Alexis.”
There was something in the brief exchange Dev couldn’t quite get a handle on. The communication between the two women was too emphatic, too terse. He didn’t have time to decipher it now, however.
“Your people get this one shoot,” he told Danvers, putting an end to the discussion. “They can do it at Cartier.” He checked his watch. “Why don’t you call your housekeeper now, Sarah? Make sure she’s available. If she is, we’ll put a ring on your finger and get you home to pack.”
* * *
Sarah battled a headache as the limo cut through the Fifth Avenue traffic. Devon sat beside her on the cloud-soft leather, relaxed and seemingly unperturbed about throwing her life into total chaos. Seething, she threw a resentful glance at his profile.
Was it only two days ago he’d stormed into her life? Three? She felt as though she’d been broadsided by a semi. Okay, so maybe she couldn’t lay all the blame for the situation she now found herself in on Dev. Gina had certainly contributed her share. Still...
When the limo pulled up at the front entrance to Cartier’s iconic flagship store, the dull throb in her temples took on a sharper edge. With its red awnings and four stories of ultra high-end merchandise, the store was a New York City landmark.
Sarah hadn’t discovered until after her grandmother’s heart attack that Charlotte had sold a good portion of her jewels to Cartier over the years. According to a recent invoice, the last piece she’d parted with was still on display in their Estate Jewelry room.
Dev had called ahead, so they were greeted at the door by the manager himself. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hunter. I’m Charles Tipton.”
Gray-haired and impeccably attired, he shook Dev’s hand before bowing over Sarah’s with Old World courtesy.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. St. Sebastian. I’ve had the honor of doing business with your grandmother several times in the past.”
She smiled her gratitude for his discretion. “Doing business with” stung so much less than “helping her dispose of her heritage.”
“May I congratulate you on your engagement?”
She managed not to wince, but couldn’t help thinking this lie was fast taking on a life of its own.
“Thank you.”
“I’m thrilled, of course, that you came to Cartier to shop for your ring. I’ve gathered a selection of our finest settings and stones. I’m sure we’ll find something exactly to your...”
He broke off as a cab screeched over to the curb and the crew from Beguile jumped out. Zach Zimmerman—nicknamed ZZ, of course—hefted his camera bags while his assistant wrestled with lights and reflectors.
“Hey, Sarah!” Dark eyed and completely irreverent about everything except his work, ZZ stomped toward them in his high-top sneakers. “You really engaged to Number Three or has Alexis been hitting the sauce again?”
She hid another wince. “I’m really engaged. ZZ, this is my fiancé, Devon...”
“Hunter. Yeah, I recognize the, uh, face.”
He smirked but thankfully refrained from referring to any other part of Dev’s anatomy.
“If you’ll all please come with me.”
Mr. Tipton escorted them through the first-floor showroom with its crystal chandeliers and alcoves framed with white marble arches. Faint strains of classical music floated on the air. The seductive scent of gardenia wafted from strategically positioned bowls of potpourri.
A short elevator ride took them to a private consultation room. Chairs padded in gold velvet were grouped on either side of a gateleg, gilt-trimmed escritoire. Several cases sparkling with diamond engagement sets sat on the desk’s burled wood surface.
The manager gestured them to the chairs facing the desk but before taking his own he detoured to a sideboard holding a silver bucket and several Baccarat flutes.
“May I offer you some champagne? To toast your engagement, perhaps?”
Sarah glanced at Dev, saw he’d left the choice up to her, and surrendered to the inevitable.
“Thank you. That would be delightful.”
The cork had already been popped. Tipton filled flutes and passed them to Sarah and Dev. She took the delicate crystal, feeling like the biggest fraud on earth. Feeling as well the stupidest urge to indulge in another bout of loud, sloppy tears.
Like many of Beguile’s readers, Sarah occasionally got caught up in the whole idea of romance. You could hardly sweat over layouts depicting the perfect engagement or wedding or honeymoon without constructing a few private fantasies. But this was about as far from those fantasies as she could get. A phony engagement. A pretend fiancé. A ring she would return as soon as she fulfilled the terms of her contract.
Then she looked up from the pale gold liquid bubbling in her flute and met Dev’s steady gaze. His eyes had gone deep blue, almost cobalt, and something in their depths made her breath snag. When he lifted his flute and tipped it to hers, the fantasies begin to take on vague form and shape.
“To my...” he began.
“Wait!” ZZ pawed through his camera bag. “I need to catch this.”
The moment splintered. Like a skater on too-thin ice, Sarah felt the cracks spidering out beneath her feet. Panic replaced the odd sensation of a moment ago. She had to fight the urge to slam down the flute and get off the ice before she sank below the surface.
She conquered the impulse, but couldn’t summon more than a strained smile once ZZ framed the shot.
“Okay,” the photographer said from behind a foot-long lens, “go for it!”
Dev’s gesture with his flute was the same. So was the caress in his voice. But whatever Sarah had glimpsed in his blue eyes a moment ago was gone.
“To us,” he said as crystal clinked delicately against crystal.
“To us,” she echoed.
She took one sip, just one, and nixed ZZ’s request to repeat the toast so he could shoot it from another angle. She couldn’t ignore him or his assistant, however, while she tried on a selection of rings. Between them, they made the process of choosing a diamond feel like torture.
According to Tipton, Dev had requested a sampling of rings as refined and elegant as his fiancée. Unfortunately, none of the glittering solitaires he lifted from the cases appealed to Sarah. With an understanding nod, he sent for cases filled with more elaborate settings.
Once again Sarah could almost hear a clock ticking inside her head. She needed to make a decision, zip home, break the startling news of her engagement to Grandmama, get packed and catch that seven-ten flight. Yet none of the rings showcased on black velvet triggered more than a tepid response.
Like it mattered. Just get this over with, she told herself grimly.
She
