![]() ![]() ![]() I nodded at Freda, the tall, ebony receptionist who could slay any fashionista even though she was in her sixties, and headed straight for the gold door with the silver lever handle that led into Mr. I’d been assisting and training under him and his staff jewelers for a little under a year. I took advantage of his desperation by adding a little custom-jeweler training to the deal. He was bloody and in need of a new assistant. I just happened to walk in on the right day-the day he and his assistant-slash-girlfriend received a beat down at the hands of his wife, Twyla. An internship with him was an anxiety-ridden thrill ride and an opportunity most aspiring jewelers would kill for. Temperamental, demanding, flippant, but talented and at the top of the custom jewelry game. Pink Cashmere Publishing, stumbled through the front doors of Bijou Park, hoping, wishing, and praying that the black coffee and plain bagel in my hands would serve to appease my boss. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. ![]() Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. ![]()
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