The Drake Diamonds: His Ballerina Bride. Teri Wilson

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СКАЧАТЬ They were good, but they weren’t that good.

      Ophelia glanced at the tiny cake at her feet, and her stomach growled. Okay, maybe they were that good. “Um...”

      “So what’s the story, then? Are you a runaway fiancée hiding in my kitchen?” His gaze flitted to the floor again. “Are those pretty feet of yours getting cold?”

      “A fiancée? Me? No. Definitely not.” Once upon a time, yes. But that, like so many other things, had changed. “I mean, no. Just...no.”

      Stop talking. She was making things so much worse, but she couldn’t seem to think straight.

      Those pretty feet of yours...

      “So you do work for me, then?” He crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen counter, the perfect picture of elegant nonchalance.

      What was he doing, wearing a tux at ten in the morning, anyway? On a weekday, no less. Was this some kind of billionaire walk of shame?

      Probably. She thought about the countless photos she’d seen of him with young, beautiful women on his arm. Sometimes two or three at a time. Walk of shame. Definitely.

      “I do,” she said. I do. I do. Wedding words. Her neck went instantly, unbearably hot. She cleared her throat. “I work in Engagements.”

      The corner of his lips twitched. So he thought that was funny, did he? “And your name is?”

      “Ophelia.” She paused. “Ophelia Rose.” At least she had her wits about her enough to identify herself by her actual, real last name and not the stage name she’d been using for the last eight years. Out of everything in her life that had changed, no longer calling herself Ophelia Baronova had been the most difficult to accept. As if that person really, truly no longer existed.

      She doesn’t.

      Ophelia bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

      Artem Drake crossed his arms. “I suppose that makes me your boss.”

      This was getting weird.

      “Come now, Ophelia Rose. Don’t look so sad. I’m not going to fire you for biting into temptation.” One corner of Mr. Drake’s perfect mouth lifted into a half grin. “Literally.”

      Clearly, he knew a thing or two about temptation. How was it possible for a man to so fully embody sex?

      “Good.” She forced a smile. Being fired hadn’t actually crossed her mind, although she supposed it should have. It was just kind of difficult to take Artem seriously, since he hadn’t darkened the door of Drake Diamonds in the entire time she’d worked there. But if he thought the sadness behind her eyes was because she was afraid of him, so be it. That was fine. Better, actually. She wasn’t about to bare her messed-up soul to her employer.

      Her employer...

      When would she have another opportunity to talk to Artem Drake one-on-one? Never, probably. Because she sure wasn’t planning on sneaking off to the kitchen anymore. And who knew when he’d show up again? She had to make the most of this moment. If she didn’t, she’d regret it. Just as soon as she went back out on the sales floor among all those engaged couples.

      It was now or never.

      But maybe she should scrape the cake off the floor first.

      * * *

      Artem Drake was having difficulty wrapping his mind around the fact that the goddess of a woman who’d just dropped to her knees in front of him worked for him. But to be fair, the concept of anyone in this Fifth Avenue institution answering to him was somewhat laughable.

      Granted, his last name was on the front of the building. And the gift bags. And those legendary blue boxes. But he’d never had much to do with running the place. That had been his father’s job. And now that his father was gone, the responsibility should fall on the shoulders of his older brother, Dalton. Dalton lived and breathed Drake Diamonds. Dalton spent so much time here that he had a foldout sofa in his office. Hell, Artem didn’t even have an office.

      Nor did he have any idea how much those silly little cakes cost. He’d pulled a number out of thin air. And now he’d nearly made the goddess cry. Maybe he was cut out to run the place, after all. His dad had loved making people cry.

      Besides, goddess wasn’t quite the right word. There was something ethereal about her. Delicate. Unspeakably graceful. She had a neck made for diamonds.

      Which sounded exactly like something his father would say.

      “Stand up,” Artem said, far more harshly than he’d intended. But if she didn’t get up off her knees, he wouldn’t have any hope of maintaining an ounce of professional behavior.

      She finished dabbing at the mess with a napkin and stood, her motions so effortlessly fluid that the air around her seemed to dance. “Yes, sir.”

      He rather liked the sir business. But he needed to do what he’d come here to do and get the hell out of this place. He pushed away from the counter and straightened his cuff link. Singular. One of them had managed to go missing since the symphony gala the night before. Maybe he’d pick up a new pair on his way out. After he’d waved the proverbial white flag in his brother’s face.

      He cleared his throat. “While this has been interesting, to say the least, I have some business to attend to. And I’m sure you have work to do, as well.”

      Could he sound more ridiculous? I have some business to attend to. And I’m sure you have work to do, as well. He’d never spoken like that in his life. Dalton, yes. All the time. That’s probably how he spoke to his girlfriends.

      “Wait,” Ophelia blurted, just as he took a step toward the door. “Please, Mr. Drake. Sir.”

      He turned. “Yes, Miss Rose?”

      “I’d like to schedule a meeting with you. At your convenience, of course.” She lifted her chin, and her neck seemed to lengthen.

      God, that neck. Artem let his gaze travel down the length of it to the delicate dip between her collarbones. A diamond would look exquisite nestled right there, set off by her perfect porcelain skin. Artem had never seen such a beautiful complexion on a woman. She almost looked as though she’d never set foot outdoors. Like she was crafted of the purest, palest marble. Like she belonged in a museum rather than here. What in God’s name was she doing working behind a jewelry counter, anyway?

      He lifted his gaze back to her face, and her cheeks went rosebud pink. “A meeting? With me?”

      He’d heard worse ideas.

      “Yes. A business meeting,” she said crisply. “I have some design ideas I’d like to present. I know I work in sales at the moment, but I’m actually a trained gemologist.”

      Artem wasn’t sure why he found this news so surprising, but he did. Few people surprised him. He wished more of them did. Ophelia Rose was becoming more intriguing by the minute.

      She was also his employee, at least for the next ten minutes or so. He shouldn’t be thinking about her neck. Or the soft swell of her breasts beneath the bodice of the vintage sea-foam dress she wore. СКАЧАТЬ