Mister Diamond

by Chance Carter

  “Good morning,” she said. “Sleep well?”

  I cocked a suspicious brow. “What is it?”

  Bertie reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a small blue box. “I’m sorry Nik,” she said. “I don’t know what this woman’s problem is.”

  Another rejection. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I should be annoyed, but I wasn’t. I was relieved. My bachelorhood was hanging on by a tired thread but it was hanging on, and I’d get to return those panties to Gemma after all. Maybe she’d even leave me a different pair this time.

  “You don’t look upset,” Bertie said.

  I shrugged. “What’s the point?” I grabbed the box and tossed it in my palm. “Anything else before I head into my office?”

  Bertie shook her head. “Just that Alexander Holt cancelled your lunch meeting and rescheduled for next week.”

  “Good.” My lips slipped up into a small smile. “I can run this back to Tiffany’s on my lunch.”

  Bertie clearly held suspicions about why I was in such a good mood, but didn’t question me. She was good like that.

  * * *

  By the time noon finally rolled around, I was buzzing with energy. The thought of seeing Gemma had made it almost impossible to focus on my morning’s work and I only hoped that I’d have an easier time in the afternoon. I said goodbye to Bertie on the way out, striding with confidence out of the building and down the boulevard.

  Would she be surprised to see me? Probably. But would she be happy?

  I hoped so.

  There were a few customers milling around the glass cases in Tiffany’s when I entered, and Gemma leaned over the top of one of the cases while she talked with a young couple. The other sales associate eyed me up when I entered but I hung back, keeping an eye on Gemma. I would wait here my whole lunch if I had to. I’d wait forever.

  It didn’t take long for Gemma to notice my presence. It was like she had an antenna tuned into my frequency, because I was barely inside the shop for a minute when her eyes snapped on mine and she froze midway through handing the young woman the ring to try on. Her hair fell partway over her face but I saw blood flood her cheeks all the same. I could tell that the whole time she helped the couple she was acutely aware of my presence, and I loved having that effect on her. Especially because she had the same effect on me.

  It felt like forever before she finished, but was probably no more than five minutes. I approached the case as the couple left together and smiling brightly.

  “Hey,” Gemma greeted. “Uh, got another ring for me?”

  I’d forgotten all about the discarded engagement ring in my pocket. I pulled it out and slid it over the counter. I would spend the rest of my life exchanging rings every few days if it prolonged the inevitable and allowed me to keep seeing Gemma.

  “At this point I just want you to surprise me,” I said. “Obviously, me choosing hasn’t done the trick.”

  “I guess not.” She avoided my eyes when she spoke, and her smile felt fake. Unease settled in my gut.

  I lowered my voice. “You left something at my place.”

  Gemma’s eyes widened in alarm and she looked to her left and right, but nobody was close enough to have overheard me. She chewed on her bottom lip.

  “Yeah, uh, you can just throw those out,” she said.

  “Why don’t you just come over tonight and get them?”

  Our eyes met and her lips parted with longing. I recognized the desire flooding her bones because I felt the same thing. Craved the same release.

  “Come on, Gemma,” I begged when she still hadn’t answered. “I can’t just get rid of them.”

  “I don’t think it would be a good idea.” She moved down to the next case and pulled out a ring, seemingly at random. To be fair, that was what I requested.

  Plopping it in front of me, she waited for my approval. I barely even glanced at the thing before nodding.

  I wanted to press the issue of her coming over a little more, but noticed another customer waiting close behind me. Now wasn’t the time. I watched Gemma as she processed the exchange, waiting for her to smile at me the way she used to, but her features were drawn tight into something like despair.

  As she handed me the bag, our hands brushed. I leaned in a little. “I’m going to give my doorman instructions to let you straight up,” I whispered. “In case you change your mind.”

  Gemma’s expression flickered, and then she plastered on her best customer service smile. “Thank you. Have a good rest of your day.”

