Twenty-eight
Ellory
M y phone buzzes as Duane weaves the car through traffic on the way to the office. Jim Adelson’s name flashes across the screen.
“Morning, Jim,” I answer, already bracing. He doesn’t call very often. Hopefully, he has news.
“We’ve got a lead,” he says without preamble. His voice is clipped, all business. “ Night to Remember popped up on a dark web forum last night that sells high end stolen merchandise. My team is chasing it down now.”
My chest tightens. “Is Heather involved?”
A beat of silence. “I can’t give you more than that right now. We’re still pulling threads, trying to trace where it landed. But I should have something solid for you soon.”
I grip the phone tighter, watching the city blur past the window. “All right. Keep me posted.”
“You’ll be the first call,” he promises before the line goes dead.
Duane doesn’t ask. He doesn’t need to. The air in the car is thick enough. It would be nice to have the dress for the ad campaign. It’s a one of a kind and the inspiration for our new line.
Duane pulls up to the employee entrance of Olivier, and Richard is there to greet me. “Jim called me this morning.”
“Good. So you’re all caught up. As soon as I know something, I’ll let you know.”
I look down. “Thank you.”
I take the elevator to the executive floor. I’ve rehearsed a hundred versions of this conversation in my head. But nothing ever quite prepares you for war on your own turf.
Heather is already in my office when I arrive.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask, not bothering to hide my annoyance. “Aren’t you supposed to be in jail?”
Her eyes become pinpricks, and her lips purse. “Waiting for you. You’re late.”
I hang my coat and face her squarely. “What do you want, Heather?”
She folds her hands primly. “Your father and I have been talking. We’re still not convinced a rough diamond collection is the right direction for Olivier.”
I inhale slowly. Exhale. “That’s a lie. My father and I have a transparent working relationship. If he had concerns, he’d bring them to me, not relay them through you.”
Her expression turns syrupy. “That’s where you’re mistaken. He adores you, yes, but he’s not sure you’re ready. We’ve spent a lot of time discussing it.”
“My father’s never been shy about expressing himself. So forgive me if I don’t take your word as gospel.”
She brushes past it with a smile. “I thought we might have lunch today. Catch up.”
I nod once. “Fine. I look forward to it.”
“We have a reservation at Soleil. Twelve-thirty.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Her smile tightens. “We’re all coming from the same place. We can go together.”
I cross my arms. “Unfortunately, we’re not. I don’t go anywhere without my security detail.”
“That’s another thing your father’s been struggling with. Two bodyguards at all times? The expense is outrageous.”
“I was assaulted and robbed, twice in less than twelve hours. Is it bothering him…or you?” I arch a brow. “Because he’s the one who insisted on them. I didn’t ask. And he did it because I’m the heir to Olivier.”
Her smile flickers, just for a second. And I take a slow, satisfying breath. Every time I remind her of my place, it lands like a slap. She always comes armed with critiques, but eventually, even Heather runs out of ammunition.
She leaves. I call my mother. I’ve been putting this off, and it’s time I know the truth.
“Maman,” I say when she picks up.
“Bonjour, ma petite choute,” she answers with that warm French lilt. “I miss you. When are you coming to Los Angeles?”
“I could use some sunshine.”
“It may be February, but it’s warm here. You always have a room.”
We catch up, and soon I’m laughing over her latest boyfriend drama, a producer on a top-twenty TV show, naturally.
Before we hang up, I shift gears. “Maman… Papa’s girlfriend thinks he’s going to make her CEO when he retires.”
She laughs. “And do you want the job?”
“I do. I’m launching a new line—modern, accessible, younger.”
“You’re brilliant. He’d be a fool not to see it.” But fools don’t always recognize the smart move when it’s standing in front of them. Especially when someone else is whispering in their ear.
I feel my shoulders drop an inch. “I don’t know the full details of your divorce, but I know he can’t bring in a new partner without my consent. He might be the majority shareholder, but there are limits.”
“That’s correct. My lawyer made sure of it.
I didn’t care about the company, but my father gave your father the seed money for the business.
And he wanted you taken care of. He made sure my lawyer understood, and he insisted on protections.
He didn’t want some opportunist waltzing in and taking what’s rightfully yours. ”
We spend twenty more minutes sorting through what she remembers of the decree. It’s not all good news. But it’s not bad either. It’s enough.
I think about what I learned. Heather can’t touch me, and father can’t name her CEO without my permission.
I bury myself in financials on the new line and work through my email all morning.
