Joanne Rock - What The Magnate Wants

“I find it ironic that I ran out to marry a woman because of Gramps’ will, and Sofia was my match based on her father’s equally manipulative tactics to see her wed.” Cameron picked up his hard hat and juggled it from one hand to another, his eyes never leaving some distant point to the northwest.

“Right. But I don’t understand why Vitaly was surprised to see you in the airport if he shared the flight information with Sofia’s matchmaker, who shared it with yours.” Quinn’s teeth rattled as the vibrations under his feet picked up strength. “I don’t think his surprise was an act. Which means something doesn’t add up.”

He’d already hired a guy in his company’s IT department to research any information about Sofia Koslov that had been posted online in the last month. Even if the third-party web site had deleted her profile, this guy could usually find reliable traces. For Quinn, it would help to show Vitaly where Cameron had found Sofia’s profile. How could Sofia’s father block the sale of the hotels the McNeills wanted if they were blameless in this matchmaking snafu?

But hiring an investigator served a second purpose, too—protecting Sofia’s privacy.

Rising to his feet in one fluid motion, Cameron picked up his hard hat and shoved it onto his head.

“It makes sense to figure out what happened with Sofia’s personal information before you move forward with your engagement.” Cam checked his phone and put it in his pocket. “Or your wedding.”

“Whoa.” Quinn clapped a hand on his brother’s back. Hard. “We’re not getting married, as you damn well know.”

The thought of spending a night with her revved him up fast, though. He didn’t need that image in his head when he was on his way to meet her and talk through a plan for their fake engagement.

Then again, it wasn’t as if he’d promised to keep his hands off her or anything. And she wanted the engagement to be believable. Already he was giving himself permission to get closer to her.

Much, much closer.

“You keep on telling yourself there’s nothing going on.” Cam shook off his hand and stalked toward the stairwell. “But no matter how much you play it off like Gramps’ will doesn’t matter to you, I know it’s got to be in the back of your mind that you need to get married.” Cameron rested a hand on the brick half wall that housed the stairs and faced Quinn. “Soon.”

A dark expression clouded Cameron’s features as he turned away, his steps echoing in the sudden silence as the jackhammer stopped. Quinn watched his brother walk away before he could argue. He was not getting married for the sake of McNeill Resorts, damn it. He was just running some damage control for the family business after his brother had made such a damn mess of things.

But maybe Cameron had a point. Quinn was attracted to her. He had to pretend to be her fiancé. There was no reason in the world he couldn’t use this time to get closer to Sofia.

To enjoy Sofia.

To find out if that kiss had been a fluke or if the heat between them was every bit as scorching as he imagined.

Five

Sofia braided her wet hair in the large, shared dressing room after her shower, unwilling to attend her meeting with Quinn while drenched in sweat from her second class of the day. The writer Anton Chekov had once famously said that he knew nothing about the ballet but that the ballerinas “stink like horses” during the intervals, and the man had a point.

Digging in her bag for a hair tie, she scuttled past some of the junior dancers before she dropped into a chair near one of the makeup mirrors. The afternoon classes tended to have more of the sixteen-to eighteen-year-olds who could give her a run for her money physically, which had been just what she’d needed. After a day in the air yesterday, her body had felt off during her first class of the morning. So after her show rehearsals, she’d joined an afternoon session as well to will her body back into show shape. A day missed, and a dancer noticed. Besides, cramming every second of her day with hard work meant there were less opportunities for her older colleagues to quiz her about yesterday.

Or the huge rock on her finger.

She hadn’t left the breathtaking ring on for long, but she’d worn it from the cab to the dressing room before removing it for dancing, causing a room full of whispers and raised eyebrows before the dancing master put everyone to work. She retrieved Quinn’s gift now that she was in street clothes and slid the beautiful piece onto her finger. The few junior ballerinas remaining at the end of the day were in a heated discussion about the romantic availability of one of the male dancers.

“Holy crap, honey, look at that thing.” Jasmine Jackson’s voice surprised her, even though she should have been expecting her friend and publicist to meet her backstage for a quick meeting.

Jasmine rushed toward her, the heavy exit door banging shut behind her as she wove around stored stage lights and rolling racks of costumes covered in plastic. Petite with glossy hair so black it looked blue in certain light, Jasmine had attended ballet school with her in North Carolina for a year before Sofia’s mother had caught the travel bug to tour Europe. Jasmine had quit dancing at thirteen with the arrival of hormones and serious curves. Many women would envy her figure, but Sofia had taken the phone calls from her distraught friend when her breasts had moved well into C-cup range—one of many physical changes that made dancing more difficult and casting directors overlook her. She’d been devastated.

Jasmine had ended up attending Syracuse University for communications and went on to work in advertising and promotions for the fitness industry. Her job paid well and brought her to New York, much to Sofia’s delight. They’d shared an apartment for two years before Jasmine’s budget had seriously outstripped hers and her friend had upgraded to a bigger place.

Sofia squeezed her hand in a fist to keep the ring in place. “I know. I’m terrified of losing it. And it seems really weird that it fits me, doesn’t it?” Had her father shared such personal details with the matchmaker he’d hired? She had considered speaking to him today to assess how much her privacy had been breached. But she was still so angry with him over his presumptuous matchmaking tactics.

Jasmine bent to lift and examine Sofia’s hand. A strand of silky black hair trailed over Sofia’s wrist as her friend peered at the ring in the lights of the makeup mirror. As always, Jasmine looked so put together—her knee-length, gray-and-taupe sweater dress was formfitting underneath a tailored swing coat she left open. Bracelets clinked as she moved, everything about her girly and feminine. By contrast Sofia sported leggings and a man’s dress shirt left untucked, with a black blazer—kind of her go-to work outfit in the colder months. With her wet hair braided, she felt more than a little dull next to glamorous Jasmine.

“Wow. Those diamonds are the real deal.” Her Southern accent had softened over the years, but the lilt was still there. “Come on. Let’s walk and talk so I can bring you up to speed before we meet with your very sexy fiancé.”

Leave it to Jasmine to maintain the façade of this fake engagement in public. She was great at her job and a great friend, too. Jasmine had tried refusing payment for the work she did to promote Sofia’s career, but she wouldn’t hear of it. As it was, she knew the rate Jasmine gave her was far less than what her friend billed her corporate accounts.

“You’re going into the coffee shop with me?” Sofia led the way out of the building, taking the less conspicuous path over West Sixty-Fifth Street instead of cutting through Lincoln Center. “I’ve been second-guessing myself and nervous about seeing him all day.” She squeezed Jasmine’s arm like a lifeline, grateful for a true friend after the past weeks of being on her guard at all times.