Primrose knew as well as I did that the reason for staying away from London was nothing to do with being arrogant, however much that accusation was thrown around.
It had everything to do with not looking back. With looking to the future rather than the past.
“Okay, so let’s talk designs. What have you got to show me?”
Primrose pulled up images of the earring designs she’d been working on. “I’m not sure I’ve quite got the effect of the snow yet,” she said. They were the shape of a snowflake and covered in a kind of pavé, but with larger, more exaggerated stones.
“I like this version though. The smaller stones are better. And not so small that they don’t look special.”
“Absolutely. I think sourcing the stones and making key parts of the jewelry is important,” Primrose said. It had taken a while to accept that design and production had to work together on what Daniels & Co put out. At first Primrose felt it was too much pressure. Over the last fifteen years, she had started to see my perspective.
“It’s how we’ve been successful up until now.” Beautiful jewelry designs weren’t enough. I had to find the stones and have them carved into the right cuts before I could be sure a design would work. Oftentimes, we changed the design to bring out the best in the stone. Some things that looked beautiful on the page, or even in a 3D render, just didn’t work if the stone wasn’t right. Understanding how to bring out the natural beauty of each stone in our designs would give Daniels & Co the edge.
The first stage of the competition was focused on design. It wasn’t until after the three finalists got picked that any actual jewelry was submitted. Because it was so expensive to make these pieces, the other jewelers would hold off production as long as possible, focusing on the design in case they didn’t get through to the next rounds. But we were cutting the stones and making parts of the pieces even as the designs continued to take shape. It was the only way to know how strong a design was before it was submitted. We would pick designs not because of how they looked in theory, but how the stones brought them to life.
“I’ve also been thinking about sourcing the emeralds,” I said. “I think if we can find good Zambian emeralds, that’s how we should go.”
“Really?” Primrose said. “Why wouldn’t you go Columbian?”
Hollie’s eyes last night really had been spectacular.
“Because of our theme. Columbian emeralds are thought to be the best because of the intensity of color.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“But what we’re trying to recreate is the feel of Finland.”
“Yes,” Primrose replied, elongating the word, which either meant she thought I was stupid or she was growing impatient.
“The color saturation of the northern lights isn’t intense. They’re ethereal. Green but blue, full of patterns and movement, light and dark. They’re mysterious and otherworldly and uniquely fascinating.” I wasn’t sure if I was describing the northern lights or my encounter with the mysterious and fascinating American I’d met last night. Both maybe, but when I went to sleep last night, all I could see were those eyes—layers on layers of color. I wanted to find that in a stone. “Mystery and romanticism, that’s the northern lights. That’s what we’re trying to achieve.” I’d thought of nothing else since I’d come face-to-face with Hollie yesterday. I’d noticed her earlier in the evening and hoped I’d get a chance to speak to her, but being up close, looking into those eyes—she drew me in.
Fuck, I should have got her number.
“Well you know your stones better than anyone,” said Primrose. “So, if you say so.”
“I’ve got to find a supplier. Zambian emeralds aren’t as consistent in color, so we’ll have to be picky.”
Primrose let out a laugh. “Well, picky is your middle name. Sounds like a job for you.”
I’d never apologize for being difficult to please. As far as I was concerned, it was a huge part of what made me successful. Good enough wasn’t good enough.
“If you didn’t enjoy last night,” Primrose said, sliding her tablet back into its sleeve. “Did Stacey at least?”
For a second, I had to think who she meant. “Oh, didn’t I say? Stacey and I broke up a few months ago.”
“Dexter! What happened?”
She was acting like it was a big deal. “Nothing. Just came to the end of the road, I guess.” I tried to remember who had actually ended it. Her, I think.
“The end of the road? She was such a nice girl and so supportive.”
“Yeah. She was great,” I replied, glancing at the top drawer of my desk and wondering if Hollie had called. If I’d not been so distracted last evening, I would have remembered to get her last name.