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“Let’s see how you do in the jewelry store.” I pull her onto a bench and slide my arm over the back of her neck. “Let’s talk about the stakes again. Two million dollars. My family’s reputation.”
Her eyes gleam and she nods. “I’m totally on this.”
“Of course you are. Keep in mind what your purpose is, and you’ll do fine.”
She gives me a fetching smile. “And so will you.”
We stand and head to the jewelry store.
It’s such a beautiful day, taking her shopping near the Seine feels as if we’re walking through a watercolor landscape. Slender branches of leaves reach for the river, dappled shadows playing along the water’s surface. The fresh, vibrant greenery dovetails seamlessly with the antiquated architecture.
I haven’t forgotten that she specifically wanted to go shopping in the Louvre and Tuileries district, where Auclairs, the oldest jewelry store in all of Paris, displays glimmering crystals and precious gems on velvet pillows in the windows.
I know this means something to her. When she talked about her perfect day, though, shopping here was only part of what she envisioned. I would hazard a guess that she rarely shops for herself.
That will change.
“I’m not the only one with a mission,” I say in her ear as we approach the entrance. I’m going to test her again, but in a way she never suspects.
“No?”
I shake my head briskly. “Your job is to spend ten thousand euros in there.”
“Henrique,” she hisses. “That’s—”
“More money than you’re comfortable spending. I know. It’s why I’m requiring it.”
I watch her pale. “Requiring it?”
“Yes,” I whisper in her ear as I lean in, adjusting her necklace. “You’re working for me. You know what I expect. You wanted a practice run and so do I. Prove to me I made the right choice hiring you.”
I know I did. I want to see what she does with this challenge.
When she pouts, a lock of blonde hair falls on her forehead. I reach over and tweak it.
“Stop pouting. Even adorable little blondes get spanked if they misbehave.”
“Oh, my.” Her cheeks flush pink and she bites her lip. I know it isn’t the threat of a spanking that’s got her flustered but the concept of spending that much money. I’ve watched her long enough to know she’s as frugal as they come.
“Fine, then. Ten thousand euros’ worth… okay, I can do this.”
I’m pushing her past her comfort zone on purpose. If we mess up our plans here, it’s an easy matter of calling in favors and escaping prosecution. In Corsica, however… the stakes are much higher.
A bell jangles on the glass door as we push it open. I quickly scan the place. Three employees. One in the way back, a middle-aged man with a pinched expression and a shitty hair piece, a younger woman in heels and a tight-fitting dress by the counter, and an elderly man I assume is the shop owner leaning over a table with a magnifying glass. He’s intent on a watch in the palm of his hand and doesn’t notice us, but the other two do immediately.
“Ah, welcome,” the woman says. “What brings you two in today?”
“Hello,” Nicolette says brightly in French. “My husband and I are in Paris on vacation, and I’ve heard so many things about your shop I just had to come and pay a visit myself.”
I shove my hands in my pockets. “It isn’t a holiday if my wife doesn’t come home with something glittery and stunning. Our own collection isn’t enough.”
She rolls her eyes. “My husband’s a collector, but I love to have a souvenir of our travels.”
The woman smiles. “On holiday, then?”
“Yes and no. We’ve recently been thinking about relocating to Paris so we’re combining a vacation with looking into our options,” I say, a half-truth, but I don’t know how I’d get a job offer if I were only a tourist.
“I see.” Her gaze zones in on me. I know exactly how she’s going to play this angle.
“And what is it that you have in mind?” she asks Nicolette.
“Oh, I’m terrible at deciding. Maybe you can help?” She walks over to the glass display case in front of her and spreads her hands out wide. “You have so many more items than I thought.”
“Yes, it’s deceptive. We look so much smaller from outside.”
While they chatter about a collection of gold hoops and delicate charms, I stroll over to the diamond tennis bracelets.
I zone in on one in the center display, nestled on a sapphire velvet pillow.
“What can you tell me about this?” I ask the middle-aged man.
“Ah, a classic,” he says. “This would grace the wrist of any woman who wore it. Fifty-nine round brilliant-cut diamonds for a total of six carats set in white gold. A push-button clasp for one-hand ease.”
“May I see it, please?”
“Of course, sir.”
He takes it out and places it in front of me.
