by Teri Wilson
He had a point. Less than a year ago, Artem had been the one on the cover of Page Six. He’d been photographed with a different woman every night. Now he was a candidate for father of the year.
Moreover, Diana had never seen a couple more in love than Artem and Ophelia. It was almost enough to restore her faith in marriage.
But not quite.
It would take more than her two brothers finding marital bliss to erase the memory of their father’s numerous indiscretions.
It wasn’t just the affairs. It was the way he’d made no effort whatsoever to hide them from their mother. He’d expected her to accept it. To smile and look away. And she had.
Right up until the day she died.
She’d been just forty years old when Diana found her lifeless body on the living room floor. Still young, still beautiful. The doctors had been baffled. They’d been unable to find a reason for her sudden heart attack. But to Diana, the reason was obvious.
Her mother had died of a broken heart.
Was it any wonder she thought marriage was a joke? She was beyond screwed up when it came to relationships. How damaged must she have been to intentionally throw herself at a man who was famous for treating women as if they were disposable?
Diana squeezed her eyes shut.
Why did Franco have to come strutting back into her life now, while she was her most vulnerable? Before her accident, she could have handled him. She could have handled anything.
She opened her eyes. “Please, Artem. I just really, really don’t want to do this.”
He nodded. “I see. You’d rather spend all day, every day, slaving away in Engagements than attend a few parties with Franco. Understood. Sorry I brought it up.”
He waved a hand toward the dreaded Engagements showroom down the hall. “Go ahead and get to work.”
Diana didn’t move a muscle. “Wait. Are you saying that if I play the part of Franco’s fake girlfriend by night, I won’t have to peddle engagement rings by day?”
She’d assumed her position in Engagements was still part of the plan. This changed things.
She swallowed. She still couldn’t do it. She’d never last a single evening in Franco’s company, much less twenty-one of them.
Could she?
“Of course you wouldn’t have to do both.” Artem gestured toward the newspapers spread across his desk. “This would be a job, just like any other in the company.”
She narrowed her gaze and steadfastly refused to look at the picture again. “What kind of job involves going to black-tie parties every night?”
“Vice president of public relations. I did it for years. The job is yours now, if you want it.” He smiled. “You asked me to find something else for you to do, remember? Moving from the sales floor to a VP position is a meteoric rise.”
When he put it that way, it didn’t sound so bad. Vice president of public relations sounded pretty darn good, actually.
Finally. This was the kind of opportunity she’d been waiting for. She just never dreamed that Franco Andrade would be part of the package.
“I want a pay increase,” she blurted.
What was she doing?
“Done.” Artem’s grin spread wide.
She wasn’t seriously considering accepting the job though, was she? No. She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. No amount of money was worth her dignity.
But there was one thing that might make participating in the farce worthwhile...
“And if it works, I want to be promoted.” She pasted on her sweetest smile. “Again.”
Artem’s brows rose. “You’re going to have to be more specific. Besides, vice president is pretty high on the food chain around here.”
“I’m aware. But this diamond gala is really important. You said so yourself.”
Artem’s smile faded. Just a bit. “That’s right.”
“If I do my part and Drake Diamonds is chosen as the jewelry house to cut the giant diamond and if everything goes off with a hitch at the Met’s diamond gala, I think I deserve to take Dalton’s place.” She cleared her throat. “I want to be named co-CEO.”
Artem didn’t utter a word at first. He just sat and stared at her as if she’d sprouted another head.
Great. She’d pushed too far.
VP was a massive career leap. She should have jumped at the opportunity to put all the love-struck brides and grooms in the rearview mirror and left it at that.
“That’s a bold request for someone with no business experience,” he finally said.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t vice president of public relations the only position you held at Drake Diamonds before our father died and appointed you his successor as CEO?” Did Artem really think she’d been so busy at horse shows that she had no clue what had gone on between these Drake-blue walls the past few years?
Still, what was she saying? He’d never buy into this.
He let out an appreciative laugh. “You’re certainly shrewd enough for the job.”
She grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“As you should.” He sighed, looked at her for a long, loaded moment and nodded. “Okay. It works for me.”
She waited for some indication that he was joking, but it never came.
Her heart hammered hard in her chest. “Don’t tease me, Artem. It’s been kind of a rough day.”
And it was about to get rougher.
If she and Artem had actually come to an agreement, that meant she was going out with Franco Andrade tonight. By choice.
She needed to have her head examined.
“I’m not teasing. You made a valid point. I didn’t know anything about being a CEO when I stepped into the position. I learned. You will, too.” He held up a finger. A warning. “But only if you deliver. Drake Diamonds must be chosen to cut the stone and cosponsor the Met Diamond gala.”
“No problem.” She beamed at him.
