Page 51 of Challenge Accepted

“What is that?”

She folded her hands on her blotter. “Those are the pieces I made for the exhibit.”

He leaned forward. “Is that tanzanite?”

She nodded. “I wanted to use something different.”

“Presley, that’s not the kind of thing you make for our store.”

“No, Pop, it’s not.”

He stood. “Those are pieces for Rodeo Drive or New York City.”

She flicked her mouse and the screensaver blinked off. “Hopefully. Someday.”

“Let me see the others.”

“Pop, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. Let me see.” She sighed and brought up her portfolio folder and opened the first photo. She toggled through the rings, the choker, the traditional two layered necklace she’d created with odd, shaped tanzanite and channeled diamonds, some modern pieces, and finally the cuff bracelet.

“How long have you been working on these?”

“This showcase? About a year, I guess. Mostly last year until…”

“Until you took over more of the store duties.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know.”

“Vance and Natalie put my work in the exhibit without telling me. I’ve gotten some bites from some big people. People that want me to work on commission for limited edition collections.”

He sat down hard. “Why didn’t you tell me, Pris?”

“Because I know what the store means to you. What the Warren name means.”

“Youarethe Warren name, honey.”

Her eyes stung. “But the store…”

“The store is what I had to pass on to you.”

“Right, our legacy.”

“No, that’s not your legacy. The Warrens have been in love with jewelry in all its forms for generations.” He closed his eyes as if a memory was shimmering behind his lids. “Your grandfather used to create the most beautiful watches and rings.” He opened his eyes, the steady blue so much like hers. “I never had that talent. I knew how to sell things, to put them in the right hands. But my gift was never in the creating.”

“I hate selling,” she whispered. She cleared her throat as the emotion clogged her throat. “I mean I want people to look at my work, but Iwantto be in the annealing room, or the gem room.” She looked down at her hands and they blurred as she rubbed her thumb along an old scar that had faded. “I miss my soldering burns. How stupid is that?”

“Oh, baby.” Her father turned her chair to could hug her. “I don’t want you miserable.” He gently urged her back so he could look her in the eye. “Do you know how proud I would be to have the name Presley Warren on a billboard in Times Square?”

She laughed. “Okay, that’s a bit much.”

“Is it? Not from what I see right there. Your work is beautiful. The people at the exhibition were right to see that in you.”

She sniffed. “I placed fourth.”

His pale eyebrows shot up. “Out of how many?”

“Three hundred.”

“Three hun—Presley Margaret! Why didn’t you tell us?”

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