Read The Cherbourg Jewels Online
Authors: Jenni Wiltz
The Cherbourg Jewels
The Cherbourg Jewels
by
Jenni Wiltz
Cover images and art copyright 2012 by Jenni Wiltz
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, incidents, names, and places are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places, events, or people (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
The minute hand on her watch slipped six degrees closer to vertical. One more minute and she’d be late.
Not today
, she thought.
Please, not today
.
Ella Wilcox hefted her briefcase in one hand and a to-go cappuccino in the other. She watched the floor indicators each glow briefly as the marble-paneled elevator rose to the top of the building, to the office of Sébastien Cherbourg IV. She gulped the cappuccino nervously, hoping the caffeine would give her the energy boost she needed to close the deal.
I need this
, she thought.
There’s no other way.
The job was nothing out of her skill level and she had no doubt she was qualified. Still, she’d never met a member of the Cherbourg family in person before. One of the wealthiest families in San Francisco, the Cherbourgs had contributed most of the California Pacific Museum’s endowment. Without that family’s generous support, the museum could never have afforded to hire her as an independent gem historian to catalogue, research and certify their collection.
Ella took another sip of the cappuccino and tried to calm the nerves fluttering in her stomach. She’d made sales pitches before, but never one like this. It didn’t help to know that Sébastien Cherbourg had a reputation for being impatient, overbearing and downright ruthless when it came to running his family’s empire. She glanced at her watch. She was thirty seconds from being late.
Not good
, she thought, tapping her toe nervously. The floor indicators each seemed to light up more slowly than the last, as if they were punishing her for what she was about to do.
If she angered Sébastien with a late arrival, he might not choose her for the job. If she didn’t get the job, she wouldn’t get to view the fabulous Cherbourg jewel collection. If she didn’t get to see the collection, she’d never know how many of the stones she’d recognize—stones stolen from her father’s workshop on the night he was murdered. She had to get access to that vault. There was no other way.
“Wish me luck, Dad,” she whispered.
Even though it had been eighteen years since the night that ruined her life, she still talked to her father as if he were right there with her. She wanted him to know she’d never given up, that she still hoped to find his killers and the precious gems they’d stolen from him.
Even now, it was hard to think of him without breaking down. Instead of playing outside after school, she’d joined him in his workshop as he designed and restored antique jewelry. She listened as he showed her how to tighten the setting of a stone in a ring or solder a broken prong back into place. He regaled her with stories of princes and princesses and lost empires, where the only parts that remained were the jewels they wore. He was her window into a magical world—at least, he had been until he’d been taken away so brutally.
Ella knew she wasn’t any closer to discovering who had ordered the robbery or who had pulled the trigger. But her work as a gem historian had gained her access to the vaults of the rich and famous. With every new commission, she hoped to find some of the stones she remembered from her father’s workshop.
And when I do
, she thought,
I’ll have a way to trace the people responsible for taking his life and ruining mine.
The elevator slowed to a crawl and she knew she’d be face to face with Sébastien Cherbourg in just a moment. She brushed away a tear before it could ruin her makeup. Everything hinged on getting this job—and to do that, she had to impress a man famous for being impossible to impress. Smeared eyeliner and tears wouldn’t help her. Only a cool, collected façade would get her in the door.
I won’t let you down, Dad
, she thought.
I promise.
The elevator doors slid open with a whisper. Ella glanced from side to side, noting the marble-topped receptionist’s desk and the leather club chairs lined up against the walls. She forced a confident smile to her lips and greeted the receptionist. “Good morning! I have an appointment with Mr. Cherbourg.”
“You’re late,” the receptionist said. “He’s been waiting for you.”
Ella steeled herself and took a deep breath. This was not the way she wanted to start the day.
You can do this
, she told herself.
Just get in there and give him a run for his money.
She ignored the visitor’s badge lying on the desk and swept through the double doors into Sébastien Cherbourg’s office. “Good morning, Mr. Cherbourg,” she said brightly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve done a great deal of work for the museum and everyone there speaks very highly of your family.”
But the dark-haired man in the office wasn’t paying any attention to her. He stood with his back to her, looking down at the busy streets below. Silhouetted against the floor-to-ceiling glass, she could see he cut an imposing figure—tall, broad shoulders, muscular biceps, and a narrow waist. His charcoal gray suit was exquisitely tailored, accommodating his muscular frame yet emphasizing his toned physique.
He didn’t turn to greet her. When he spoke, his voice was cold and hard. “Ms. Wilcox, you are two minutes late. When I asked you to arrive at eight o’clock sharp, I meant it.”
Ella felt her cheeks burn. “Then let’s pretend we’ve spent two minutes on pleasantries and call it even.”
“I never engage in pleasantries. They’re for people who don’t know how to ask for what they want. Do you know how to ask for what you want, Ms. Wilcox?”
