She watched Mrs. Woods shuffle off and pressed the button to buzz open the building. After tonight, she’d have to wait awhile before holding another sale. In the meantime, she’d focus her attention on her next big hurdle for getting her business off the ground: finding an investor. Thankfully, she already had a meeting set with a finance guy next week, an Israeli named Jacob Jabarin. And the only reason she was able to get in the door was one of her customers was Jacob Jabarin’s niece.

Pretty much all of Gemma’s customers were artists or young, in-the-know New Yorkers. Her work had been written about in cult magazines like Speciwomen or on trend-casting sites like Refinery29. Then six months ago, Hunter Schaefer from the show Euphoria was photographed wearing an onyx Rock Candy ring, and that pushed her brand into another stratosphere. Gemma could only hope that progress would be enough to attract money people.

The sound of customers heading up the stairs was louder than she’d like considering the run-in with Mrs. Woods, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

The first person through the door was Mae.

“I’m here to collect,” she said with a grin. Gemma had offered to let Mae pick out a piece of jewelry in exchange for the press pass.

Mae gravitated to the trays of Rock Candy rings, sifting through cushion-cut citrine, amethyst, and white topaz rings. There was one pink topaz and one violet-colored stone called iolite.

“Love this,” Mae said, picking up the citrine. “It looks like a canary diamond. I’ve been obsessed with these photos on your Instagram.”

In keeping with her belief that the best jewelry was meaningful, the Rock Candy collection was deeply personal. It grew out of her memory of—and longing for—her mother’s spectacular thirty-carat pink diamond engagement ring. As a young girl, she found that the gem seemed to overtake her entire hand. It was vividly pink but at the same time as clear as water. Her mother had promised Gemma it was her inheritance. Gemma hadn’t seen it since shortly after her mother’s death.

She was certain it would be on display at the Pavlin & Co party. How could it not? It was the most famous piece Pavlin & Co ever created.

And like everything else that had been taken from her, she was coming for it.

5

Gemma flashed her borrowed press pass at the gatekeeper, glanced at her family name carved above the entrance, then followed the tide of reporters as she crossed the threshold of Pavlin & Co for the first time in a decade and a half.

Nothing had changed. Not the deep green awnings over the windows, not the entrance itself inlaid with stainless steel columns, and not the sprawling main floor filled with glass display cases under twenty-four-foot ceilings. The double-height windows offered a view of one of the most famous retail blocks in the world.