"How did that happen, Kay?" asked Kyle, his tone calm but edged with worry. "You tested that necklace. Our men were on it. How could it be a fake? And how do you plan to get the replacement you mentioned? That's the only one—there's no copy."
Even when he was upset, Kyle never raised his voice. Still, Kiara could hear the anger simmering beneath the calm. She had told him about the missing necklace, and he had overheard her conversation with Jordan. She'd expected his questions—Kyle was never one to let something slide.
Kiara hated seeing her brother worried. She rose from the sofa in his office and stood before him at the center of the room. He looked infuriatingly composed, dressed in navy blue trousers and a matching turtleneck. His golden hair gleamed under the soft light, his sea-blue eyes steady on her. At six-foot-one, with those broad shoulders and quiet strength, he was the picture of calm control.
Kiara smiled faintly. Sometimes she joked that if he wasn't her brother, she'd have married him herself. He was that good-looking—and completely unaware of the effect he had on women, herself included.
She placed her palm gently against his cheek.
"I really hate seeing you worried," she said softly. "I would have preferred to keep this from you a little longer, but I love you too much to hide it."
Kyle arched a brow, curious.
Kiara sighed. Once Kyle wanted to know something, he'd dig until he found it—so she told him everything. Halfway through, a smile tugged at his lips. By the time she finished, he laughed outright.
"You, my darling," he said, still chuckling, "are such a master planner. Whoa! I didn't see that coming."
Kiara smiled, relieved. Then he pulled her into a quick hug and whispered against her ear, voice teasing.
"How close are you and Jordan? You don't seem to complain about the old rich celeb anymore."
Kiara punched his arm lightly.
"Shut up, Kyle. Not funny. Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what? That the 'old guy' isn't actually that old?"
"Yeah. I was nearly gaping when I saw him—and that's your fault."
Kyle chuckled. "I thought you loved surprises."
"Some, not all," she muttered, then added, "Do you know his initial 'R' stands for Roy?"
Kyle nodded.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded.
"It was pointless," he said with a shrug. "You already had your opinion of him. Besides, I doubt you'd have cared what the 'R' stood for—unless he turned out to be handsome."
"You're so annoying." But she was smiling. He was probably right. Still, she couldn't help her curiosity.
"Do you know if he dated Vera?" she asked suddenly.
Kyle smirked. "It's likely. Jordan's had more than his fair share of women. Wouldn't surprise me if he had. He's a flirt."
"With all women?"
"No," Kyle replied, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "He flirts with everyone, but the one he really likes—he flirts differently. With moderation. With respect."
"Hmmm." Kiara turned away under his gaze, uncomfortable with the implication.
The silence stretched until she finally snapped, "Oh, stop it, Kyle. I assure you there's nothing between us. Not now, not ever."
"Okay," he said lightly. "If you say so."
She darted her eyes at him and then away again. He was still smirking. Kiara rolled her eyes and walked out of his office, leaving him behind with his hands tucked into his pockets and a knowing chuckle escaping his lips.
---
Kiara rushed around her room, grabbing her dress, a comb—anything she could find first. She was already late. Vera was supposed to leave early so she'd arrive at four. It was already half past two and the dress wasn't even delivered. That was her fault—she'd been buried in work and had completely forgotten. She should have sent someone else to deliver it, but it was too late now. All she could do was take it herself and apologize for the delay. What a professional, she thought dryly.
She slipped into a navy-blue knee-length gown, paired it with blue diamond earrings and a matching necklace. Light makeup, sleek hair, and heels. A final look in the mirror and she was ready—or so she thought.
Just as she reached the door, realization hit.
Shit! The dress and the necklace.
How could she forget the most important things? She dashed back to her room, grabbed them, and ran out again. By the time she reached the car, she was breathless.
"You look lovely, ma'am," said Daniel, her driver, a little shyly.
Kiara caught her breath and smiled faintly. "Thanks, dear. But please, let's hurry—I'm late."
He nodded, cheeks pink as she blew him a teasing kiss before settling into the back seat.
---
"The hell she is! You've said that twenty times already, and she's still not here!"
Layla stepped back, wary of the storm brewing in front of her. There were few things she hated more than dark chocolate—but a furious woman definitely topped the list.
She wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be sketching designs, not calming down a screaming client. What was she—a therapist?
The woman was impossible. Sure, she was running late, but there was still time.
Layla, a half-Indian, half-American designer, had her mother's striking looks—long black hair, shiny brown eyes, and delicate red lips—but her attitude screamed American. She worked as a fashion designer at RJ Powell's and was still wondering how she'd gotten herself into this mess. Right—she was good at makeup and styling. That's why she was here. If she'd known this would be a suicide mission, she'd have faked a meeting.
Vera had started off furious about the missing dress. Then panic had taken over, and she'd started shouting at anyone within range. She'd demanded Jordan several times, but Layla wasn't sure if he was genuinely busy—or wisely avoiding her. Vera was already threatening to sue, and no one wanted to be in her path when she snapped.
She'd already broken a glass on the floor after Marcus tried to reassure her that the dress was on its way. Even the four stylists who'd done her hair and makeup were now huddled in a corner, whispering prayers.
The door opened, and Lara walked in, perfume preceding her. Layla didn't like her much, but right now, she was happy for the distraction.
"Oh, Vera, you must be really upset. I'm so sorry," Lara cooed. "Those people are completely incompetent. I told Jordan, but he didn't listen."
"Yeah, he rarely does," Vera snapped. "How can I be late? Where the hell are they?"
Finally—Jordan entered the room, still dressed in his usual business attire, looking calm and unbothered.
"Goodness, Jordan," said Lara, annoyed, "where is that lady?"
A confident voice cut through the tension.
"Right here."