Joanne Rock - What The Magnate Wants

At least, that had been the family’s party line. The larger reason was that, during the six months of the year his father had custody of his sons, Liam McNeill was usually too busy thrill-seeking around the globe to bother with parental duties.

Cliff-jumping in Santorini, Greece, or white-water rafting down a perilous South Korean river always seemed like more fun to Quinn’s father than child-rearing. So Malcolm McNeill had stepped in more times than not, teaching his grandsons about property development and the resort industry from the ground up.

Reaching the rooftop, Quinn spied his brother looking out at the skyline from the structure’s best feature—a sunny oasis on the roof that would one day be a space for outdoor dining, drinks and special events. Even at noon the view was breathtaking. But at dusk, when the sun slipped behind the Manhattan skyline, there was no finer perspective on the city than right here.

Cameron sat in a beat-up plastic patio chair that looked like a Dumpster salvage, the legs speckled with various-colored paints. He had dragged the seat close to the edge of the roof, his laptop balanced on his knees and his hard hat sitting on a section of exposed trusses at his feet. His dark jeans sported sawdust, his leg bouncing to some unheard rhythm.

Quinn must have made a noise or cast a shadow because Cameron looked toward him.

“I’m not sure I want to see you right now.” Cameron didn’t smile, his attention returning to his computer screen. “The headlines I’ve seen so far don’t exactly fill me with confidence about what went on last night after I left.”

“The key point there being—you left.” Quinn had never connected as well with Cam as he did with Ian, and that made it tougher to see Cameron’s side now when his younger brother seemed so clearly in the wrong.

“So you felt compelled to stick around and play white knight?” Cameron flipped the screen of his laptop to face Quinn, showing a headline that read Two McNeill Magnates Propose to Former Sugarplum Fairy.

The accompanying photo showed Sofia pirouetting across a stage in a tutu. Damn. So he hadn’t really imagined how hot she was. The levelheaded, practical side of Quinn reeled at the absurd headline and the media circus that would continue to send in the clowns until the official “engagement” story aired.

But his rational side didn’t seem to be in full control. Sofia’s petite body, her lean and limber pose, made him recall their kiss and the heat of that impromptu moment.

Cameron set his jaw, daggers dancing from his eyes. Accusatory and angry, sure. It was all Quinn needed to be drawn back to the problem at hand.

Quinn crossed his arms, undaunted. Cam had to realize what was at stake.

“You piss off her father, one of the wealthiest men in the world, who also happens to have enough Eastern European connections to run our deal for the new resorts into the ground, and call it none of my business?” Quinn shook his head and dragged a crate over to where Cameron was sitting. He planted a foot on it.

Cameron’s mouth thinned, his voice a near growl. “You crossed a line into my personal affairs and you know it. You don’t just propose to your brother’s girl five minutes after they’re through.” Cameron tipped back in the plastic chair like it was a rocker. It teetered on two legs.

The move put Quinn’s teeth on edge but not nearly as much as his words. Cam would think no more of walking across exposed truss beams at two stories than he would at twelve.

“Sofia was never yours,” Quinn reminded him, more irritated than he ought to be at the idea, as a protective fire suddenly blazed in the pit of his chest. “And you lost any chance you had of salvaging something with her when you walked out of the airport yesterday.”

For once, however, Quinn couldn’t be disappointed with in Cam’s impulsive ways. The thought of her sharing that kiss with anyone but Quinn was intolerable.

“Think what you want of my motives, but I saw how you were looking at her.” Cameron drummed his fingers along the back of the laptop case.

That stopped him. He couldn’t deny that he’d felt something as soon as he’d seen her in person.

Cam shook his head. “And I still wouldn’t have walked out, except I saw her looking at you that same exact way. It’s one thing for me to turn my back on a bar fight or a heated investors meeting, but, contrary to popular belief, I wouldn’t leave the woman to fend off nosy journalists if I hadn’t seen the looks darting back and forth between you two.”

“In that case...thank you.” Stunned by a depth of insight he’d never given his brother credit for, Quinn wasn’t sure how to handle the new information. Had Sofia been as drawn to him as he was to her? “After speaking to her father, I’m beginning to think her privacy was compromised by the matchmaker he hired. Bad enough Vitaly Koslov contracted the consultant without her knowledge. But I don’t think he would have ever sanctioned his daughter’s photo and contact information on the kind of pick-a-bride profile site you described to me.”

“I thought the same thing after I left the airport yesterday.” Cameron turned his laptop screen so Quinn could see the web banner for a Manhattan matchmaker, Mallory West. “I called my own matchmaker and she reminded me that I knowingly chose a match off a third-party web site Mallory West’s clients can access, so I was informed ahead of time that Ms. West didn’t know those women personally. She simply facilitated the meet. She gave me a full refund and assured me she would speak to the person who vetted the women on the web site I viewed.”

Quinn sank down onto the crate and looked out across the bay on the sprawl of Lower Manhattan anchored by the Freedom Tower. Now that he’d seen firsthand how much havoc Cameron’s bride hunt had caused for Sofia, he was thoroughly invested in the whole debacle.

“How can a matchmaker match people she doesn’t actually know?” That sounded unethical. “I didn’t think that’s how they worked.”

Cameron nodded as he signed into a private web page.

“They don’t. But I was in a hurry and didn’t want to jump through a lot of hoops since I wasn’t really looking for true love everlasting.” Cameron shrugged. “And Mallory’s right—she was just a facilitator. I was paying special attention to the women listed on that third-party web site.”

“Defeating the whole purpose of a matchmaker.” Quinn ground his teeth together. “You might as well have gone shopping for a bride online. Why the hell would you pay the rates for a private matchmaker only to meet a woman whose name you pulled out of a damn hat?”

Cam seemed to take the question seriously. “I wanted to speed up the process and I hoped that the matchmaker’s résumé lent credibility to the women I met.”

Quinn wished he’d paid better attention when Cameron had first told him about his visit to the matchmaker’s office, but at the time, he’d been focused on talking Cam out of jumping into a marriage.

“So she’s taking no responsibility and she gave you your money back, which makes me wonder if she’s worried about that web site, too. Can you still access that page?”

“No. Now that I’ve given up my membership with Mallory West, I can’t, but Ms. West said Sofia’s profile is no longer included on the page.”

“And once you told her you were interested in meeting Sofia, she texted you the flight details?”

“Correct.” Cameron closed the laptop.

“I’ll pass that information along to Sofia’s father. I’m hoping to defuse some of his anger. After all, he was the one who released her photo in the first place. It’s not your fault he hired an incompetent matchmaker.” Quinn raised his voice as a jackhammer went to work somewhere in the building. The roof vibrated with the noise.