A Cut Above Read Online Free PDF

office, transported on that romance-scented cloud. “Good morning,” I chirp.
    Then I have to fight down a groan. Max is a menace. I, Andrea Autumn Adams, am not the chirping kind. Never have been. Refuse, absolutely refuse, to be the chirping kind again.
    Note to self: deep-six the Max-inspired chirping.
    “Help yourself,” Miss Mona says, waving toward the cholesterol, sugar, and calorie-laden credenza next to the window at the back of the office.
    But before I get there, I nearly trip over a stranger’s mirror-polished, black leather wing-tip shoes. “Oh! Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
    I cast a questioning glance over my shoulder, and Miss Mona smiles, satisfaction in her gaze. “Go ahead, help yourself, then come sit here with us.”
    A few minutes later, armed with a steaming cup of primo Colombian and a to-die-for chocolate éclair, I head for the empty leather armchair across from Miss Mona’s massive mahogany desk. I’m practically salivating over my totally unneeded extra-inch-for-the-hips, but you know what? Manners do count.
    “What can I do to help you?” I ask my boss.
    To my surprise, it seems I’ve hit a home run. Miss Mona beams.
    “See?” she says to the dark-haired, older gentleman—of Miss Mona’s vintage—in exquisite custom tailoring. During my years in the Big Apple, I learned to spot fine Italian workmanship, and this guy’s slate gray wool suit is an outstanding sample of European haberdashery. Wonder who he is?
    But instead of letting me in on the secret, Miss Mona keeps talking to him. “Our Andie has wonderful instincts. And that’s what I’ll be counting on, you hear?”
    Although I’m dying to find out what’s up, I decide it’s time to taste my éclair. As I bite into bliss, I glom my eyes onto Miss Mona.
    She stands. “I think you’ll be happier’n a hog in a mud wallow, Andie, dear. This is Rodolfo Cruz. My vendor in town from Colombia.”
    I gulp down my mouthful of calories, then wash them down with a glug of scalding coffee. “Emeralds?” I manage to croak out.
    “Emeralds.”
    “Green gold,” Mr. Cruz says in richly spiced English.
    “Green fire,” I add.
    “We’re negotiating a new buy,” Miss Mona says.
    Mr. Cruz tips his head in a courtly manner. “I’m offering the lady the most beautiful stones at the most attractive price.”
    Forget the éclair. “Can I see them?”
    Miss Mona’s smile widens. “That’s what you’re here for, Andie. I need you to make the right choices for the network. Take it away, dear.”
    My eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. “Me? You want me to . . . to . . .”
    I let my words dry up as Mr. Cruz starts to open up a leather pouch lined with what can only be real silk velvet. He sets it down on Miss Mona’s desk and continues opening the folds. In the end, I gasp when he finishes revealing the treasures hidden within.
    “Oh my . . .”

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    I set the loupe down on Miss Mona’s desk, then meet Mr. Cruz’s gaze. “They’re lovely, all right. And you assure me they’re untreated? Will you put it in writing?”
    His jaw tightens visibly. “Yes, Miss Andie. Aside from the usual oiling to protect the gems from the emerald’s natural dryness, they’re untreated. It’s my reputation I try to protect. Of course, if I say untreated, they’re untreated. I’ll put it in writing.”
    I give him a gracious nod. “So let’s get to the bottom line. How much?”
    “I use the AGL—American Gemological Laboratory— colored stone grading reports for pricing.”
    “I’m very familiar with the AGL.”
    He pulls out a small, black leather-bound notebook, riffles through it, and then studies the numbers on his chosen page. “For Miss Mona, I sell them at $11,000 per carat.”
    I nearly swallow my tongue. When I find it again, I explode. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
    Miss Mona sputters. “Andie.”
    Mr. Cruz’s cheeks redden under the tan. “I do not kid. Not about my emeralds. These are top, top gem