For the first time since she’d fallen off her horse, she felt whole. Happy. She was building a new future for herself.
In less than a month, she’d be co-CEO. No more passing out petit fours. No more engagement rings. She’d never have to look at another copy of Bride magazine for as long as she lived!
Better yet, she wouldn’t have to answer any more questions about when she was going to start riding again. Every time she turned around, it seemed someone was asking her about her riding career. Had she gotten a new horse? Was she ready to start showing again?
Diana wasn’t anywhere close to being ready. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready.
Co-CEO was a big job. A huge responsibility—huge enough that it just might make people forget she’d once dreamed of going to the Olympics. If she was running the company alongside Artem, no one would expect her to compete anymore. It was the perfect solution.
She just had to get through the next twenty-one days first.
“Go home.” Artem nodded toward his office door. “Rest up and get ready for tonight.”
Tonight. A fancy party. The Waldorf Astoria. Franco.
She swallowed. “Everything will be fine.”
Artem lifted a brow.
Had she really said that out loud?
“I know it will, because it’s your job to make sure everything is fine,” Artem said. “And for the record, there’s not a doubt in my mind that your virtue is safe. You can hold your own, Diana. You just talked your way into a co-CEO job. From where I’m standing, if there’s anyone who has reason to be afraid, it’s Mr. Andrade.”
He was right. She’d done that, hadn’t she?
She could handle a few hours in Franco’s company.
“I think you’re right.”
God, she hoped so.
Chapter Five
&n
bsp; Franco leaned inside the Drake limo and did a double take when he saw Diana staring at him impassively from its dark interior.
“Buenas noches.”
He’d expected the car to pick him up first and then take him to Diana’s apartment so he could collect her. Like a proper date. But technically this wasn’t a date, even though it already felt like one.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d dressed in a tuxedo and escorted a woman to a party. Despite his numerous exploits, Franco didn’t often date. He arrived at events solo, and when the night was over he left with a woman on his arm. Sometimes several. Hours later, he typically went home alone. He rarely shared a bed with the same woman more than once, and he never spent the night. Ever.
In fact, the last woman who’d woken up beside him had been Diana Drake.
“Good evening, yourself,” she said, without bothering to give him more than a cursory glance.
That would have to change once they arrived at the gala. Lovers looked at each other. They touched each other. Hell, if Diana was his lover, Franco wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her.
This isn’t real.
He slid onto the smooth leather seat beside her.
It wasn’t real, but it felt real. It even looked real.
Diana was dressed in a strapless chiffon gown, midnight blue, with a dangerously low, plunging neckline. A glittering stone rested between her breasts. A sapphire. The sapphire necklace from the photo shoot.
“Please stop staring.” She turned and met his gaze. At last.
Franco’s body hardened the instant his eyes fixed on hers. As exquisite as the sapphire around her neck was, it didn’t hold a candle to the luminescent violet depths of those eyes. “You’re lovely.”
She stared at him coldly. “Save it for the cameras, would you? There’s no one here. You can drop the act.”
“It’s not an act. You look beautiful.” He swallowed. Hard. “That’s quite a dress.”
He was used to seeing her in riding clothes, not like this. He couldn’t seem to look away.
What are you, a teenager? Grow up, Andrade.
“Seriously, stop.” The car sped through a tunnel, plunging them into darkness. But the shadows couldn’t hide the slight tremor in her voice. “Just stop it, would you? I know we’re supposed to be madly in love with each other in public. But in private, can we keep things professional? Please?”
Something about the way she said please grabbed Franco by the throat and refused to let go.
Had he really been so awful to her all those years ago?
Yes. He had.
Still, she’d been better off once he’d pushed her away, whether she’d realized it or not. She was an heiress. The real deal. And Franco wasn’t the type of man she’d bring home.
Never had been, never would be.
“Professional. Got it,” he said to the back of her head. It felt more like he was talking to himself than to Diana.
She’d turned away again, keeping her gaze fixed on the scenery outside the car window. The lights of the city rushed past, framing her silhouette in a dizzying halo of varying hues of gold.
They sat in stony silence down the lavish length of Park Avenue. The air in the limo felt so thick he was practically choking on it. Franco refrained from pointing out that refusing to either look at him or speak to him in something other than monosyllables was hardly professional.
Why the hell had she agreed to this arrangement, anyway? Neither one of them should be sitting in the back of a limo on the way to some boring gala. They both belonged on horseback. Franco knew why he wasn’t training right now, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what Diana was doing working for her family business.
He was almost grateful when his phone chimed with an incoming text message, giving him something to focus on. Not looking at Diana was becoming more impossible by the second. She was stunning, even in her fury.
He slid his cell out of the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket and looked at the screen.
A message from Luc. Again.
Ellis still isn’t budging.
