“That’s not necessary,” she said stiffly.
“Of course it is.”
She started to protest, but Dev suggested a daily payment for Maria’s services that made Sarah blink and her boss hastily intervene.
“The man’s right, kiddo. This is his gig. Let him cover the associated costs.”
She left unsaid the fact that Dev could well afford the generous compensation. It was right there, though, like the proverbial elephant in the room, and convinced Sarah to reluctantly agree.
“We’re good to go, then.”
“I...I suppose.” She chewed on her lower lip for a moment. “I need to finish the Sizzling Summer Sea-escapes layout, Alexis.”
“And the ad for that new lip gloss,” her boss put in urgently. “I want it in the June edition.”
“I’ll take my laptop. I can do both layouts on the plane.” She pushed out of her chair and faced Dev. “You understand that my accompanying you on this little jaunt is contingent on Maria’s availability.”
“I understand. Assuming she’s available, can you be ready by three o’clock?”
“Isn’t that a little early for a seven-ten flight?”
“It is, but we need to make a stop on the way out to JFK. Or would you rather go to Cartier now?”
“Cartier? Why do we...? Oh.” She gave a low groan. “An engagement ring, right?”
“Right.”
She shook her head in dismay. “This just keeps getting better and better.”
Her boss took an entirely different view. With a hoarse whoop, she reached for the phone on her desk.
“Perfect! We’ll send a camera crew to Cartier with you.” She paused with the phone halfway to her ear and raked her subordinate with a critical glance. “Swing by makeup on your way out, Sarah. Have them ramp up your color. Wouldn’t hurt to hit wardrobe, too. That’s one of your grandmother’s Dior suits, right? It’s great, but it needs something. A belt, maybe. Or...”
Sarah cut in, alarm coloring her voice. “Hold on a minute, Alexis.”
“What’s to hold? This is exactly what we were talking about before Hunter arrived.”
Sarah shot Dev a swift, guilty glance. It didn’t take a genius for him to fill in the blanks. Obviously, her boss had been pressing to exploit the supposed whirlwind romance between one of her own and Number Three.
As much as it grated, Dev had to admit a splashy announcement of his engagement to Sarah St. Sebastian fell in with his own plans. If nothing else, it would get the word out that he was off the market and, hopefully, keep Madame Girault’s claws sheathed.
“I’ll consent to a few pictures, if that’s what Sarah wants.”
“A few pictures,” she agreed with obvious reluctance, leveling a pointed look at her boss. “Just this one time.”
“Come on, Sarah. How much more romantic can you get than April in Paris? The city of light and love. You and Hunter here strolling hand in hand along the Quai de Conti...”
“No, Alexis.”
“Just think about it.”
“No, 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