The Magnate's Mail-Order Bride

by Joanne Rock

  “There’s too much at stake now. It’s not only your career or your father’s threats to McNeill Resorts’ European acquisitions.” His arms went around her, but the temperature in the room had cooled considerably. For her, at least. He didn’t seem to realize the effect his words had as he continued. “My name is on a hedge fund. My clients could pull billions of dollars out if they don’t trust my word.”

  She let the realizations roll over her, remembering all the times her mother had warned her to follow her passions and not chase material successes. As much as she’d tried to do that, she still found herself naked in the arms of a man who would always put his fortune first. It was a timely reminder not to wade any deeper into her feelings for Quinn.

  But that didn’t stop the truth from cutting deep.

  Ten

  Two days later, Quinn paced around his personal library at the McNeill Fund headquarters in the Financial District, one floor above the McNeill Resorts’ offices.

  His brother Ian had returned from Singapore earlier in the week. After giving him a day to recover from the trip, Quinn had asked for his help tracking down Mallory West to ask her some follow-up questions after Cameron’s too brief interview with her. Ian had texted both Cameron—returned that morning from Kiev—and Quinn to meet this afternoon to share new information that concerned them both.

  Now, with Ian leaning a hip on the front of Quinn’s massive desk and Cameron commanding the leather executive chair behind it, Quinn stood at the window looking out over the view of the city, the Woolworth Building in the foreground with other towers stretching as far he could see in the wintry, gray haze.

  “So is it true that Mallory West closed up shop?” Cameron asked, pushing back from the desk to test the range of positions available on Quinn’s leather chair. “When I spoke to her the last time—”

  “That wasn’t her you talked to.” Ian slanted a glance at their younger brother over his shoulder. Closer in height to Quinn than Cameron, Ian had more of their Brazilian mother’s coloring—dark eyes and deeper skin tone—but the shape of his face and features echoed the rest of the McNeills.

  His clothes were the most casual today—dark jeans with a gray blazer and a button-down. But that was normal since Ian spent most of his time on job sites around the globe.

  “Dude. I think I know who I talked to.” Cameron smoothed a hand over his bright blue-and-yellow tie that was as unconventional as the wearer. He might sport a Brooks Brothers suit, but his socks were usually straight out of a Crayola box or else covered with weird graphics from video games. “It was the same woman who spoke to me the first time. Who was helping me find a wife.”

  “Right,” Ian told him dryly. “First of all, you don’t order a wife the same way you get a snack from the room service menu. Second, the woman you spoke to on both occasions was Mallory’s assistant, Kinley.”

  “She lied to me?” Cameron stopped messing with the settings on the chair and sat straighter.

  Quinn pivoted back toward the room, giving Ian his full attention.

  “Kinley has been lying to all of Mallory’s clients for nearly a year—almost since the inception of Mallory’s debut as a matchmaker—impersonating her employer to protect the woman’s real identity.” Ian hitched his leg higher on the desk so he could face his brothers better. “I’m trying to trace her real identity now. But I wonder if part of the reason the matchmaking service closed down was because something went wrong with Cameron’s date.”

  “But the more relevant question is where did Sofia’s contact information originate, and who would have added her to the web site that Cameron viewed?” Quinn asked. “The obvious answer is that it was the matchmaker her father hired, but Vitaly swears the woman he hired speaks little English and was tasked to find a Ukrainian husband for Sofia through personal connections, not online.” Quinn wanted to bring reassurance to Sofia after the way things had ended on a strained note two nights ago.

  He’d run through the events dozens of times in his mind, trying to pinpoint exactly when her attitude toward him had shifted from red-hot interest back to overly cautious regard. Was it simple morning-after awkwardness? Or had he upset her and not realized it? Whatever it was, he had the sense they’d taken one step forward and two steps back after the Fortier reception.

  She certainly hadn’t liked the idea of marriage. And he wasn’t any more eager to go down that path than her, even if it would fulfill his end of his grandfather’s will. But if he had to marry to help Sofia with damage control in the press? Then he’d be an idiot not to at least stick with the marriage for a calendar year to take that family pressure off him.

  “Are you kidding? If the woman doesn’t speak English, it’s all the more likely she was confused about what she posted online.” Cameron folded his arms on the desk and pulled himself forward on the wheeled chair. “Talk to Koslov’s matchmaker and your problem is solved.”

  “Possibly.” Quinn regretted exploring this end of the matchmaking equation more when he’d already guessed it was a dead end. But how much did he dare look into the Ukrainian woman who was Vitaly Koslov’s personal friend?

  After assuring Sofia he would ask her father to make sure her dating profile was removed from circulation, Quinn had phoned Koslov, but the guy hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with much information. All Vitaly had told him was that he’d hired a close personal friend named Olena to search for a husband for Sofia. But when Quinn suggested the woman must have given out Sofia’s travel plans to a US matchmaker to relay to Cameron, Vitaly had gotten angry all over again about Cam’s public proposal.

  “I’m still going to look for Mallory West, just for the principle of the thing.” Heading over to the bookshelves, Ian tipped a silver weight that was part of a perpetual motion machine, sending the oddly shaped pendulum piece swinging and glinting in the fluorescent lights.

