a productive trip.
But I barely slept last night, and now, I’m late to the office, which never happens.
Of course, Heather is in my office ready to pounce. “Must be nice to be the owner’s daughter and show up whenever you want,” she says as I walk into my office.
“Good morning to you too,” I reply, breezing past her. I hang my coat and power up my laptop. “Big day. Dante Marino will be here in about an hour. The designers and I are previewing the first polished stones.”
“I’ll be in that meeting as well,” she announces, like it’s already written in stone.
I glance up. “Excuse me?”
“Your father and I discussed it. He thinks I should be involved. We’re not convinced this is the right direction for Olivier.”
Of course, he isn’t.
Marching into my father’s office would be pointless. Heather would trail right behind me, and he’d bend over backward not to upset her. I wish he had more of a spine when it came to the two of us.
I want to slam the door. Scream. Something. But that would give her exactly what she wants. Just because she used to sell mall jewelry and now sleeps in the primary bedroom doesn’t mean she belongs in a meeting that will determine the future of our brand.
But I smile tightly. “Great. We’re meeting in the main conference room.”
As soon as she leaves, I grab my phone and move fast.
First, a message to Dante and Matteo.
Me: Change of location for today’s meeting. I’ll come to you instead—confidentially.
Then I ping Antoine
Me: Meet me downstairs at the store. I’ll explain in the car.
I text Richard to have the car ready in fifteen. Quiet pickup, please. My pulse is a drum in my ears. If I want to get my father alone—and keep Heather out of it—I need to move quickly before she wedges herself into another conversation that doesn’t belong to her.
When I reach the store, Antoine is already waiting by the display case, cool as ever.
“Hey, boss-lady.”
“Hi.” My smile is thin, tight. “We’re going on a field trip.”
He grins. “I live to serve.”
“Then follow me.”
Outside, Richard is parked at the curb, engine humming, the world too loud around me.
“Where to, Ms. Matisse?”
“Luster’s offices.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Antoine raises a brow as we slide into the backseat. “Secret rendezvous?”
“Heather invited herself to the meeting.”
His groan is theatrical but heartfelt. “Mon Dieu. That woman is going to tank the company. No one on my team will work with her.”
My throat burns, but I keep my tone clipped, businesslike. “She’s pushing every button I have, but let’s see what Luster has before I light anything on fire.”
“You’re doing the right thing,” he says, more serious now. “My cousin at House of Rutherford saw early images of these stones. He says they’re going to be the next big thing. You’re ahead of the curve.”
“I hope so.” I stare out the tinted window, the city rushing past like a blur. Because if I’m wrong, this isn’t just a disagreement. I just started a full-scale war inside the company.
“Your father may be blinded by her…charms,” Antoine says delicately, “but he still knows business. He’ll come around.”
The words settle like a balm, but only for a moment. My father’s judgment isn’t what it used to be, not when Heather’s whispering in his ear.
“Thanks. And please apologize to your team for the detour.”
“They’ll get over it once they see the stones. When Heather walks in, they’ll understand why we left.”
At Luster, we’re ushered into a sleek glass conference room that feels like another world. Everything gleams—chrome, light wood, smooth stone floors. Modern. Clean. Smart. Like their designs. Like the future I want to build for Olivier.
“Would you care for something to drink?” the assistant asks brightly. “Water, coffee, tea, juices…or weird sodas we probably shouldn’t offer?”
“Water’s perfect,” I say, my throat suddenly dry.
“Same for me, merci,” Antoine adds.
The glasses barely touch the table before Dante arrives, all presence and polish.
But no Matteo.
And the hollow space beside his absence tightens something sharp in my chest. “Matteo had an unavoidable issue this morning,” Dante says, settling in. “He asked me to send his apologies.”
Disappointment flickers sharp, but I smooth my features before it shows. “No problem. Thank you for adjusting the location.” My voice is steady, but inside, I ache at Matteo’s absence. I wanted him here to share this moment, to see what I see. Instead, I’ll have to carry it alone.
Dante leans in slightly, his tone polite but probing. “Did you have a scheduling issue with your space?”
“Something like that.” I keep it clipped, neutral. No need to drag Heather’s drama into this room. As long as none of it reaches the press, I can handle it.
“It was a great day at the mine,” Dante says, his smile boyish and warm. “Tom’s team has made incredible progress.”
“And now,” Gianna adds, sweeping in with energy that feels like fresh air, “we get to show you the cutting and polishing facility.”
Antoine perks up instantly, eyes alight. “I’ve seen images of some of your designs, Monsieur Dante. You have quite the eye.”
“Designs?” I echo, curiosity sparking.
Dante blushes faintly. Before he can speak, Gianna ducks out, returning with a framed photo.
My breath catches. The necklace is a stunner—layered diamonds arcing in unexpected curves, radiating elegance and originality. It’s bold but refined. Modern but timeless. Exactly the kind of piece Olivier should be creating.
“We won Best of Evening Wear at the National Association of Gemology Institute last January,” Dante says, modest pride softening his voice.
“I heard about that show! I couldn’t make it.” I meet his eyes. “You designed this?”
“Our mother did, originally. I just updated the setting,” Dante admits.