  I rankled at her dismissal. I knew she had a job to do and didn’t blame her, but now that our relationship had progressed to more than just customer and employee, I hated to see it backslide. I didn’t want her false smiles and fake wishes. I wanted her on my bed, so twisted with pleasure that she forgot her own name.

  I headed back to my office, a dark cloud hanging overhead. Would she change her mind? Would tonight find her at my door, wearing the smile she’d worn the morning she woke up in my arms?

  I had a long day ahead of me and I’d never get through if I didn’t put the issue to bed for now. Maybe Gemma would come tonight. Maybe I’d never see her again. I ignored the stab in my gut that second thought got me. I had work to do.

  Back at the office, I tossed the ring onto Bertie’s desk. “Courier that for me, will you?”

  She snuck a look inside the box and her jaw dropped. “Nik. It’s gorgeous.”

  I shrugged and walked past her.

  I stayed late at the office since it took me longer than usual to prepare what should have been a routine report. I couldn’t stop thinking about Gemma, wondering when and if I’d see her again. The thought of doing so was bittersweet, and I couldn’t tell whether it leaned more toward the bitter or the sweet. If my father hadn’t slapped me with this engagement, I never would have met Gemma. On the other hand—I was engaged. Almost.

  I was exhausted by the time I reached my penthouse, and I looked forward to winding down with a drink. Fate had other ideas.

  I made it about five steps into my home before I realized I wasn’t alone. Soft classical music floated back to me from the living room, and I wondered if Dex was going through a new phase. He hadn’t been at the top of my good list lately, but I could use the company tonight if nothing else.

  I walked into the living room, ready to accost my best friend for invading my home again, and stopped.

  Fyodor Orlov sat in my high-backed armchair, a glass of champagne bubbling in one of his hands. He stared out the plate glass window, his perpetual frown in place and the lines of his forehead deeper than I’d ever seen them. His suit was perfectly pressed. His gaze casually moved from the window to me. He brought the glass to his lips.

  “Working late?” he asked.

  Fyodor spoke quietly. He could yell with the best of them, but his speaking voice was so tame it was almost gentle. I’d watched enough people make the mistake of letting his voice lull them into complacency before and it wasn’t a mistake I ever made myself. There was steel under those words, so sharp you’d discover you had a dozen cuts before you ever felt the first sting.

  I ignored my father’s question. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

  Father looked out the window again with eyes like chunks of black ice. “If you only put as much devotion into your marriage as you did your job, I wouldn’t be here.”

  There it was. The jagged edges of his words sank into my skin and I ground my teeth.

  “I’m trying,” I said, stalking over to stand in front of him. “Valentina rejects every ring I send her. Why is nobody taking her to the cleaner’s?”

  Fyodor straightened his tie and rose to his feet. He was shorter than me, but not by much, and he wore confidence like a designer suit. There was a reason he easily intimidated every person he met. Sometimes even I fell into that category, but not anymore. I was tired of his shit, tired of him dangling his approval just out of my reach and laughing while I scrambled for it.


  “Trying, eh?” He pulled a scrap of red fabric from his breast pocket. I recognized Gemma’s panties and my jaw twitched.

  “I’m not engaged yet,” I said.

  Fyodor’s eyes fell on the fabric and he ran his tongue over his front teeth. “No, you’re not,” he said. “But obviously these didn’t come from a one night stand. You had them washed.”

  “Did you come all the way from Russia just to snoop around my home and remind me of what I already know?” I asked, bitterness rising into my tone. “I’m getting married. I understand that.”

  Fyodor exploded, rage bruising his face a deep shade of purple. “And you’re fucking everything up!” He tossed the panties on the floor, eyes narrowing at me. “I came all the way from Russia because you obviously cannot be trusted to close this deal! Do you think I want to be here?”

  “That makes two of us.”

  Fyodor’s lip curled in agitation. “The time for fooling around is over. Once you’re with Valentina, you’ll be expected to be faithful. Otherwise her father could renege.”

