The Drake Diamonds: His Ballerina Bride. Teri Wilson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ her as the lead in Giselle. Once again, everyone assumed her relationship with the boss was the reason she’d been promoted. Except this time, she had no connection with her boss whatsoever.

      At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

      She did her best to forget about office politics. She had a job to do, after all.

      In fact, she’d been so busy adapting to her new reality that she’d almost managed to forget that she was scheduled to attend the ballet with Artem on Friday night. Almost. The fact that she wasn’t experiencing daily panic attacks in anticipation of stepping into the grand lobby of Lincoln Center was due to good old-fashioned denial. She could almost pretend their “date” wasn’t actually going to happen, since Artem had gone back to keeping his distance.

      She’d seen him a grand total of one time since their meeting with Dalton. Just once—late at night after the store had closed. Ophelia had stopped to look at the Drake Diamond before she’d headed home to feed Jewel. She hadn’t planned on it, but as she’d crossed the darkened showroom, her gaze had been drawn toward the stone, locked away in its lonely glass case. Protected. Untouched.

      She’d begun to cry, for some silly reason, as she’d gazed at the gem, then she’d looked up and spotted Artem watching from the shadows. She’d thought she had, anyway. Once she’d swept the tears from her eyes, she’d realized there had been no one else there. Just her. Alone.

      Her day-to-day communication at the office was mostly with Dalton. On the occasions when Artem needed something from her, he sent his secretary, Mrs. Burns, in his stead. So when Mrs. Burns walked into Ophelia’s office on Friday morning, she wasn’t altogether surprised.

      Until the secretary, hands clasped primly at her waist, stated the reason for her visit. “Mr. Drake would like to know what you’re wearing.”

      The ring clamp in Ophelia’s hand slipped out of her grasp and landed on the drafting table with a clatter. “Excuse me?”

      Four days of nothing. No contact whatsoever, and now he was trying to figure out what she was wearing? Did he expect her to take a selfie and send it to him over the Drake Diamonds company email?

      Mrs. Burns cleared her throat. “This evening, Miss Rose. He’d like to know what you’re planning to wear to the ballet. I believe you’re scheduled to accompany him tonight to Lincoln Center.”

      Oh. That.

      “Yes. Yes, of course.” Ophelia nodded and tried to look as though she hadn’t just jumped to an altogether ridiculous assumption. Again.

      Maybe the fact that she kept misinterpreting Artem’s intentions said more about her than it did about him. It did, she realized, much to her mortification. It most definitely did. And what it said about her, specifically, was that she was hot for her boss. Her kitten-buying, penthouse-dwelling, tuxedo-wearing playboy of a boss.

      Ugh.

      She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, every woman on the island of Manhattan—and undoubtedly a good number of the men—would have willingly leaped into Artem Drake’s bed. There was a big difference between the infatuated masses and Ophelia, though. They could sleep with whomever they wanted.

      Ophelia could not. Not with Artem. Not with anyone. The fact that doing so would likely put her fancy new job in jeopardy was only the tip of the iceberg.

      “Miss Rose?” Mrs. Burns eyed her expectantly over the top of her glasses.

      Ophelia sighed. “Honestly, why does he even care what I wear?”

      “Mr. Drake didn’t share his reasoning with me, but I assume his logic has something to do with the fact that you’re a representative of Drake Diamonds now. All eyes will be on you this evening.”

      All eyes will be on you.

      Oh, God. Ophelia hadn’t even considered the fact that she’d be photographed on Artem’s arm. At the ballet, of all places. What if someone recognized her? What if they printed her stage name in the newspaper?

      Then everyone would know. Artem would know.

      She swallowed. “Mrs. Burns, do you suppose it’s really necessary for me to be there?”

      The older woman looked at Ophelia like she’d just sprouted an extra head. “The appearance is part of the publicity plan for the new collection. The collection that you designed.”

      Right. Of course it was necessary for her to go. She should want to be there.

      The frightening thing was that part of her did want to be there. She wanted to hear the whisper of pointe shoes on the stage floor again. She wanted to smell the red velvet curtain and feel the cool kiss of air-conditioning in the wings. She wanted to wear stage makeup—dramatic black eyeliner and bright crimson lips. One last time.

      She just wasn’t sure her heart could take it. Not to mention the fact that she’d be revisiting her past alongside Artem. She didn’t want to feel vulnerable in front of him. Nothing good could come from that.

      But she didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter, did she?

      She did, however, have the power to deny his ridiculous request. “Tell Mr. Drake he’ll know what I’m wearing when he sees me tonight. Not to worry. I’m fully capable of dressing myself in an appropriate manner for the ballet.”

      Artem’s secretary seemed to stifle a grin. “I’ll certainly pass that message along.”

      Of course, an hour later, Mrs. Burns was back in Ophelia’s office with a second request regarding her fashion plans for the evening. Again Ophelia offered no information. She was sure she’d find something appropriate in Natalia’s old things, but she couldn’t think about it right now. Because thinking about it would mean it was really happening.

      Then after lunch, Mrs. Burns was back a third time, with instructions for Ophelia to arrive promptly at Artem’s suite at the Plaza at seven o’clock. Drake Diamonds would send a car to pick her up a half hour prior.

      Ophelia wanted to ask why on earth it was necessary to convene at his penthouse beforehand. Honestly, couldn’t they just meet at Lincoln Center? But all this back and forth with Mrs. Burns was starting to get ridiculous.

      Maybe one day, in addition to her office, her drafting table and her computer, Ophelia would eventually have her own secretary. Then there would be no need to communicate with Artem at all. They could simply talk to one another through their assistants. No lingering glances. No aching need in the pit of her stomach every time he looked at her. No butterflies.

      Better yet, no temptation.

      * * *

      Artem glanced at the vintage Drake Diamonds tank watch strapped round his wrist. It read 7:05. Ophelia was late.

      Brilliant.

      He’d been on edge for days, and her tardiness was doing nothing to help his mood.

      For once in his life, he’d exercised a modicum of self-control. He’d done the right thing. He’d kept his distance from Ophelia Rose. Other than one evening when he’d spied her looking at the Drake Diamond after hours, he hadn’t allowed himself to even glance in her СКАЧАТЬ