Before leaving for lunch, I stop by Antoine’s office.
He’s sketching new design ideas for the Fire and Ice diamonds. I like what I see.
“Did you get the schedule for the photographer next week?” I ask.
He glances up from his sketches. “Yes. I’ll be there. I can’t believe they want me in any photographs.”
“Why? You’re handsome and a big part of this.”
“What are we going to do about the dress?”
“Jim’s team has a lead on it, but we’ll figure it out. So be prepared for anything. We need you.”
“I won’t stick around if you-know-who is there.” He’s talking about Heather, and I don’t blame him. I feel the same way.
“I’ll make sure she’s banished from the set.”
I wave goodbye and walk toward the elevator. I told Duane to meet me in front of the store. The store is a good way to judge what is exciting people.
I see my father in his office, and I wonder if he knows Heather and I are going to lunch. I pop my head in. “Looking forward to lunch,” I say casually.
His brows pinch. “Lunch?”
“With Heather,” I say. “She told me you’re reconsidering the new line and that the cost of my security is a problem. I assume that’s on your agenda today.”
His eyes widen for a split second before he recovers, schooling his features into neutral.
“Papa,” I say quietly, “you know the terms of your divorce. Do I need to go over them? Because I’ve talked to Maman. She remembers everything. I think you need to be at lunch today.”
He sighs. “Maybe we should all talk.”
“I love you,” I say. “But if you hand Olivier to her, I’ll sell my shares to the highest bidder, keep my seat on the board, and watch her burn your legacy to the ground.”
His jaw tightens. “You shouldn’t make threats you won’t follow through on.”
“I’m not bluffing.” I place a hand on his arm. “And you know it. I’ve worked too hard to see this company handed over to someone who doesn’t belong. I could sell to our competitors. Or to the conglomerate buying up luxury brands. Think about what that would mean.”
“I won’t be blackmailed.”
“And I won’t be silenced.” I turn to leave. “See you at Soleil in twenty minutes.”
And I won’t be bullied. Especially by your girlfriend, who shouldn’t even be in this building.
“She cares about the business,” he says to my back.
I turn and look at him. “No. She cares about power. And today might not be the cheerful lunch she planned, but I’m holding you to the agreement you signed, and I expect you to be there with her so there are no misunderstandings.”
He mutters, “Maybe we should cancel,” and he turns to look out the window.
I shake my head. “It’s time Heather hears the truth. She’s alienated the design team, disrespected Antoine, and most of the staff refuse to work with her.”
He exhales, long and heavy. “We’ll meet you there.”
I kiss his cheek. “Don’t stand me up.”
He walks off toward the design room. An older gentleman lingers by the front display, his tweed jacket a little worn at the elbows, his posture straight despite the years carved into his features. I approach with a smile.
“Welcome to Olivier,” I say softly. “Is there something special you’re looking for?”
His eyes lift to mine—blue, faded, but still bright. “My wife,” he begins, voice rough with age, “and I are celebrating our sixty-eighth wedding anniversary next week. I want to find something that… says what I can’t always put into words.”
The sincerity in his tone pulls at me. I guide him toward the cases where timeless pieces rest beneath the lights, the gems catching fire as I tilt the trays. “Tell me about her,” I prompt. “What does she love?”
A smile spreads across his face. “She still keeps a rose garden, though the weeds fight her for it every spring. She’s never gone a day without humming some tune under her breath. And she—” His eyes mist. “She still looks at me like I hung the moon.”
My throat tightens. Sixty-eight years, and he speaks of her like a man still falling in love. I slide open a drawer and lift out a delicate necklace: a single rose-shaped pendant, its petals crafted from interlacing pink sapphires, a small diamond glinting at the center.
His breath catches. “That… that looks like her.”
I fasten the clasp across the back of my hand so he can see how it drapes. The gem blushes warmly under the light, elegant but not ostentatious. “It’s from our Heritage line,” I explain. “Designed to celebrate enduring love.”
He nods slowly, reverently, as though afraid the piece might vanish. “She’ll love it,” he whispers. “She deserves the world, but this—this feels like the right piece to give her.”
I package the necklace carefully, tucking the velvet box into a ribboned bag. As I hand it over, his fingers brush mine, steady but trembling with emotion.
“Thank you,” he says. “You’ve made an old man’s heart lighter today.”
“No,” I answer, smiling even as my chest aches. “You’ve reminded me what real love looks like.”
I turn—and find Papa and Heather watching.