Читать книгу What The Magnate Wants - Joanne Rock - Страница 14
ОглавлениеSofia braided her wet hair in the large, shared dressing room after her shower, unwilling to attend her meeting with Quinn while drenched in sweat from her second class of the day. The writer Anton Chekov had once famously said that he knew nothing about the ballet but that the ballerinas “stink like horses” during the intervals, and the man had a point.
Digging in her bag for a hair tie, she scuttled past some of the junior dancers before she dropped into a chair near one of the makeup mirrors. The afternoon classes tended to have more of the sixteen-to eighteen-year-olds who could give her a run for her money physically, which had been just what she’d needed. After a day in the air yesterday, her body had felt off during her first class of the morning. So after her show rehearsals, she’d joined an afternoon session as well to will her body back into show shape. A day missed, and a dancer noticed. Besides, cramming every second of her day with hard work meant there were less opportunities for her older colleagues to quiz her about yesterday.
Or the huge rock on her finger.
She hadn’t left the breathtaking ring on for long, but she’d worn it from the cab to the dressing room before removing it for dancing, causing a room full of whispers and raised eyebrows before the dancing master put everyone to work. She retrieved Quinn’s gift now that she was in street clothes and slid the beautiful piece onto her finger. The few junior ballerinas remaining at the end of the day were in a heated discussion about the romantic availability of one of the male dancers.
“Holy crap, honey, look at that thing.” Jasmine Jackson’s voice surprised her, even though she should have been expecting her friend and publicist to meet her backstage for a quick meeting.
Jasmine rushed toward her, the heavy exit door banging shut behind her as she wove around stored stage lights and rolling racks of costumes covered in plastic. Petite with glossy hair so black it looked blue in certain light, Jasmine had attended ballet school with her in North Carolina for a year before Sofia’s mother had caught the travel bug to tour Europe. Jasmine had quit dancing at thirteen with the arrival of hormones and serious curves. Many women would envy her figure, but Sofia had taken the phone calls from her distraught friend when her breasts had moved well into C-cup range—one of many physical changes that made dancing more difficult and casting directors overlook her. She’d been devastated.
Jasmine had ended up attending Syracuse University for communications and went on to work in advertising and promotions for the fitness industry. Her job paid well and brought her to New York, much to Sofia’s delight. They’d shared an apartment for two years before Jasmine’s budget had seriously outstripped hers and her friend had upgraded to a bigger place.
Sofia squeezed her hand in a fist to keep the ring in place. “I know. I’m terrified of losing it. And it seems really weird that it fits me, doesn’t it?” Had her father shared such personal details with the matchmaker he’d hired? She had considered speaking to him today to assess how much her privacy had been breached. But she was still so angry with him over his presumptuous matchmaking tactics.
Jasmine bent to lift and examine Sofia’s hand. A strand of silky black hair trailed over Sofia’s wrist as her friend peered at the ring in the lights of the makeup mirror. As always, Jasmine looked so put together—her knee-length, gray-and-taupe sweater dress was formfitting underneath a tailored swing coat she left open. Bracelets clinked as she moved, everything about her girly and feminine. By contrast Sofia sported leggings and a man’s dress shirt left untucked, with a black blazer—kind of her go-to work outfit in the colder months. With her wet hair braided, she felt more than a little dull next to glamorous Jasmine.
“Wow. Those diamonds are the real deal.” Her Southern accent had softened over the years, but the lilt was still there. “Come on. Let’s walk and talk so I can bring you up to speed before we meet with your very sexy fiancé.”
Leave it to Jasmine to maintain the façade of this fake engagement in public. She was great at her job and a great friend, too. Jasmine had tried refusing payment for the work she did to promote Sofia’s career, but she wouldn’t hear of it. As it was, she knew the rate Jasmine gave her was far less than what her friend billed her corporate accounts.
“You’re going into the coffee shop with me?” Sofia led the way out of the building, taking the less conspicuous path over West Sixty-Fifth Street instead of cutting through Lincoln Center. “I’ve been second-guessing myself and nervous about seeing him all day.” She squeezed Jasmine’s arm like a lifeline, grateful for a true friend after the past weeks of being on her guard at all times.
“Well, I hadn’t planned on it.” Jasmine frowned, oblivious to the male heads she turned as they navigated streets getting busier as rush hour neared. “The two of you have a lot to figure out.”
“I know. But you’re a major part of that.” If Jasmine was there, it was like a business meeting—a way to coordinate schedules.
“Since when do you need a babysitter for a date? I’ll say hello, but then I’ve got to go. I have an appointment downtown for happy hour drinks.” Her work in PR happened over dinner and cocktails as often as it happened in a boardroom. “So fill me in on what happened today.”
