“Private client viewing.”
“I understand.”
The Billionaire Woman looked toward the necklace again.
“I’d like to see it.”
The manager’s expression changed.
Not much.
Enough.
“You cannot.”
The Billionaire Woman met her eyes.
“Why?”
The manager inhaled slowly.
Patience performed rather than felt.
“Those pieces begin in the seven-figure range.”
The Billionaire Woman nodded.
“I know.”
The manager looked at her gown again.
Then her jewelry.
Then the hat.
Something about the outfit apparently made the statement less credible rather than more.
“That particular necklace is significantly above the entry price.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Several nearby employees had noticed.
One young sales associate moved closer.
Then stopped when the manager glanced toward her.
The Billionaire Woman recognized organizational hierarchy instantly.
Do not interfere.
The message did not need words.
The Boutique Manager turned back.
“If you’re looking for something decorative, we have other collections.”
“I’m looking at this one.”
The manager’s lips tightened.
“There is a lovely silver section toward the rear.”
The room seemed to shift.
Not dramatically.
A champagne glass did not shatter.
No music stopped.
Yet attention moved.
A couple standing near the watch display looked over.
An elderly woman seated beside a velvet consultation table turned slightly.
One sales associate lowered her eyes.
The Billionaire Woman remained still.
“Silver.”
“Yes.”
The manager pointed.
Actually pointed.
“Through the archway.”
The Billionaire Woman followed the direction.
At the far end of the boutique was a much smaller display area containing accessible pieces.
Sterling silver.
Lower-priced gold.
Entry-level gifts.
Perfectly respectable jewelry.
Nothing wrong with any of it.
The insult was not the silver.
The insult was deciding where she belonged before asking why she had come.
The Billionaire Woman looked back.
“I didn’t ask for silver.”
The manager gave a thin smile.
“I’m trying to save you some embarrassment.”
The woman almost laughed.
“Whose?”
The manager’s smile disappeared.
“Ma’am.”
The Billionaire Woman waited.
The manager leaned slightly closer.
“This house serves serious collectors.”
The Billionaire Woman glanced around.
“Do serious collectors wear uniforms?”
The young sales associate behind the manager looked down quickly.
The manager stiffened.
“That is not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
The manager’s tone cooled.
“Our high-jewelry clients usually schedule private appointments.”
The Billionaire Woman nodded.
“Good.”
The manager frowned.
“Good?”
“I did.”
Silence.
The manager’s eyes narrowed.
“With whom?”
The Billionaire Woman removed her sunglasses.
Slowly.
Not for effect.
Because she wanted the woman to look directly at her before answering.