  “Thank you for all you’ve done.” Quinn appreciated the way his brothers came together as a family even if they didn’t always see eye to eye. “If Sofia’s father doesn’t want to come clean about the role he played in all this, I’m not sure I want to ruffle his feathers anyhow. I had one of my IT techs search for any traces of Sofia’s dating profile, and he found nothing. So I feel sure her digital privacy is intact.”

  “It’s unlike you to use company resources for something personal,” Ian noted while Cameron just grinned. And grinned.

  And grinned.

  Damn it.

  “Obviously the guy needs overtime and I’m paying him out of pocket.” Hadn’t that been clear? “And what happened in Kiev, Cam? What’s the holdup now on those hotels?”

  His brother had taken Quinn’s place at the most recent round of meetings on the Eastern European acquisitions, but no paperwork had come through for the purchase.

  “Officially, we’re waiting on some government bureau to sign off. But if you ask me, it’s an excuse they trotted out to hide the fact that Koslov is blocking the sale. His name came up more than once during the meeting.”

  Thwarted on every front, the day was going to hell in a hurry. “Why would he interfere with the deal after I made it clear I acted in his daughter’s best interests?”

  “Maybe he’s waiting to see how it all plays out,” Ian offered. “She’s not off the hook yet, especially if that reporter is hinting that she knows something about a matchmaker.”

  “Which would be his fault, not ours.” Quinn hated having to dance to the guy’s tune, but as far as the hotel deal went, clearly Sofia’s father had plenty of foreign influence.

  Quinn debated speaking to that reporter himself to get a better feel for what was going on. He could run interference for Sofia while she was auditioning since the same reporter would be covering it for her magazine.

  Besides, he wanted to see Sofia again. Soon.

  His cell phone vibrated on the desk, but
before his brothers could use the call as an excuse to leave the meeting, the Caller ID flashed their father’s name.

  “It’s Dad,” Quinn announced. “Maybe you’d better stick around.”

  Both of his brothers went stone silent. Their father communicated with them less than ever since he left the family business. He hadn’t been in New York for over a year.

  “Hi, Dad,” Quinn answered, finger hovering over the button to broadcast the call to the room. “I’m with Ian and Cam. Mind if I put you on speakerphone?”

  “No,” Liam answered, his voice sounding unusually hoarse. “That will save me having to call them, too.”

  Concerned, Quinn turned on the feature. “Is everything okay? Where are you?”

  A perpetual thrill-seeker, Liam McNeill had gotten himself into some tight spots over the years.

  “I’m in China. I figured I’d check out that Mount Hua Shan ascent since your gramps is over here anyhow.”

  Quinn hadn’t heard of it, but he knew the kinds of climbs that attracted his father’s attention. “You’re with Gramps?”

  “Not yet, but I’m heading to Shanghai now. He called me to see if I could come get him out of a local hospital.”

  All three brothers froze. Quinn could feel the tension in the room as a chill shot over his skin.

  “Why?” Ian barked into the phone. “What’s wrong?”

  “He was on a tour of the city, I guess, and the guide brought him in. There are language barrier issues, of course, but apparently they think he had a minor heart attack and they want to keep an eye on him.”

  Cameron swore quietly, speaking for every last one of them. No matter his age, Malcolm McNeill had always seemed invincible.

  “How far are you from the hospital?” Cameron asked, already loading a map on his phone.

  It occurred to Quinn, while his brothers took down the necessary information, that they had taken over his usual role as the leader. He’d froze the first moment he’d heard the word hospital.

  “Call us when you see him,” Quinn barked, finally adding to the conversation. Their father agreed to do so and ended the call.

  The three of them didn’t say much as they parted. Their father was already in China, so it wasn’t as if they needed to jump on the first plane. He’d let them know if they should come to Shanghai.

  After his brothers left, Quinn could think of only one person he wanted to see. Needed to see.

  And it wasn’t about marriage, damn it, even though honoring his grandfather’s will now seemed like something he needed to take more seriously.

  Right now, he didn’t care about that. He just wanted Sofia’s arms around him and he was too numb to think about what that might mean.

  * * *

  The night before the most important audition of Sofia’s life, the downstairs intercom buzzed.

  “Hello?” she asked, not expecting anyone and figuring it was probably a fast-food delivery guy having a hard time getting in the building. How many times had her neighbor ordered a pizza and then decided to walk her dog or get in the shower?

  “Sofia, it’s Quinn. I need to see you.” His tone set off an answering response in her body before her brain had the chance to think it through.

  But something in his voice alerted her that it was serious. This was not the sound of her tango-dancing lover or even her friend who could talk her through her nervousness. Something was wrong.

  “Of course.” She buzzed him inside and shut down the video of one of Fortier’s first ballets she’d been watching. She was dancing a piece from it for her audition, hoping to capture the mood of it better than his star had at the time.

  But now her focus shifted to Quinn, as it had so often since they’d met, and even more often since they’d shared a night together. Yes, she needed to guard her emotions more around him. Yet she couldn’t simply turn her back on their pact when it had been her idea to stay together for appearance’s sake.