“Not much, thankfully.” She’d been pleased with her plan to avoid talking about the engagement by outworking everyone in the room. “The only one who really cornered me about it was the ballet mistress, and she just warned me to remember that Idris Fortier would surely prefer any woman he worked with to devote one thousand percent to his ballet.”
“Did you tell her that one thousand percent was a bit much?”
“Would I still have a job right now if I did?” The lighthearted moment ended quickly as Joe Coffee came into view and Sofia thought about seeing Quinn again.
Had she overestimated his appeal last night in her trancelike jet lag? She hoped so.
“How are your knees?” Jasmine asked. It was the only question that could rattle her more than Quinn.
Prone to knee problems, Sofia had injuries the same way all dancers had injuries. That is, always. Ballet was hard on the body and a dancer never knew when her time might be up. She feared for the length of her career, especially when she remembered the devil’s bargain she’d made with her father as a teen. Two months after her mother died, he’d refused to let Sofia pursue a dance opportunity in St. Petersburg, insisting she finish her education in the US. But after weeks of begging and crying—it was what her mother had wanted for her—he’d offered her a trade. She could go to Russia for dance school, but only if she promised that when her dance career was finished, she would come to work for him.
Which was not happening. He couldn’t hold her to a deal she’d made as a teen. But she worried for her future with no backup plan after dance. Saying no to him when she had no prospects would be difficult. Staying in this expensive city would be virtually impossible. She willed away the ache in her knee and vowed to ice it longer tonight. It’d have to do.
“I had some twinges in my right knee in Kiev, but nothing that kept me off the stage.” She tucked her shoulder bag closer as a family with two strollers pulled up beside them on the crosswalk. Horns and squeaky brakes mingled with the occasional sound of a doorman whistling for a cab in a cacophony her ears welcomed after six hours of Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky.
“Don’t overdo it,” Jasmine warned. “Staying healthy is more important than Idris and his ballet, no matter what you think.”
“On the contrary, Idris and his ballet are my ticket to a post-dance career.” She knew that a starring role and working closely with the superstar choreographer would completely change her profile in the dance world. It would open doors for a creative project she had in mind, but she needed someone like him to be on board. So she just had to nurse her knee through this opportunity.
Jasmine laughed. “You’re the same as ever, Sofia. I think I could replay the conversations we had at nine and they’d be exactly the same ones we have today. You’ve always had a plan, I’ll give you that.”
Sofia slowed her step outside the door of Joe Coffee, grabbing Jasmine’s arm.
“Not with Quinn McNeill, I don’t.” She wasn’t intimidated by him or his money. Yet there was something about the way he made her feel that kept her anxious. Was it just physical attraction? Or did that anxiety mean something more worrisome?
Was it her gut telling her he was untrustworthy?
A messenger on a bicycle slammed his bike into the rack near them before entering the coffeehouse. The scent of fragrant Arabica beans and baked goods drifted through the door in his wake. Hunger reverberated in Sofia’s stomach. Her diet was controlled and disciplined. Most days, she didn’t mind. The sacrifice of cheesy fries and pizza had yet to outweigh the worth of her dream. But the smell of food tempted her so.
“He’s just a man. The same as any other.” Jasmine pursed her lips. “Your everyday average billionaire.” She linked her arm through Sofia’s and tugged her ahead. “Come on. I’ve got a few details to go over before I head out.”
Squaring her shoulders, Sofia headed inside, determined not to let Quinn see that he made her uneasy. Distracted.
And far too interested in the attraction she’d felt for him the first moment their gazes had connected.
* * *
Head high, Sofia Koslov strolled into the coffee shop like a dancer and Quinn took notice from his seat at a table in the back corner. She carried herself differently than other women, a fact he’d picked up on yesterday before Cameron had proposed to her.
At that time he hadn’t known what it was about her perfect posture and her graceful movements. Now he recognized it as her dance training that made her move like that. He couldn’t picture her ever playing the Sugar Plum Fairy, however, despite the news clippings.
The Black Swan in Swan Lake maybe. She had a regal elegance, a sophistication. Her hair was pulled back into a damp braid that highlighted the long neck traditional in ballerinas. Her clothing was simple and understated so that the only thing that shone was the woman herself. And the ring on her left hand, he amended with satisfaction. Even staring at her across a crowded coffee shop, Quinn wanted her.
Damn.
He rose to greet the two women as they made their way through milling patrons juggling cups and cell phones. Her friend continued to shadow her step for step, a fact that disappointed him since he’d been eager to speak to Sofia privately. Or as privately as he could in a Manhattan java shop. He would have lobbied to meet at his apartment or in a quiet restaurant, but Sofia had been tired and rattled last night when they’d made these plans and he had the impression she’d purposely chosen someplace more public.
