The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings #2) - J. R. Ward Page 0,145
him over, she sat down and put the flute on the glass case. Taking off her engagement ring, she held the thing out.
“I want you to remove this stone and replace it with a cubic zirconia.”
Ryan took the diamond but didn’t look at it. “Why don’t we just make you a travel copy? I can have one ready for you tomorrow by ten a.m.—”
“I want you to buy the stone from me. Tonight. For gold.”
Ryan sat back, shifting the ring onto the tip of his forefinger. And yet he still didn’t look at the thing. “Gin, you and I have done a lot of business together, but I’m not sure—”
“I believe it’s an H color. VVS2. Harry Winston on the shank, and I think he got it new. Carat weight has to be high teens, low twenties. The value is around a million and a half, retail, a million at auction. I’m asking five hundred thousand—which is slightly higher than wholesale, I know, but I’m a loyal customer of yours, number one, and number two, I know you’ve read the newspapers. I may be in a position of having to liquidate some of my mother’s collection, and if you don’t want me going up to New York to the auction houses, you have to do right by me on this deal.”
Again, he didn’t examine the ring, just kept looking at her. “You know I want to help you, but it’s not as simple as you’re making it out to be. There are tax implications—”
“For me, not you. And the ring is mine. It was given to me in contemplation of marriage, and I married Richard Pford yesterday. Even if we divorce tomorrow, it stays with me legally.”
“You’re asking me to be complicit in insurance fraud, though. This must be insured—there’s no way this asset isn’t scheduled.”
“Again, my problem, not yours. And to make things easier, I’m telling you right now that I’ll cancel the policy, whatever and wherever it is. You have no reason to think I won’t follow through on this, and no way to know if I don’t.”
Finally, he looked at the stone, holding it up to his naked eye.
“This is a good deal for the both of us,” she said.
Ryan got to his feet. “Let me look at it under the microscope. But I have to take it out of the setting.”
“Do whatever you need to.”
Leaving the champagne behind, she followed him into an anteroom that was used for private consultations during business hours, typically by men buying diamonds for their girlfriends.
Richard, you cheap bastard, she thought. That stone better be real.
Back at Easterly, Lane entered the kitchen and followed the sound of chopping to where Miss Aurora was making quick work of a bag of carrots, reducing the lengths to perfectly even, quarter-inch-thick orange disks.
“Okay,” he said, “so we’re you, Lizzie, me, John, and Jeff for dinner. I don’t think Max is coming, and I have no idea where Gin or Amelia are.”
To kill time while Lenghe was looking over all the documentation on the Rembrandt, Lane had gone down to the row of cottages to try to talk to Max. When he’d found the guy sound asleep, he’d tried Edward, but had gotten no answer—and as Lane didn’t know when he was going to get a response from his potential poker opponent, he didn’t want to leave the estate.
“Dinner’s ready and holding,” Miss Aurora said as she reached for another carrot out of the mesh net. “I did us a roast beef with mashed potatoes and stewed beans. This here’s for Gary. My puree is the only vegetable he’ll eat, and he’s likewise joining us for dinner.”
“You got any cobbler left?”
“Made a fresh one. Figured you boys will be hungry.”
Bracing his palms on the granite, Lane leaned into his arms and watched Miss Aurora work that blade like a metronome on a piano top, the rhythm always the same.
He cleared his throat. “So Lizzie and Greta made up a list of the staff who are going to have to go.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“A lot of people are being laid off.”
“Who’s staying?”
“You, Lizzie, Reginald, Greta, and Gary. Gary’ll wanna keep Timbo, and that makes sense. Everyone else goes. Turns out Greta loves paper-work—she’ll become the new controller for accounts half time. Lizzie says she’ll take over cleaning the house and helping Gary and Timbo with the mowing.”
“Atta girl.” Miss Aurora paused in the chopping and looked up. “And that’s a good crew. We can handle it all.”