Joanne Rock - What The Magnate Wants

“Well, I hadn’t planned on it.” Jasmine frowned, oblivious to the male heads she turned as they navigated streets getting busier as rush hour neared. “The two of you have a lot to figure out.”

“I know. But you’re a major part of that.” If Jasmine was there, it was like a business meeting—a way to coordinate schedules.

“Since when do you need a babysitter for a date? I’ll say hello, but then I’ve got to go. I have an appointment downtown for happy hour drinks.” Her work in PR happened over dinner and cocktails as often as it happened in a boardroom. “So fill me in on what happened today.”

“Not much, thankfully.” She’d been pleased with her plan to avoid talking about the engagement by outworking everyone in the room. “The only one who really cornered me about it was the ballet mistress, and she just warned me to remember that Idris Fortier would surely prefer any woman he worked with to devote one thousand percent to his ballet.”

“Did you tell her that one thousand percent was a bit much?”

“Would I still have a job right now if I did?” The lighthearted moment ended quickly as Joe Coffee came into view and Sofia thought about seeing Quinn again.

Had she overestimated his appeal last night in her trancelike jet lag? She hoped so.

“How are your knees?” Jasmine asked. It was the only question that could rattle her more than Quinn.

Prone to knee problems, Sofia had injuries the same way all dancers had injuries. That is, always. Ballet was hard on the body and a dancer never knew when her time might be up. She feared for the length of her career, especially when she remembered the devil’s bargain she’d made with her father as a teen. Two months after her mother died, he’d refused to let Sofia pursue a dance opportunity in St. Petersburg, insisting she finish her education in the US. But after weeks of begging and crying—it was what her mother had wanted for her—he’d offered her a trade. She could go to Russia for dance school, but only if she promised that when her dance career was finished, she would come to work for him.

Which was not happening. He couldn’t hold her to a deal she’d made as a teen. But she worried for her future with no backup plan after dance. Saying no to him when she had no prospects would be difficult. Staying in this expensive city would be virtually impossible. She willed away the ache in her knee and vowed to ice it longer tonight. It’d have to do.

“I had some twinges in my right knee in Kiev, but nothing that kept me off the stage.” She tucked her shoulder bag closer as a family with two strollers pulled up beside them on the crosswalk. Horns and squeaky brakes mingled with the occasional sound of a doorman whistling for a cab in a cacophony her ears welcomed after six hours of Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky.

“Don’t overdo it,” Jasmine warned. “Staying healthy is more important than Idris and his ballet, no matter what you think.”

“On the contrary, Idris and his ballet are my ticket to a post-dance career.” She knew that a starring role and working closely with the superstar choreographer would completely change her profile in the dance world. It would open doors for a creative project she had in mind, but she needed someone like him to be on board. So she just had to nurse her knee through this opportunity.

Jasmine laughed. “You’re the same as ever, Sofia. I think I could replay the conversations we had at nine and they’d be exactly the same ones we have today. You’ve always had a plan, I’ll give you that.”

Sofia slowed her step outside the door of Joe Coffee, grabbing Jasmine’s arm.

“Not with Quinn McNeill, I don’t.” She wasn’t intimidated by him or his money. Yet there was something about the way he made her feel that kept her anxious. Was it just physical attraction? Or did that anxiety mean something more worrisome?

Was it her gut telling her he was untrustworthy?

A messenger on a bicycle slammed his bike into the rack near them before entering the coffeehouse. The scent of fragrant Arabica beans and baked goods drifted through the door in his wake. Hunger reverberated in Sofia’s stomach. Her diet was controlled and disciplined. Most days, she didn’t mind. The sacrifice of cheesy fries and pizza had yet to outweigh the worth of her dream. But the smell of food tempted her so.

“He’s just a man. The same as any other.” Jasmine pursed her lips. “Your everyday average billionaire.” She linked her arm through Sofia’s and tugged her ahead. “Come on. I’ve got a few details to go over before I head out.”

Squaring her shoulders, Sofia headed inside, determined not to let Quinn see that he made her uneasy. Distracted.

And far too interested in the attraction she’d felt for him the first moment their gazes had connected.

* * *

Head high, Sofia Koslov strolled into the coffee shop like a dancer and Quinn took notice from his seat at a table in the back corner. She carried herself differently than other women, a fact he’d picked up on yesterday before Cameron had proposed to her.

At that time he hadn’t known what it was about her perfect posture and her graceful movements. Now he recognized it as her dance training that made her move like that. He couldn’t picture her ever playing the Sugar Plum Fairy, however, despite the news clippings.

The Black Swan in Swan Lake maybe. She had a regal elegance, a sophistication. Her hair was pulled back into a damp braid that highlighted the long neck traditional in ballerinas. Her clothing was simple and understated so that the only thing that shone was the woman herself. And the ring on her left hand, he amended with satisfaction. Even staring at her across a crowded coffee shop, Quinn wanted her.

Damn.

He rose to greet the two women as they made their way through milling patrons juggling cups and cell phones. Her friend continued to shadow her step for step, a fact that disappointed him since he’d been eager to speak to Sofia privately. Or as privately as he could in a Manhattan java shop. He would have lobbied to meet at his apartment or in a quiet restaurant, but Sofia had been tired and rattled last night when they’d made these plans and he had the impression she’d purposely chosen someplace more public.

“Sofia.” He greeted her the way he would greet a woman he loved, sliding an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek, mindful of the public atmosphere but still appropriately warm. He thought it better to be cautious since he didn’t know her friend and wanted to be sure he played the part of Sofia’s husband-to-be at all times.

Besides, it felt good to touch her.

The cool skin of her cheek warmed as his lips lingered for a moment. When he backed away, he spied the hint of color in her face before he extended a hand to her friend.

“Quinn McNeill,” he introduced himself.

“Jasmine Jackson. I’m the best friend as well as the publicist. And total keeper of all her secrets.” Her grip was firm and professional, and her eyes made it clear she knew full well about their ruse. “Shall we have a seat so I can go over my suggestions for the two of you?”

“Of course. Right this way.” He gestured toward the table he’d secured in the back. Jasmine went first, and he palmed the small of Sofia’s back to guide her along. Having his hands on her again made him realize how much he’d looked forward to acting out the part of fiancé.

He claimed the seat beside Sofia while Jasmine took the spot across from them and set down the leather binder on the maple surface between them.

“I’ve made copies of my ideal social calendar for both of you.” She slid matching papers their way. “I’ve already sent Sofia the digital file so she can forward it to you, Quinn.”