“You’re trying to protect me from embarrassment.”
“Something like that.”
“That’s very considerate.”
Elliot relaxed.
“Exactly.”
Naomi reached into her handbag.
His eyes followed the movement.
She removed a black appointment card.
Heavy stock.
Embossed seal.
No price.
No client name visible from his angle.
She placed it on top of the glass showcase.
“I believe this may simplify things.”
Elliot looked at the card.
He did not pick it up.
“What is it?”
“My appointment.”
“With whom?”
Naomi tilted her head.
“You could read it.”
Something in the answer irritated him.
He picked up the card.
His eyes moved across the first line.
Then stopped.
The card had been issued from the private atelier.
6:30 P.M. — FINAL COMMISSION PRESENTATION
Underneath:
PRIVATE SALON A
No customer name appeared.
Only a reference number.
That had been deliberate.
Victor Bellamy valued discretion almost as much as gemstones.
Elliot frowned.
“Where did you get this?”
Naomi’s expression changed.
“Excuse me?”
“This is a private atelier card.”
“I know.”
“You can’t just walk in with one of these.”
Naomi stared at him.
“I did.”
His mouth tightened.
“I’m going to need the client name attached to this.”
“Then check the reference number.”
“I’ll need your identification.”
“For the necklace?”
“For the appointment.”
Naomi considered removing the card case from her handbag.
Then decided against it.
Not because she could not prove anything.
Because suddenly proof was the point.
A woman at the adjacent case had begun listening.
So had the hostess near the entrance.
Naomi could feel attention shifting.
Quietly.
Respectable discrimination always hated witnesses.
She placed both gloved hands lightly on the glass.
“Mr. Crane.”
He looked surprised.
“You know my name?”
“It’s on your lapel.”
He glanced down.
Of course.
Naomi continued.
“I entered with an appointment card issued by your own private salon. I asked to view one piece. You told me the price before answering. You suggested a cheaper collection without asking my budget. And now you are treating the validity of my appointment as suspicious.”
Elliot’s face hardened.
“You’re making this unnecessarily confrontational.”
“No.”
Her voice remained soft.
“I’m describing what happened.”
“You walked in and demanded access to half-a-million-dollar merchandise.”
“I asked to see a necklace.”
“You refused to provide identification.”
“You had not asked until after questioning where I obtained your appointment card.”
Elliot glanced toward the listening clients.
His pride was now fully involved.
That made people dangerous.
Not physically.
Socially.
They started making decisions not to solve the situation but to win it.
Elliot picked up the appointment card.