  Or maybe she just really wanted to see him tonight. The idea seemed like a worrisome possibility as she checked her reflection in a mirror over the couch. Her eyes were bright and her color high. She tugged her black cashmere cardigan closer around her, covering the pink tank top she was wearing with silky, gray lounge pants.

  “Get a grip,” she reminded herself as she moved toward her front door. She was almost there when a sharp rap sounded.

  As she swung the door wide, Quinn’s gaze snapped up to meet hers. Everything about him looked tense. His flexing jaw. The flat line of his mouth. The set of his shoulders beneath a black wool coat tailored to his broad form.

  And yet some of the tension seemed to ease as he looked at her.

  “Sofia.” He didn’t step inside even though she’d made a pathway clear. “May I come in?”

  She waved him in and shut the door behind him. He brought a hint of the cold air with him and a slight hint of the aftershave that she remembered on her skin following the night they’d spent together. Like an aphrodisiac, it pulled her closer and she breathed deep for a moment while she stood behind him.

  “Can I take your coat?” Idly, she wondered what he thought of her tiny apartment as she hung the beautifully made wool garment on a simple iron coatrack she’d bought at a salvage shop in Long Island.

  She might have connections to Quinn McNeill’s extravagant world through her father, but she’d never let herself be a part of it. Last week’s ill-fated private flight aside, she paid her own way in life in spite of her father’s wealth.

  “I apologize for stopping by unannounced. My grandfather had a heart attack twelve hours ago.” Quinn’s stark statement changed the track of Sofia’s thoughts instantly.

  “I’m so sorry.” She’d never forget the pain of her mother’s battle with cancer. The hurts were etched on her forever, pain that went so much deeper than anything her profession could ever wreak on her knees or her feet. “Is he okay?”

  She reached for him, needing to offer some kind of comfort in spite of all her warnings to maintain her guard around him. She could never deny someone comfort in the face of that kind of hurt.

  “I’m waiting for my father to call from Shanghai with an update, but with the time difference...” He shrugged, still wearing the jacket of his black, custom-tailored suit that looked like something off Savile Row. His burgundy tie and crisp, white shirt were an elegantly simple combination. “I don’t know how long it might be.” He glanced around the apartment beyond the small foyer. “Am I interrupting anything? I told the driver to wait in case you were busy.”

  Of course he did. Because hedge fund managers didn’t just drive themselves around the city. But even that reminder of their very different lives didn’t stop her from wanting him to stay.

  “I was just going over some notes for my audition tomorrow—”

  “I forgot.” Shaking his head, he halted his steps before the living area. “Hell, Sofia. I know how important that is—”

  “It’s fine. I was only getting more nervous anyhow.” She drew him forward, gesturing toward her well-worn couch. “I don’t want you to wait for that phone call alone.”

  No matter that she’d hoped to put up more barriers with him.

  He’d been kind to her when she’d been nervous at the reception for Idris. Helped her maintain a façade of an engagement when she’d asked him to. She wouldn’t betray their unlikely friendship even if he was better at guarding his heart than she was.

  “If you’re sure.” He still didn’t take a seat, however. “I’ll stay a little longer.” He stopped at a framed photo above an antique wooden rocker. “Is this your mother?”

  “Yes.” She remembered that moment so well, standing on a rocking boat deck, her mother’s arm slung around her shoulders and a new sunburn already making her skin itch. “That’s the summer before she died. We went to
Greece and sailed with a group of art students around the islands.”

  “What a year that must have been.” He reached to trace Sofia’s face in the photo, a gesture she swore she felt on her own skin. “From so much happiness to mourning her.”

  “She gave very explicit instructions about that.” Her throat tightened as she remembered. “We were supposed to celebrate her life. Not mourn. She wanted her ashes taken out to the Aegean so she could sparkle in the sunlight one more time.” Sofia smiled at the memory of her saying the words. “She said if I did it, maybe she’d come back as a mermaid. Which, in all my thirteen-year-old wisdom, I called bullshit. But she said I would understand the truth about beauty and magic when I was older.”

  “And you have.” Quinn turned away from the photo, his eyes full of warmth.

  “Not really.” She rubbed her arms briskly to ward off a sudden chill despite the cashmere cardigan. “I work hard to create beauty on stage, but I still haven’t found anything magical about the sweat, blood and stress fractures that go into ballet.”

  She hated to sound like a cynic. But perhaps she resented—just a little—that she hadn’t inherited more of her mother’s free-spirited joy.

  “But you saw it that first time you watched Sleeping Beauty when you were a girl,” he reminded her. “It showed when you told me about that performance. And you admitted yourself that the skill wasn’t necessarily impressive. Maybe you only see the magic from the audience.”

  “Maybe.” She conceded the point mostly because she didn’t want to bring him down on a night that was already stressful for him. “What about you?” She tugged him to sit beside her on the couch. “Do you see your mom often? I think I read that she’s a Brazilian native.”

  A surprise smile appeared on his handsome face. “Studying up on your fiancé?”

  “I had to be prepared to field questions about you since we’ve been dating for months.” She had a lot of her own questions about him. She felt like the man she knew wasn’t necessarily the one she read about online.