Franco’s jaw clenched. That information wasn’t exactly breaking news. If he’d held out any hope of the team owner changing his mind before the end of the day, he wouldn’t be sitting beside the diamond ice princess right now.
Still, he didn’t particularly enjoy dwelling on the dismal state of his career.
He moved to slip the phone back inside his pocket, but it chimed again.
This has gone on long enough.
And again.
I can’t let you do this. I’m telling him the truth.
Damn it all to hell.
Franco tapped out a response...
Let it go. What’s done is done. I have everything under control.
Beside him, Diana cleared her throat. “Lining up your date for the evening?”
Franco looked up and found her regarding him through narrowed eyes. She shot a meaningful glance at his phone.
So, she didn’t like the thought of him texting other women? Interesting.
“You’re my date for the evening, remember?” He wasn’t texting another woman, obviously. But she didn’t need to know that. He hardly owed her an explanation.
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t even pretend you’re going home alone after this.”
He powered his phone down and glanced back up at Diana. “As a matter of fact, I am. Didn’t Artem tell you? You and I are monogamous.”
She arched a brow. “Did he explain what that meant, or did you have to look it up in the dictionary?”
“You’re adorable when you’re jealous. I like it.” He was goading her, and he knew it. But at least they were speaking.
“If you think I’m jealous, you’re even more full of yourself than I thought you were.” In the darkened limousine, he could see two pink spots glowing on her cheeks. “Also, you’re completely delusional.”
He shrugged. “I disagree. Do you know why?”
“I can’t begin to imagine what’s going on inside your head. Nor would I want to.” She exhaled a breath of resignation. “Why?”
“Because nothing about this conversation—which you initiated—is professional in nature.” He deliberately let his gaze drop to the sapphire sparkling against her alabaster skin, then took a long, appreciative look at the swell of her breasts.
“You’re insatiable,” she said with a definite note of disgust.
He smiled. “Most women like that about me.”
“I’m not most women.”
“We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
The car slowed to a stop in front of the gilded entrance to the Waldorf Astoria. A red carpet covered the walkway from the curb to the gold-trimmed doors, flanked on either side by a mob of paparazzi too numerous to count.
“Miss Drake and Mr. Andrade, we’ve arrived,” the driver said.
“Thank God. I need to get out of this car.” Diana reached for the door handle, but her violet eyes grew wide. “Oh, wait. I almost forgot.”
She opened her tiny, beaded clutch, removed a Drake-blue box and popped it open. The black diamond cuff links from the photo shoot glittered in the velvety darkness.
She handed them to Franco as the driver climbed out of the car. “Put these on. Quickly.”
He slid one into place on his shirt cuff, but left the other in the palm of his hand.
“What are you doing? Hurry.” Diana was borderline panicking. The back door clicked open, and the driver extended his hand toward her and waited.
“Go ahead, it’s showtime.” Franco loosened his tie and winked. “Trust me, Wildfire.”
She stretched one foot out of the car, aimed a dazzling smile at the waiting photographers and muttered under h
er breath, “You realize that’s asking the impossible.”
Franco gathered the soft chiffon hem of her gown and helped her out of the limo. They stepped from the quiet confines of the car into a frenzy of clicking camera shutters and blinding light.
He dropped a kiss on Diana’s bare shoulder and made a show of fastening the second cuff link in place. A collective gasp rose from the assembled crowd of spectators.
He lowered his lips to Diana’s ear. “I have everything under control.”
I have everything under control.
Maybe if he repeated it enough times, it would be true.
* * *
The man is an evil genius.
Diana hadn’t been sure what Franco had up his sleeve until she felt his lips brush against her shoulder.
The kiss caught her distinctly off guard, and as her head whipped around to look at him, she saw him fastening his cuff link. He curved his arm around her waist, murmured in her ear and she finally understood. He’d purposely delayed sliding the diamonds into position on his shirt cuff so it looked as though he was only just getting dressed, no doubt because their arrival at the gala had caught them in flagrante delicto.
The press ate it up.
Evil genius. Most definitely.
“Diana, how long have you and Franco been dating?”
“Diana, who are you wearing?”
“Look over here, Diana! Smile for the camera.”
Photographers shouted things from every direction.
She didn’t know where to look, so she bowed her head as Franco steered her deftly through the frenzied crowd with his hand planted protectively on the small of her back.
“What’s the diamond heiress like in bed, Franco?” a paparazzo yelled.
Diana’s head snapped up.
“Don’t let them get to you,” Franco whispered.
“I’m fine,” she lied. The whole scene was madness. “But if you answer that question, I will murder you.”
“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
Their eyes met briefly in the chaos, and if Diana hadn’t known better, she would have believed he was being serious.
Suddenly, the thought of doing this for twenty-one straight days seemed absurd. Absurd and wholly impossible.
