Chapter Eight
Teri Wilson
The Ultimate Pas de Deux
A Page Six Exclusive Report
Debonair Artem Drake has had tongues wagging all over New York since he became surprise CEO of Drake Diamonds. This playboy hopes to bring new life to the storied old business before those rumored bad investments sink the family ship. He’s even plucked an ambitious salesgirl out of the shadows to become the store’s new star designer. But Ophelia Rose isn’t the ingenue she seems. The swanlike beauty’s hiding a past that glimmers as bright as a Drake diamond—she once graced the stage as a professional ballerina...until she was forced to take her final curtsy and hide from the limelight. Now can Artem bring her back to center stage? Or will their glittering future together wither under the secrets of the past?
For the classic-movie lovers out there who dream of
little black dresses, diamonds and breakfast on
Fifth Avenue.
“People will stare. Make it worth their while.”
—Harry Winston
They say diamonds are a girl’s best friend. Ophelia Rose had a tendency to disagree. Strongly.
Not that Ophelia had anything against diamonds per se. On the contrary, she adored them. Just two months ago, she’d earned an entire college degree in diamonds. Gemology, technically. Every piece of jewelry she’d designed for her final independent study project featured a diamond as its centerpiece. They were something of a pet jewel of hers. So naturally, working at Drake Diamonds was her dream job. It was her dream job now, anyway. Now that all vestiges of her former life had pretty much vanished.
Now that she’d been forced to start over.
She still loved diamonds. In truth, only certain diamonds had been getting on her nerves of late. Diamonds of the engagement variety. The level of stress that those particular gems were causing her was enough to make her seriously question their best-friend status. Unfortunately, engagement diamonds were something of an occupational hazard for someone who worked on the tenth floor of Drake Diamonds.
Ophelia pasted on a smile and focused on the glittering jewels in the display case before her and the way they dazzled beneath the radiant store lights. Breathe. Just breathe.
“This is the one. Princess cut. It’s perfect for you...” The man sitting across from Ophelia slipped a 2.3-carat solitaire onto the ring finger of the woman sitting beside him and cooed, “...princess.”
“Oh, stop. You’re going to make me cry again,” his fiancée said, gazing at the diamond on her hand. Sure enough, a lone tear slipped down her cheek.
Ophelia slid a box of rose-scented tissues toward the princess.
In the course of a typical workday, Ophelia went through at least two boxes of tissues. Twice that many on the weekend, along with countless flutes of the finest French champagne and dozens of delicate petits fours crafted to look like the distinctive Drake Diamonds blue gift box crowned with its signature white ribbon. Because shopping for an engagement ring at Drake Diamonds was an experience steeped in luxury, as it had been since 1830.
Her current customers couldn’t have cared less about the trappings, particularly the edible ones. Their champagne flutes were nearly full and the petits fours completely untouched. Ophelia was fairly certain the only things they wanted to consume were each other.
It made her heart absolutely ache.
Six months had passed since Ophelia’s