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They aren’t extravagant by my standards, which probably means they’re still extravagant by hers. The design is clean, the stones flawless, elegant enough to wear to dinner and understated enough that she could wear them with a suit. Blaire used to wear diamond studs constantly, and I remember them catching the light when she turned her head, particularly when she was irritated with me and trying not to show it.

I buy them and have them delivered to her hotel the following morning with a short card tucked inside.

I saw these and thought of you. — R

Her response arrives before noon.

Blaire: Ross. What are you doing?

I’m halfway through reviewing a financing memorandum when my phone rings.

Blaire.

I answer immediately.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Those earrings are completely unnecessary,” Blaire says.

I lean back in my chair.

“You don’t like them?”

“That isn’t what I said,” she replies.

A smile pulls at my mouth.

“They’re too much, Ross,” she says.

“And if this is because of what happened between us—”

“It isn’t,” I tell her.

“I’m not buying forgiveness, and I’m not paying for access to you. I saw them and thought of you.”

The line goes quiet.

When Blaire speaks again, some of the irritation has gone out of her voice.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“Courting you,” I say.

Another silence follows, longer this time.

“You’re serious?” she says.

“Completely,” I reply.

Blaire exhales. “The earrings are beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like them.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m making this easy for you,” she warns.

“I’m not asking you to.”

We leave it there.