Chapter 6

Keaton's fingers tightened around the warm plastic handle of the umbrella.

He stood completely still, watching the champagne‑colored dress disappear into the hotel.

He looked down at his chest. The white rose she had shoved into his pocket was bruised and soaked with rain.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a cold, humorless smile.

Heavy footsteps splashed against the stone path behind him.

Donte Hartman, his executive assistant, rushed up holding a massive black golf umbrella.

Donte stopped short. He stared at the cheap, clear plastic umbrella in his boss's hand. His eyes widened in shock.

Keaton didn't say a word. He tossed the clear umbrella onto the wet grass.

He stepped under Donte's black canopy.

"Find out who she is," Keaton ordered. His voice sliced through the sound of the rain. "The girl in the champagne dress. She looked at that brooch like she knew more about it than I do. No one does that by accident."

They walked toward the hotel entrance.

Right before they stepped under the awning, Keaton stopped.

He reached up with his long fingers and unclasped the antique black diamond brooch from his lapel.

He tossed it carelessly.

Donte fumbled, catching the priceless piece of jewelry against his chest.

"When you find her address," Keaton said, staring straight ahead, "send that to her. Tell her it is an apology. Let's see if she bites. If she's truly a freelance nobody, she'll cash it. If she's connected to Bradley, she'll panic. Either way, we learn."

Donte swallowed hard. He nodded quickly. "Yes, Mr. Kaufman."

Eleonore pulled the passenger door shut and collapsed into the leather seat of the red sports car.

The bottom of her velvet dress was soaked and heavy. She grabbed a handful of napkins from the glove compartment and pressed them against the wet fabric.

She was breathing fast. Her chest rose and fell heavily.

Kierra slammed the car into gear. "This city's weather is a nightmare," Kierra complained, completely oblivious to Eleonore's shaking hands.

Thirty minutes later, they pulled into the underground garage of Eleonore's building.

They rode the elevator up to the penthouse in silence.

The top floor apartment had belonged to her grandfather, the legendary jeweler Pierce. She rarely used it – she preferred the honest grit of Bradley's workshop – but tonight she was grateful for the privacy.

Eleonore pressed her thumb against the biometric scanner. The heavy door clicked open.

The lights in the living room were already on.

Sitting on the white leather sofa was a man in a light gray suit.

Dominique Conner turned his head. His soft, handsome face broke into a warm smile.

He saw Eleonore's wet hem and the exhausted look in her eyes. He stood up immediately.

He walked over and gently pulled the damp shawl off her shoulders.

"Did something happen at the gala?" Dominique asked. His voice was deep and soothing, filled with brotherly concern.

Kierra threw her keys on the counter. "She destroyed Cherie Washington. It was amazing."

Dominique chuckled softly. He reached out and ruffled Eleonore's hair.

Eleonore ducked her head, feeling a flush of embarrassment. She walked over to the open kitchen and poured herself a glass of warm water.

Dominique pointed to three black folders sitting on the glass coffee table.

"Bradley rejected the new BNile designs," Dominique said. "He wants you to fix them."

Eleonore walked over and sat cross‑legged on the thick rug. She set her water glass down.

She opened the first folder.

Instantly, the exhaustion left her face. Her eyes sharpened.

She had been fixing Bradley's "impossible" designs for two years now, always in secret. The world thought she was his apprentice; the truth was, she was his equal – and perhaps, in filigree, his better. But no one could ever know.

"The symmetry here is too rigid," Eleonore said, tracing the lines with her finger. "It lacks soul. It looks like a machine made it."

Dominique sat on the edge of the sofa beside her. He clicked his fountain pen and started taking notes, but his eyes kept drifting to the curve of her cheek.

Kierra watched them from the kitchen, a huge, knowing smirk on her face. She quietly slipped into the guest bedroom.

Eleonore flipped to the next page.

Suddenly, the loud, sharp buzz of the apartment intercom shattered the quiet room.