Joanne Rock - What The Magnate Wants

“The way we will be on Friday.” At the reception for Idris Fortier. Her first real public appearance with Quinn as a couple, and it would be a major moment in her career.

Butterflies fluttered through her belly at the thought of being on this man’s arm all evening. Feeling his hand at her waist or grazing her hip through a thin evening gown.

Pretending to be in love.

Her lips tingled as she wondered if he would kiss her.

“Yes.” His gaze dipped to her mouth as if he could read her mind. “I’m already looking forward to it.”

Seven

Tossing generous handfuls of Epsom salt into the tub, Sofia ran the hot water, anticipating the effects of the bath. Her muscles ached and it was only Wednesday.

As she let the water fill the tub, she pumped toning soap onto her hands and then her face, before splashing water from the faucet to wash away a day of sweat and stress. A candle flickered on the sink’s countertop, sending a soothing scent of lavender into the air. When she was a small girl, her mother would always burn lavender candles after a long day. Although only a small connection to life before her mom passed away, the fragrance still relaxed her.

And she needed that now more than ever.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

Washing the rest of the soap from her face, Sofia tried to focus on preparing for the private audition for Idris Fortier in less than a week. That should be her sole thought.

But instead thoughts of Quinn pushed into her head. It had been two nights since they’d walked through the park and a day since her interview with Dance magazine where she’d relayed the love story she and Quinn had manufactured. The details seemed all too real. And she kept replaying their brief time together. His lips, his touch. How she was attracted to him, though she knew better.

Even after her bath, she was frustrated as hell. She stepped out of the tub, water dripping from her body onto a bath mat, and tested her knee carefully. And, thank heaven, it held. It felt better if not perfect. She shrugged on a short, fluffy bathrobe and yanked the tie into a knot.

Patting her face dry with a semi-plush hand towel, she examined her reflection in the mirror. She could do this. She could nail the audition and be the star that Idris Fortier wanted for his next ballet. That connection would do so much for her. Give her career legs after her physical ones quit giving her the lift and height she needed on her jumps.

Stashed on the corner of the countertop was a collection of reviews from the most reputable critics about Fortier’s last ballet. Jasmine had sent this particular stack over to her apartment. When Sofia had an audition on her radar, she always poured over press releases and reviews, trying to glean a better sense of her audience.

Sifting through the documents once more, a headline caught her eye.

Affair.

She eased herself down onto the edge of the tub and put her feet back in the water as she devoured the article. Apparently the choreographer had had an affair with the star of his last production. The weight of that information unsettled her.

Her phone chirped, startling her. Pulling it out of the pocket of her robe, she glanced at the screen.

Quinn.

“Hello.” Heart fluttering, she felt a mixture of excitement and nerves crash in her chest.

“Hello, Sofia.” His voice incited a flush of warmth over her skin beneath the robe.

“Quinn.” His name felt like an endearment on her tongue. “Hello,” she said again. To cover her surprise.

She closed her eyes and saw him there—with her—in the tub. Her mouth went dry.

“I thought you might like an update about the matchmaker situation,” he continued.

Something that felt an awful lot like disappointment pounded in tandem with her heartbeat. Had she really just wanted him to call for no reason? If this faux engagement was going to work, she’d have to keep her emotions in check.

“Of course. Tell me.” The news clipping about Idris’s affair was still in her hand; she stared at it while Quinn’s baritone voice filled the speaker, willing her pulse back to normal.

She hadn’t called her father since announcing her engagement at the airport, despite how angry she’d been with him at the time. That night, she’d been too exhausted to do battle with him, and Quinn had told her he would take care of making sure her dating profile was removed from wherever it had been posted.

“I’m not sure if I mentioned that Cameron’s matchmaker is Mallory West. He contacted her for an explanation the day after he proposed to you.”

The name meant nothing to Sofia, but as her dancing peers had noted, she wasn’t part of the Manhattan singles scene.

“Did she say where she got my flight information?” She had thought about that more than once. How could Cameron’s matchmaker have known her arrival time in New York, while her father claimed to be ignorant of Cam’s appointment to meet her?

She dipped her hand into the bubbles in the tub, skimming her fingers across the soapy tops.

“She told Cameron she would look into it.” Quinn’s voice was as potent as his touch. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine him beside her. “But since then, her phone has been disconnected and her email generates an autoreply that she’s out of the country on an extended trip.”

Sofia forced her eyes open, thinking about that bit of peculiar news. Her cheeks puffed with a hefty exhale. “What do you think it means?”

“For now, it simply means that she is a dead end in our hunt for information. I’m sorry, Sofia. But I will continue having my IT technician hunt for any sign of her online. And, for what it’s worth, he’s seen no traces of a dating profile for you online, so I think the matchmaker your father hired made good on her promise to pull it down.”

“At least that part is good news.” She really needed to call her father and ask him more about the situation herself, if only to find out whom he’d hired to help her with her dating prospects. She would feel better once she told that person in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t interested.

“It is. And we’ll figure out the rest of it, Sofia,” Quinn assured her before his tone shifted and his voice got lower. “But that isn’t the only thing we have to figure out.”

“No?” Sensations tripped down her spine at that sexy rasp in his voice. “What else should we be discussing?”

A half laugh sounded from the other end of the call and nothing else, no background noise, just him. He must be somewhere private. Alone. “Something more fun. So, Sofia, what kind of dress should I buy you to wow and woo the crowds at Idris Fortier’s reception on Friday? Do you have a favorite boutique?”

Buy her a dress? The gesture was sweet. But it was too much. Far too much.

“That is kind of you, but definitely not necessary.” Still, she imagined what he would choose for her. What it would be like to slide on a garment handpicked by Quinn?

“I’ll take you shopping anywhere you’d like.”

She tried not to think about the beautiful things a man like Quinn McNeill could afford.

“You are thoughtful, Quinn, but I can’t accept more gifts.” She felt guilty enough about wearing that massive diamond on her left hand, but he’d convinced her the ring was a necessity. “And I already have something in mind.” She didn’t mean for her voice to sound so clipped.

“Are you nervous?” he pressed, the deep tones of his whiskey-rich voice warming her moist body.

Her instincts kicked in; she could tell he was interested. He actually wanted to know.

“A bit. I... I just...” Her voice trailed off. Social gatherings and big parties were not her thing. She disliked superficial small talk, preferring meatier conversations.