I didn’t yank away. I just said, quietly, “I’d like to speak to your regional director, please.” Vanessa actually laughed. “Oh, honey. I AM basically the regional director. Mr. Aldrin himself hired me. Now shoo, before I call real security.” She turned to the phone-filmers and rolled her eyes. “Some people think a coupon gets them couture.” That’s when the front glass darkened. Three matte-black SUVs pulled up to the curb, hazards on, blocking the whole avenue. Four men in charcoal suits stepped out, earpieces coiled, and held the door open. A woman in a cream trench walked in first — Diane Halloway, Rue Blanc’s global CEO, the one whose face is on the back of every catalog. She looked past Vanessa, straight at me, and her whole posture softened. “Mr. Reyes. I am so sorry we’re late. Traffic on the bridge was brutal.” Vanessa’s smile froze halfway up her face. Diane turned to her, calm as still water. “Vanessa, is there a reason our incoming Chairman of the Board is standing by the door instead of the private salon?” The word Chairman landed like a dropped tray. Two months ago my holding group had quietly bought the majority stake in Rue Blanc’s parent company — the paperwork closed Friday, the announcement was scheduled for noon today. I was here early because of Emma. Vanessa’s hand flew off my elbow like it was hot. “I — I didn’t — sir, I thought —” “You thought a man in a work jacket couldn’t afford a pendant for his kid,” I said. I turned to Diane. “Case seven, the sapphire drop. Gift wrap, please. And Diane — we need to talk about staff training on the twelfth floor at three.” Diane nodded once. Vanessa was already crying. The junior clerk, the one she’d snapped fingers at, stepped forward with shaking hands and unlocked case seven herself. I tipped her two thousand dollars in cash on the way out. Vanessa was still standing by the door when I left, whispering my name like she was trying to take it back.