  “Again, I think you could have said all this in a phone call.” I stalked to the kitchen. I needed a drink.

  My father followed, the soles of his shoes snapping against the hardwood. “I could have, but I wanted the option to smack you if I felt the need.”

  Worst part was, he wasn’t joking.

  “You said what you needed to say,” I muttered coldly, grabbing a beer from the fridge. “So either smack me or leave.”

  Fyodor crossed his arms. “Did you buy a new ring?”

  “Of course.” I took a drink and swirled the taste of hops around my mouth. “I had it couriered this afternoon.”

  “Cancel it.”

  My brow furrowed. “What?”

  “Cancel the courier,” he said. “Get the ring back.”

  “I don’t understand you at all,” I said shaking my head. “Why the hell would I do that?”

  His lip curled into something that could have been a snarl or could have even passed for a smile. It was always hard to tell with my father.

  “Because Valentina is on her way here,” he said. “You can propose to her in person.”

  Chapter 14

  Dominik

  My heart stopped. I realized then that this whole time I hadn’t really accepted what was happening to me, hadn’t come to terms with my future. Meeting Valentina would make it all real. Hell, the realization that I was soon to meet Valentina made it real enough.

  “No.”

  The word fell from my lips with the weight of a stone, but so naturally it could have been a breath.

  “No?” Fyodor questioned in that soft, cruel tone of his.

  “No.” I shook my head and took a hearty swig of beer. “I’m not doing it. I won’t marry her.”

  It felt good to say, but even better to mean. I’d tried to tell him no before, but this time felt different.

  My words floated to him on a cloud of conviction. Fyodor gritted his teeth so hard it was a wonder they didn’t break.

  “You insolent child,” he said, releasing a string of Russian curse words. “I’ve given you everything. This apartment. Your career. Your goddamn fucking life—they’re all because of me. And now you want to defy me, just as I finally call in what I am owed?”

  “What you’re owed?” I spat. “I’ve worked my ass off for the family business since I was old enough to read. Don’t act like I’m a burden.”

  “Then don’t be one!” he yelled. “If you don’t marry Valentina Petrokov, I will personally ensure you lose everything. Your job. Your fortune. The future you are so pissy about trying to protect. Gone.”

  We stared at each other in silence. I had nothing left to say to him.

  Fyodor ran his hands over his suit jacket, brushing out wrinkles that weren’t there. “Valentina’s flight arrives tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll send a car to pick you up and take you.” His voice was quiet again. “Make sure you get in it.”

  His final threat hanging precariously in the air above my head, Fyodor showed himself out of my apartment. The second the door slammed shut behind him, I sank onto one of the stools at the kitchen island and downed the rest of my beer.

  What the hell was I going to do? I stood on a precipice, and if I chose to leap I would fall into darkness, yet the only way out was the maze my father had finely mapped out for the rest of my life. Either I married Valentina or I lost everything. But how much did I stand to lose if I married Valentina?

  Frustration sparked through my muscles. I felt restless. I wanted more than anything to speak to Gemma, but I knew that I couldn’t. Especially not now. Not about this.

  I picked up the phone and called Dexter instead.

  “Dexter’s House of Sin,” he answered sweetly.

  I wasn’t in the mood. “I need to talk to you.”

  His reply came hesitantly. “I’m working on something.”

  Dexter tended to fall face first into his work, which was something I respected about him. Except right now I needed him. How many times had I put my life on hold to help him out?

  “It’s important,” I said.

  “Sure,” he replied. “Come on over.”

  I hung up and grabbed my coat on my way out the door, hailing a taxi and giving them directions to Dexter’s loft. I didn’t go over to his place often. I didn’t need to, not when he seemed to be on my couch half of the time. Plus, there was always the chance that I’d get paint on some of my clothes, since there always seemed to be something inside his apartment that still wasn’t dry.