“He’s underselling it,” Antoine chimes in. “He cut every one of those stones himself.”
My eyes widen. “That must’ve taken months.”
“I actually didn’t cut them myself,” Dante corrects gently, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “But I worked closely with a gemcutter.”
I nod, feeling the anticipation rise inside me like champagne bubbles. “I can’t wait to see the rough.”
Gianna sets the first tray on the table, black velvet cradling a scatter of clear stones swirled with cloudiness. Like pearls made of frozen smoke.
My heart lurches. I’ve never seen anything like them. They shimmer with imperfection—raw, bold, unapologetic. They’re everything I want this brand to be. Not polished perfection, but beauty that breathes.
“These were used as buttons down the back of a couture gown,” she explains.
Antoine picks one up, turning it slowly in the light. “How did you get them this round?”
“Polyhedron cut,” she says. “Then ground and polished over several hours. A member of our team can do a few at once.”
“They’re stunning,” Antoine breathes. “We’ll make a necklace to match.”
“What’s your weekly output?” I ask, pulse quickening.
“A thousand,” Luca replies from the doorway, as if the number is nothing.
Antoine’s eyes all but glow. “Perfect.”
The next tray is unveiled, and my breath catches again—jagged, asymmetrical stones, each one a singular creation.
Antoine lets out a low whistle. “This is what I’ve been hoping for.”
“These are harder to find,” Dante says, a hint of regret in his voice. “The extraction process breaks a lot of the spires.”
“That’s what makes them perfect,” Antoine says, reverent. “They’re wild. They’re alive.”
Then Gianna reveals the next tray—flat, bubble-textured stones, each about the size of a quarter. They gleam like captured breaths, almost like hand-blown glass.
I lean closer, the possibilities racing ahead of me. A new story for Olivier. A way to take our heritage and pull it forward into something daring, disruptive, unforgettable.
And yet beneath the excitement, that same ache lingers. Matteo should be here. He should see this. “These embrace their flaws,” Dante says. “They can be featured…or hidden.”
“I see a high-collar neckline,” Antoine murmurs, eyes alight. “Varied shapes. Dramatic.”
“Exactly,” I say, my pulse quickening. “Traditional diamonds are…well, traditional. Our clients want something different. Younger. Edgier. Not what their grandmother wore.”
Gianna grins, her energy contagious. She slaps her palm on the table. “That’s the campaign.”
We all turn toward her.
“You want edgy? Bold? Something that’ll make the board sit up?” She slaps the table again, louder this time. “Redefining Traditional.”
Nailed it.
It’s perfect. My chest floods with heat and certainty. “I love it.”
We move through two final trays—larger jagged stones and thick disks—before pivoting to strategy. I can almost see the collection taking shape in my mind, alive with possibility.
“My board will need to approve final designs,” I say, the words heavier than I want them to be. “They’re conservative. Especially my father. But if I can work directly with you, Gianna, and let Antoine and Dante develop the line, we can present something bold and irresistible.”
Nods all around. Agreement. Momentum. For the first time in weeks, I feel the ground solid under my feet.
Antoine glances at me, then asks carefully, “Would my design team be able to work out of your space for a few weeks?”
Bless him. He knows exactly what I do. Their creativity won’t survive Olivier’s politics.
“Yes,” I say quickly, fiercely. “Absolutely.”
After the meeting, Gianna pulls me aside, nearly dragging me down the hall before shutting us into her office.
Then she practically launches into my arms, her joy bubbling over.
“I’m so excited! This is going to be fabulous,” she gushes, practically bouncing on her heels. “We’ve had offers from over fifty designers, but with both of us here in San Francisco and the Felicity Ford connection? We’re going to own this market.”
Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I can’t help grinning, the weight on my chest loosening. “Just be prepared. Someone at Olivier is working against me. She’s got my father’s ear and a firm grip on his spine. This presentation has to be flawless.”
“When’s the meeting?”
“Three weeks.”
“Plenty of time.” Gianna is already in motion, her mind spinning faster than mine. “Let’s book a photographer. I’m thinking sunrise at the base of the Golden Gate, sunset shots at Baker Beach, and there’s a yacht in the marina I can borrow—sleek, minimalist lines, perfect for lifestyle shots.”
“What about indoor options?” I press.
She wrinkles her nose. “The hotels with views are too dark, too dated. But…wait. What about Nate Lancaster’s old place?”
“The one that was the former French consulate residence?”
She claps her hands. “Yes! The one on Jackson Street with the double-height windows and the view of the Bay.”
I nod.
“That’s perfect.”
“Glad you think so because we’re using it,” I say with a smirk, the first real surge of confidence I’ve felt all day.
Then I lower my voice. “One more thing, I need a list of who’s approached Luster about these stones.
I know it’s confidential, but if I can drop a few names in the boardroom, it’ll make all the difference. ”
She hesitates, weighing it, then leans in. “I’ll see what I can share. But I can tell you this—Bulgari and Van Cleef have already reached out.”
I lean back, satisfaction curling at the edges of my smile. The weight of Willow, Heather, all of it loosens for a moment under the rush of victory. “Then there’s no way they’ll say no.”
And for the first time, I actually believe it.