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Chapters (82)
  1. Cover
  2. ALSO BY JAMIE BRENNER
  3. PART ONE
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. PART TWO
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. PART THREE
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. Acknowledgments
  81. About the Author
  82. What’s next onyour reading list?

But these millennials! They preferred the latest technology gadgets for their birthdays. A trip to Phuket for their one-year anniversary. An engagement ring and wedding ring might be the only pieces of jewelry someone ever buys for their spouse, and even those sentimental items were becoming less and less essential. It was hard for her to believe, but it was true. This is what it had come to. And for all the big splashy pieces that generated press, for all the borrowed glitz and glamour during the television and film awards seasons, it was the buying habits of the average person that sustained a business over the decades. And the average person needed to be coaxed, prodded, and lured in like a fish on the line. That’s what made evenings like the one she had planned so important. Desire had to be invented.

Her assistant buzzed in with a call. “Sloan Pierce from Whitmore’s for you,” she said.

Sloan was the daughter of one of Pavlin & Co’s longtime customers, the socialite Harriet Pierce, and worked at the venerable auction house Whitmore’s.

“Hello, Sloan. I hope you’re not calling to say you can’t make it tomorrow night.” With this, Elodie pulled Pearl onto her lap and got a sloppy kiss.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. But I’m expecting it will be such a smash event I might not get a chance to speak with you, and there’s something I want to discuss,” the woman said, her voice breezy. Confident. “Are you free for drinks at the Carlyle on Friday?”

Elodie assumed some charity event needed a chairwoman. The polite thing to do was say yes, of course. And while it was tempting to think she didn’t have time for such things, the truth was her life outside the office was quiet.

She looked around her green-accented space, as finely appointed and as still as a photograph in an interior design magazine. Everything in its place. Her life was ordered and in control. She’d never had a husband or children, and this left all her energy for Pavlin & Co.

“I think that could work,” Elodie said. Elodie always had weekend cocktails at the Carlyle. Clearly, this had become common knowledge, and Elodie was flattered. Finally, the type of attention—the type of power—she had long been due. It was a new era for Pavlin & Co—her era.

Hers alone.

4

Gemma’s fourth-floor walk-up, in a charmingly dilapidated brownstone on West Twenty-Fourth Street, was more of a work studio than apartment. The six-hundred-square-foot space was just a few blocks from school and for Gemma functioned as design studio and sales floor.

As soon as the graduation ceremony ended, she couldn’t resist announcing a flash sale on her social media. It was her own way of celebrating. Gemma checked the time; customers would be arriving any minute.