Three days later, Rockefeller Center was a hive of tourists and suits.
Isidora and Harper were walking back from a meeting with a headhunter. Isidora held a greasy paper bag from Shake Shack. They hadn't finished their fries.
"That guy was a jerk," Harper said, kicking a pigeon. " 'Overqualified but under-experienced'? What does that even mean?"
"It means I scare him," Isidora said.
She stopped.
Fifty feet away, sitting at an outdoor café table, was Cash. He was laughing, leaning back in his chair, talking to a silver-haired man in a suit. An investor.
Gavin stood nearby, holding a briefcase and a familiar black gift bag with the gold L'Eclat logo.
Harper gasped. "Is that..."
"The brooch," Isidora said. "He hasn't given it to her yet."
Cash looked up. His eyes locked onto Isidora.
He paused. He said something to the investor, stood up, and buttoned his jacket. He walked toward her, a smirk playing on his lips.
He saw the Shake Shack bag in her hand.
"Well, well," Cash said, stopping in front of her. His gaze flickered from her face to the greasy bag, his expression a mask of condescending amusement. "Isi. Downgrading, are we?"
He thought she was begging. He thought the bag of cold fries was her white flag.
Isidora looked at him. She looked at the bag in Gavin's hand.
An idea formed. It was petty. It was dangerous. It was perfect.
"Some things are an acquired taste," Isidora said, holding up the paper bag. She smiled. It was a sharp, brittle thing. "You wouldn't understand."
Cash's smirk widened. "See this, Isi?" He nodded toward the L'Eclat bag in Gavin's hand. "This is for a woman who appreciates value. A woman who understands her place. You, on the other hand..." He gestured dismissively at her Shake Shack. "You seem to have found yours."
Isidora's smile didn't falter. She sidestepped him and thrust her bag at Gavin.
"Gavin," she said. "Hold this for your boss. A reminder of what he threw away."
Gavin fumbled. He had to juggle the briefcase and the L'Eclat bag to take the grease-stained paper sack.
Cash's eyes narrowed. He had expected tears, not a counter-attack. The investor was watching. He had to save face. "There's a charity gala tonight. You could come. If you can find something to wear."
"I'm busy," Isidora said.
"Oh," she added, her eyes locking on the L'Eclat bag. "I see. That one's spoken for."
She looked at the Shake Shack bag in Gavin's arms.
"Well," she said, tapping the paper sack. "Enjoy the leftovers, Cash. That one is spoken for, too."
She hooked her arm through Harper's. "Come on. We have work to do."
They walked away. Isidora kept her back straight, her stride long.
"Did you see his face?" Harper whispered, trying not to laugh. "He looked like he swallowed a bug."
"He treats people like props," Isidora said. Her voice was cold. "He thinks he can just swap us out."
Behind them, Cash stood fuming. He snatched the Shake Shack bag from Gavin and looked inside.
Cold fries. A used napkin.
He crushed the bag in his fist. Grease leaked onto his cuff.
"Gavin," he growled. "Get the car."
Isidora didn't turn around. But she knew. She had just declared war.
