Nancy Warren - Too Hot to Handle

She rubbed the back of her neck. “No. A little longer. I want to finish this ring set, then I’ll take a break.”

“What did that woman and her daughter bring you, by the way? You seemed pretty excited. You know, that stylish woman with the perfect gray hair and her thin, pretty daughter.”

“Mrs. Grayson and her daughter—” What was the daughter’s name? She recalled the emeralds and diamonds with vivid clarity; she’d never seen such a perfect set, but recalling the details of the owners was always trickier. She closed her eyes for a second. “Judith, that was the daughter’s name.”

Lexy was becoming accustomed to the whims of rich people, and she was the first in line to recommend redesigning antique jewels into settings that would breathe new life into them, but as she’d opened the faded blue velvet box she’d had to suppress the urge to argue mother and daughter out of their idea to have this set broken down and reset.

The gems themselves were exquisite. Emeralds were funny things. The larger they came the more flawed they were likely to be. A few occlusions were expected but when she’d studied these gems through her loupe, she’d been astonished at the near perfection. And the color. Dark, clear green that she’d rarely seen outside a museum.

The setting was antique, no question. Like any personal ornamentation, jewelry went through fashions. But every age had its classics and this set was one of the most inherently beautiful she’d ever seen. Delicate strands of gold held the emeralds and diamonds in place but didn’t compete, so the green fire flashed from the necklace. “These are exquisite. Are you sure you want to reset them?” she’d finally asked.

Mother and daughter exchanged a quick look. “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Grayson had answered. “The set’s a gift to Judith, and she wants a more modern look. We both love your work. We’re excited to see what you could do with these. You are such an artist and with these emeralds, I believe Judith will be breathtaking when she wears the jewels at the diabetes fundraiser next month.” She smiled at her daughter. “I’d planned to give them to her when she got married, but now that she’s twenty-five, and unmarried, I’m going ahead. Why wait? They’ve been in the family forever, and they really don’t suit my coloring.”

Lexy suspected what the older woman really intended was to display some of the family wealth around her daughter’s throat in an unsubtle hint to potential suitors.

“You know, these emeralds are quite rare, and I suspect the pieces are hundreds of years old. You will compromise their value as antiques.”

“Oh, they’ve been in the family forever. It’s time they had a new look.”

Lexy had accepted the commission, of course. It wasn’t her business to talk clients out of her services and as lovely as the current set was, she knew she’d likely never have an opportunity to work with emeralds like this again.

Opening the safe, she withdrew the box and showed the emeralds to Amanda, who said, “Wow.” They both studied the sparkle of diamond and deep, gorgeous green.

Amanda touched the edge of the swirled gold setting. “I’ve never seen emeralds that color. They’re so rich-looking.”

“I know. The color’s spectacular. I think it’s because they are so old. They must have come out of South America centuries ago. Mayan stones are considered the purest and best.”

“How much do you think they’re worth?”

“Hard to say. But with the almost perfect diamonds and the unusual color and clarity of those emeralds, I’m guessing around a million.”

“A million dollars?” Amanda squeaked.

“Yeah.”

So Lexy had at least a million bucks worth of emeralds in her safe and a free hand to design settings that would help an unmarried twenty-five-year-old attract a rich man. Might be a little old-fashioned, not to mention Machiavellian, but this was also by far her largest commission ever.

“Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

She knew she could trust Amanda. They’d worked together for about eighteen months. In her early twenties, Amanda Sanford was tall and thin, had slightly more than the fashionable number of tattoos and piercings and a penchant for painted leggings and army boots. She was also great with customers and seemed happy in her work.

Lately she’d been letting Amanda help her with some of the simpler settings. When she was swamped, it was amazing how useful an extra pair of hands could be. Amanda also possessed an artistic eye and Lexy often sought out her assistant’s opinion when she was unsure.

AFTER AMANDA LEFT, Lexy finished the ruby wedding set. On a whim, she called her customer and let them know. As she’d half suspected the woman was so excited she wanted to come right over and pick up the rings.

So, her workday ended with a nice fat check, a happy and excited customer and one more peek at the emeralds.

Then, realizing she was starving, she opened the barely visible door that led upstairs to her living space. It wasn’t nearly as fancy as the downstairs since she’d put every cent of her savings and a good chunk of the bank’s into her business. Her tools, the display cases, lighting, decor, everything had to be consistent with her jewelry designs. Which turned out to mean expensive.

Which in turn dictated that upstairs she had little more than a bed, the most minimal kitchen and a couple of chairs and a table she’d found at Goodwill.

Pouring herself a glass of cool water, she noticed the familiar throbbing tingle of a burn on her hand. She regarded the spot, red and shiny, and recalled the guy who’d come in earlier, burdened by too much name and too little conscience. Charles Pendegraff III. Jeez.

He had a fiancée, and was going around staring at other women’s butts and kissing their booboos all better. She shook her head. She gave that marriage a couple of years, tops.

So long as the happy couple lasted long enough to pay for her ring designs, she reminded herself, it was none of her business. For all she knew, Mr. Pendegraff III and Penelope had one of those open relationships where fidelity wasn’t part of the contract.

She didn’t understand that kind of relationship; she was firmly determined that if she ever decided to get married, she’d be the kind of woman who went after her husband with a shotgun if he ever strayed.

And, since her dad was a New York cop who worried about his single daughter, and had taught her all about self-defense and marksmanship, she could shoot the lying, no-good cheater right through the heart. Or any other part of his anatomy she felt like blasting holes in. Whoever married her better understand that.

Her mother, who was half Chinese and very traditional, would probably come back from the dead to help her bury the corpse.

The image of Charles Pendegraff rose up before her and she felt her trigger finger squeeze.

Odd that she should have such a strong reaction to a stranger, but she knew that the biggest part of her disgust was the undeniable attraction she’d felt to the man. But then she already knew her taste in men wasn’t nearly as flawless as her taste in jewels.

As she finished her water the phone rang.

She checked the call display and picked up. “Carl. Hi.”

“What’s up, Sexy Lexy?”

“Just got home from work.”

“All tired out from the long commute?” he teased. Carl Wiesenstein was one of her tight group of friends, all of them artists or craftspeople. He was a metalsmith who was making an amazingly good living considering that his specialty was house numbers and door knockers. “Come out and celebrate. I sold a five-thousand-dollar door chime today.”

She laughed. “You’ve got to love New York.”