  I took the aging elevator to the top floor of Dexter’s building and knocked on his door. He answered holding a flat paintbrush covered in dark blue paint. I noticed some of it was in his hair.

  “Come right on in and tell Dexter all about it,” he said, ushering me in.

  As always, the open plan space smelled of paint and dust. I never understood how Dexter lived without walls. The main floor of his apartment had a kitchen backed up on one wall, a sagging sofa on another, and a set of stairs leading to the bedroom and bathroom at the far end. The area in the middle was his studio. I walked cautiously between canvases, around sculptures, and under an electric blue set of wind chimes hanging on a long rope from the ceiling.

  I stopped in front of the canvas he was obviously working on and turned my head, admiring the blend of blues and purples and wondering what they were meant to be.

  “It’s going to be a nebula,” Dex informed me, chewing the end of his paintbrush. “With a boat.”

  “A boat?”

  “Yeah.” He said nodding absently. “A big oil tanker.” He reached out and flicked the end of his brush against the canvas, and I could tell I was already losing him.

  “My father came to visit me today,” I said.

  That got his attention. “What the hell is dear old Dad doing in New York?”

  “He came to berate me for not picking out the perfect ring for my bride-to-be.” I chewed my lip. “We had a fight. I told him I wasn’t going to do it.”

  Dexter nodded, cocking his head to the side as he mixed some blue and purple paint on the pallet next to him. “I’m happy for you. It’s about time you showed him who’s boss.”

  “You don’t get it,” I said. “You don’t just fight with Fyodor Orlov. He destroys people.”

  “You’re his son,” Dex said with a flick of his brush. “He’ll get over it.”

  I doubted that. He still hadn’t gotten over my greatest fault—killing my mother. If I did this, if I severed all the business ties between us, we would have nothing left.

  “What do you think so far?” he said. “This painting is going to be the star of Rambo Macintosh’s art show in two weeks. At least, as long as Gabriel doesn’t bring another of his disturbingly provocative sculptures. I haven’t drawn the ship in yet so you’ll have to use that fantastic imagination of yours.”

  “It looks great,” I said. “I’m just so fucking frustrated, Dex. I’m screwed no matte
r what I do.”

  He stared hard at the canvas, chewing the end of the paintbrush. “I mean, it’s not like you were ever going to marry the broad anyway.”

  “What? Of course I was.”

  “Were you though?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and tapping the end of the brush against his nose.

  Why couldn’t he understand how big of a deal this was? He made it out like it was some little father/son spat instead of a life changing decision.

  “Dexter, can you just fucking look at me for a second?” I bit out.

  He lowered the brush and turned to face me. Irritation tugged at his features, which surprised me. It wasn’t an expression I saw very often on him. It pissed me off.

  “Oh, so you’re pissed at me now?” I growled. “I let you drag me along to weird parties. I listen while you complain about the trials and tribulation of being an artist, and wax poetic about every fucking shrub we pass, but the second I need you to listen and act like you give a shit it’s too much for you?”

  His eyes flashed. “That was uncalled for.”

  “No, it’s a dose of fucking reality.”

  It probably was uncalled for, and somewhere in the back of my mind it registered that I was being crueler than I needed to be, but I couldn’t stop. My anger at Dexter had cracked open a vent and now everything was coming out. Whether I wanted it to or not.

  “You don’t understand me and you never have,” I said. “You think I have it so easy, just because I was born into money. In a lot of ways I do, but not in this one. Right now, if I don’t decide to marry the woman my father has picked out for me, I’m going to lose everything, but you act like that’s nothing. It’s my whole life, Dexter. Everything I’ve worked for. And maybe that doesn’t mean a lot to you, because material possessions are so bourgeois and caring about the future is passé, but I live in the real world.”

  I had his full attention now. Dexter ran his tongue over his lower lip, barely missing a spot of purple paint on his chin. His eyes swam with anger and hurt. I couldn’t look at him anymore.

  “I should have never come here,” I muttered, turning and heading for the door.