The Drake Diamonds: His Ballerina Bride. Teri Wilson

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      “Has it occurred to you that having the Drake name in the papers is good PR?” Artem said blithely.

      “PR. Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?” Dalton rolled his eyes.

      It took every ounce of Artem’s self-restraint not to point out how badly his brother needed to get laid. “I didn’t come here to discuss my social life, Dalton. As difficult as you might find it to believe, I’m ready to discuss business.”

      Dalton nodded. Slowly. “I’m glad to hear that, brother. Very glad.”

      He’d be even happier once Artem made his announcement. So would Artem. He had no desire to engage in this sort of exchange on a daily basis. He was a grown man. He didn’t need his brother’s input on his lifestyle. And he sure as hell didn’t want to sit behind a desk all day at a place where he’d never been welcomed when his father had been alive.

      According to the attorneys, his father had changed the provisions of his will less than a week before he’d died. One might suppose senility to be behind the change, if not for the fact that his dad had been too stubborn to lose his mind. Shrewd. Cold. And sharp as a tack until the day he passed.

      “Listen,” Artem said. “I don’t know why Dad left me in charge. It’s as much of a mystery to me as it is to you.”

      “Don’t.” Dalton shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. You’re here. That’s a start. I’ve had Dad’s office cleaned out. It’s yours now.”

      Artem went still. “What?”

      Dalton shrugged one shoulder. “Where else are you going to work?”

      Artem didn’t have an answer for that.

      Dalton continued, “Listen, it’s going to take a few days to get you up to speed. We have one pressing matter, though, that just can’t wait. If you hadn’t rolled in here by the end of the week, I was going to beat down your door at the Plaza and insist you talk to me.”

      Whatever the pressing matter was, Artem had a feeling that he didn’t want to hear about it. He didn’t need to. It wasn’t his problem. This idea that he would actually run the company was a joke.

      “Before the heart attack...” Dalton’s voice lost a bit of its edge.

      The change in his composure was barely perceptible, but Artem noticed. He’d actually expected his brother to be more of a mess. Dalton, after all, had been the jewel in their father’s crown. He’d been a son, whereas Artem had been a stranger to the Drakes for the first five years of his life.

      “...Dad invested in a new mine in Australia. I didn’t even know about it until last week.” Dalton raised his brows, as if Artem had something to say.

      Artem let out a laugh. “Surely you’re not suggesting that he told me about it.”

      His brother sighed. “I suppose not, although I wish he had. I wish someone had stopped him. It doesn’t matter, anyway. What’s done is done. The mine was a bust. It’s worthless, and now it’s put the business in a rather precarious position.”

      “Precarious? Exactly how much did he spend on this mine?”

      Dalton took too long to answer. He exhaled a slow, measured breath and finally said, “Three billion.”

      “Three billion dollars.” Artem blinked. That was a lot of money. An astronomical amount, even to a man who lived on the eighteenth floor of the Plaza and flew his own Boeing business jet, which, ironically enough, Artem used for pleasure far more than he did for business. “The company has billions in assets, though. If not trillions.”

      “Yes, but not all those assets are liquid. With the loss from the mine, we’re sitting at a twenty-five million dollar deficit. We need to figure something out.”

      We. Since when did any of the Drakes consider Artem part of a we?

      He should just get up and walk right out of Dalton’s office. He didn’t owe the Drakes a thing.

      Somehow, though, his backside remained rooted to the spot. “What about the diamond?”

      “The diamond? The Drake diamond?” Dalton shook his head. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. I know you’re not one for sentimentality, brother, but even you wouldn’t suggest that we sell the Drake diamond.”

      Actually, he would. “It’s a rock, Dalton. A pretty rock, but a rock nonetheless.”

      Dalton shook his head so hard that Artem thought it might snap clear off his neck. “It’s a piece of history. Our family name was built on that rock.”

      Our family name. Right.

      Artem cleared his throat. “How much is it worth?”

      “It doesn’t matter, because we’re not selling it.”

      “How much, Dalton? As your superior, I demand that you tell me.” It was a low blow. Artem would have liked to think that a small part of him didn’t get a perverse sort of pleasure from throwing his position in Dalton’s face, but it did. So be it.

      “Fifty million dollars,” Dalton said. “But I repeat, it’s not for sale, and it never will be.”

      Never.

      If Artem had learned one thing since becoming acquainted with his father—since being “welcomed” into the Drake fold—it was that never was an awfully strong word. “That’s not your call, though, is it, brother?”

      * * *

      Ophelia hadn’t planned on stopping by the animal shelter on the way home from work. She had, after all, already volunteered three times this week. Possibly four. She’d lost count.

      She couldn’t go home yet, though. Not after the day she’d had. Dealing with all the happily engaged couples was bad enough, but she was growing accustomed to it. She didn’t have much of a choice, did she? But the unexpected encounter with Artem Drake had somehow thrown her completely off-kilter.

      It wasn’t only the embarrassment of getting caught inhaling one of the fifteen dollar petits fours that had gotten her so rattled. It was him. Artem.

      Mr. Drake. Not Artem. He’s your boss, not your friend. Or anything else.

      He wasn’t even her boss anymore, she supposed. Which was for the best. Obviously. She hadn’t exactly made a glowing first impression. Now she could start over with whoever took his place. So really, there was no logical reason for the acute tug of disappointment she’d felt when he’d told her about his plans to resign. None whatsoever.

      There was also no logical reason that she’d kept looking around all afternoon for a glimpse of him as he exited the building. Nor for the way she’d gone all fluttery when she’d caught a flash of tuxedoed pant leg beyond the closing elevator doors after her shift had ended. It hadn’t been Artem, anyway. Just another, less dashing man dressed to the nines.

      What was her problem, anyway? She was acting as though she’d never met a handsome man before. СКАЧАТЬ