Page 231 of The Sweetest Return

I let her have the escape.

Women like us understood the mercy of not forcing a door open just because we had noticed the lock.

“For the preview,” I said, opening my notebook again, “I want the pieces shown on women first. Not trays. Not pedestals. We let guests see the jewelry alive before we let them touch it.”

Nia nodded, grateful I had followed her back to safer ground. “Models?”

“No. Women with presence. A professor. A dancer. A retired judge. Someone young and stylish who knows how to wear diamonds with denim and make it feel inevitable.”

“Now that sounds like The Nocturne.”

“And Saint Aurelia.”

We worked for another forty minutes and left with the bones of a night that felt like legacy, privacy, and desire had agreed to sit at the same table.

When I walked out, I had a partnership outline, three room options, and a feeling about Nia St. James staring at that portrait like history had pressed a hand to her chest.

My cherry-red Porsche Macan GTS waited near the valet circle, freshly washed because I liked my things taken care of and because red looked better when it had the nerve to shine. I slid inside, adjusted my sunglasses, and pulled away from The Nocturne with Dre’s address already loaded even though I knew the way now.

He had called earlier and asked me to come over.

Asked.

Not commanded.

And still, Andre Jones managed to make a request sound like it had shoulders.

I had barely cleared downtown traffic when Jabari called.

I answered through the car. “Yes, brother?”

“Why you answer like I owe you money?”

“You usually do.”

“I am literally calling about money.”

“For me?”

“For Mom and Dad’s Christmas gift.”

I merged onto Bigelow, already tired of him. “Jabari, you are a cybersecurity consultant who bills corporations terrifying money to tell them their systems are unsafe. Why do I have to organize the gift and invoice you like a client?”

“Because you care about presentation.”

“And you care about doing as little as possible while receiving equal child credit.”

“That is family teamwork.”

“That is fraud.”

“Call it what you want. I’m sending my half.”

“You don’t even know what we’re buying yet.”

“Exactly why I’m sending my half to the person who does.”

I shook my head. “You are older than me in absolutely no meaningful way.”