Chapter 1
PROLOGUE
Sterling Jewels, Midtown Manhattan
Eliza Sterling stood behind the glass display of Sterling Jewels, fingers wrapped around a crystal-clean microfiber cloth, polishing the already-perfect edge of a velvet-lined ring tray. Her reflection shimmered faintly in the mirror behind the counter—soft curls pulled into a low puff, warm brown eyes focused but far away, and a name tag that felt heavier than it looked.
Eliza Sterling — Sales Associate.
That “Associate” part still stung a little. Technically, she was the boss’s daughter. But after college, her parents insisted she work her way up like everyone else, despite the fact the brand literally bore her last name.
The soft jingle of the front door interrupted her thoughts. She didn’t have to look up to know who it was.
He came in every Tuesday. Always in a button-down that somehow managed to look both effortless and expensive. Always brushed hair and sleepy eyes with lashes too long for someone who definitely didn’t deserve them. Always pretending to browse. And always leaving with something he didn’t need.
Zale McCree.
Jewelry enthusiast. Frequent buyer. Terrible liar.
And the only customer who made Eliza forget how to string a proper sentence for the first five minutes of any interaction.
Today, he hovered near the sapphire collection, running a finger along the edge of a gold bracelet he’d probably end up buying. He glanced at her, then looked away, then back again—too fast.
“Hey,” he said, voice unusually deep, like he’d practiced it on the way in. “You changed your hair.”
She raised an eyebrow, tugging lightly at her curls. “Same curls. Just humidity.”
He laughed, a short awkward chuckle, and dropped his gaze to a cluster of amethyst earrings like they were the most fascinating things in the room.
Eliza tried not to smile. He was charming in a strange, twitchy way. Like someone who hated small talk but was determined to master it for one specific reason.
She leaned forward on the counter. “Looking for a gift today, Mr. McCree? Or just window shopping… again?”
“Both,” he said. Then added quickly, “Your commission should be safe either way.”
She rolled her eyes but felt her chest tighten in that way it always did when he made those subtle, unintentional compliments. She shouldn’t read into them. After all, he always left with something.
A bracelet last week. A brooch the week before. A necklace before that. Different styles, no patterns. She didn’t ask who they were for. Didn’t want to know.
Especially not if it confirmed what Julianna Lowe kept whispering behind lipstick-glossed smiles — that Zale was just another rich flirt, collecting gifts for girls with prettier names and thinner waists.
But Eliza had a rule. She didn’t chase what didn’t chase her back.
And Zale McCree, for all his expensive charm, hadn’t asked for her number.
Not yet.