She glared at his back.
I know how to tell you you’re a jerk
, she thought.
Sébastien continued without waiting for her reply. “While I waited for you, I watched a woman down on the street. She stood on the sidewalk outside this building for at least five minutes, staring at a collection of photographs she carried with her. It was incredible just how long she hesitated before walking inside. I only noticed her because you were late and because she had on the brightest, ugliest red coat I’ve ever seen. But she fascinated me, Ms. Wilcox…I couldn’t look away from her. What on earth could make someone hesitate to perform the simple act of entering a building? Such a woman would be a fascinating study in human weakness, don’t you think?”
Ella looked down at her scarlet coat. “No, I don’t think.”
The man tilted his head, as if he weren’t used to being disagreed with. He spun around to face her and she gulped, the nerves in her stomach fluttering and stealing her breath. Sébastien Cherbourg IV was, without a doubt, one of the handsomest men in the city. She’d seen his photo in philanthropic journals, of course, but they failed to do him justice. The sharp planes of his cheekbones, the perfectly sculpted chin, the olive cast to both his skin and eyes…his French heritage had given him looks and money, but apparently manners had been left out of the equation.
Hmph
, Ella thought.
I may not have money or a mile-long pedigree but I know how to be professional and I know how to deal with arrogant jerks like you.
She stared him down as best she could. “What you see as hesitation, Mr. Cherbourg, is actually preparation. I’ve worked hard to get where I am and I didn’t get there by asking for what I want. I got there by earning it, every step of the way.”
Cherbourg raised one thick, dark eyebrow. “Is that all, Ms. Wilcox?”
“No,” she said. “I look great in red. This coat is fantastic.”
An unwilling smile graced his lips, revealing white, even teeth. The expression made him look almost friendly and she wondered what he looked like when he smiled by choice. “All right, Ms. Wilcox,” he said. “I will overlook your tardiness if we can get down to business.”
“Of course.” Ella sat down in one of the brocade-covered salon chairs pulled up to his polished mahogany desk. She glanced at the desk’s contents—a laptop, an ormolu clock, a gold-plated pen and letter opener. Not a single picture in a frame, not a single clue as to who this man really was. She felt her butterflies start to come back.
As soon as she’d taken a seat, Sébastien came around the desk and leaned casually against it with one hip. “Ms. Wilcox,” he said.
Ella had to crane her neck to look up at him. “Yes?”
“Tell me why I should give you this job.”
She blinked rapidly and tried to call her resume points to mind. It dawned on her that she’d given away the upper hand by sitting down first. She’d thought she was taking control, but now he was using her initiative against her. He was forcing her to look up to him, a psychological trick to put her in her place.
Oh, no you don’t
, she thought.
Ella stood up quickly and looked him in the eye. “I’ve had a long and steady working relationship with the California Pacific Museum’s natural history advisors, specifically their gemologists. For their last three exhibitions, I’ve verified the provenance of every gem on loan.”
Sébastien frowned, forming three parallel wrinkles on his forehead. “Why don’t they do it themselves? I’ve given them enough money over the years.”
Ella tilted her head at him. “You have no idea what I do, do you?”
“I’ve never needed to,” he said dryly. “Gem historians don’t have a damn thing to do with running a successful import/export company.”
“But they have a great deal to do with the fair purchase of exotic or famous jewels,” she snapped. “Which I understand your mother cares a great deal about. Listen, Mr. Cherbourg, here’s the bottom line: if you want the museum’s exhibition of your family’s jewel collection to
proceed as planned, you need to hire an independent contractor to verify the legal sale and provenance of every jewel that’ll be shown on the museum’s property. Their insurance requires it, and they aren’t allowed to perform the audit themselves. Surely you’ve heard of a little thing called ‘conflict of interest’?”
“Fine.” He gripped the edge of the desk with both hands and leaned forward, still towering over her. “I can accept the fact that I have to waste my money and hire a paper pusher to tell me what I already know, that my family acquired its collection honestly. I just don’t understand why it has to be you.”
“It doesn’t,” she said. “But I have a strong track record with the museum’s events. I’ve debunked fakes, pinpointed forgeries, and stopped sales that involved illegally obtained diamonds. Gemologists can tell you about the color, cut and clarity of a stone, but I’m a gem historian. If you think you have Marie Antoinette’s bracelet or the Tsarina of Russia’s tiara, I can tell you if you’re right.”
She stopped, wondering whether to tell him why any of it mattered. Would he even believe her if she did? No, she decided—she could only tell him what he needed to know. “The truth is that I grew up around gems and jewelry. My father repaired and restored antique jewelry. So did his father and his father before him. It would take a long time to learn what I’ve been absorbing my whole life. That, Mr. Cherbourg, is why you should hire me.”