“Sofia.” He greeted her the way he would greet a woman he loved, sliding an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek, mindful of the public atmosphere but still appropriately warm. He thought it better to be cautious since he didn’t know her friend and wanted to be sure he played the part of Sofia’s husband-to-be at all times.
Besides, it felt good to touch her.
The cool skin of her cheek warmed as his lips lingered for a moment. When he backed away, he spied the hint of color in her face before he extended a hand to her friend.
“Quinn McNeill,” he introduced himself.
“Jasmine Jackson. I’m the best friend as well as the publicist. And total keeper of all her secrets.” Her grip was firm and professional, and her eyes made it clear she knew full well about their ruse. “Shall we have a seat so I can go over my suggestions for the two of you?”
“Of course. Right this way.” He gestured toward the table he’d secured in the back. Jasmine went first, and he palmed the small of Sofia’s back to guide her along. Having his hands on her again made him realize how much he’d looked forward to acting out the part of fiancé.
He claimed the seat beside Sofia while Jasmine took the spot across from them and set down the leather binder on the maple surface between them.
“I’ve made copies of my ideal social calendar for both of you.” She slid matching papers their way. “I’ve already sent Sofia the digital file so she can forward it to you, Quinn.”
Taking in the extensive notes on dates and events, he was impressed. She had details about the status of their invitations, directions, suggested attire, a who’s who list of people they should try to speak to at each event and potential spots for photo ops. Clearly, the woman had done her homework and she’d done it in a hurry.
“I see you know the New York social calendar,” he remarked, wondering if his company’s PR firm would do half as good of a job. “This is ambitious.”
As Sofia’s finger followed the lines of type, the diamond engagement ring caught the last of the pale winter sunlight. As impressive as the piece was, and he was glad she’d worn it, he felt a ridiculous urge to replace it with something of his own choosing.
He hoped that normal brotherly competitiveness accounted for that instinct and not some latent sentimental notions. No way would he let his grandfather’s dictate to marry get to him. He had decided to use this time with Sofia as a way to enjoy their obvious attraction. Not romanticize it.
“As I said.” Jasmine closed her binder and folded her manicured fingers on top of the leather. “This is simply a wish list that would serve several purposes at once for Sofia.”
“You got in touch with Dance magazine to reschedule our interview?” Sofia asked, her finger now stalled on a line item toward the bottom of the page.
“Yes. I told them today was full for you but that you could meet with them Friday night during the welcome reception for Idris Fortier.” Jasmine reached across the table to point out the event listed at the top of the paper. “In the meantime, I promised to release your statement about yesterday’s events to them first.” Jasmine pulled another set of papers from the binder and passed them across the table. “Here’s a tentative release. If you could make your changes and send the digital file back to me before seven tonight, I can get it to the reporters for a blog post spot they’re holding for you.”
Quinn scanned the release, approving of the minimal personal details it included.
“‘When we met’?” Sofia read a highlighted yellow section aloud. “‘When we fell in love’? Is that really necessary?” Her gray eyes darted his way then back to her friend.
“Those are two questions everyone will ask. Better to save yourself answering it twenty times over and put out the information up front that you want people to see.” Jasmine gave Sofia’s forearm an affectionate squeeze. “But I will let you two discuss that since I need to run to another appointment.”
Secretly pleased to have Sofia all to himself, Quinn rose as Jasmine took her leave. Sofia neatly folded the papers and tucked them into the black leather satchel she carried.
“Maybe we could talk through the rest of this while we walk? The park is close by. I know I suggested this place, but I wasn’t thinking about how noisy it would be.”
“Good idea.” He left the waitress a tip even though they hadn’t ordered, then escorted Sofia out onto the street. With a hand on her hip, he could feel the tension vibrating through her. Stress? Nervousness? He had a tough time reading her. “I live on the other side of the park. We could at least head in that direction.”
The traffic would be gridlocked soon anyhow and he knew the paths well enough on the southern end of Central Park.
“Sounds good.” She seemed slightly more relaxed outdoors. “And I’m sorry if this situation is cutting into your time. I probably wasn’t in the best frame of mind to make decisions yesterday.”
“Attending these events will only benefit my business.” He turned down West Sixty-Ninth Street toward the park, plucking her bag off her shoulder to carry it for her. Fake fiancé or not, she would be his top priority for the upcoming weeks. She didn’t seem like the type of woman who allowed other people to take care of her. But from where Quinn stood, she was in need of some spoiling—something this media ruse might let him do for her. “I haven’t done much networking in the last year and it always lifts the company profile.”
He wanted her at ease. Enjoying herself. Hell, he wanted to get to know her better and this would be the perfect time. So the less she worried about inconveniencing him, the better.
“That’s a generous way to look at the situation. Thank you.”
“I wouldn’t call it generous.” He tipped his head up to the skies as a few snowflakes began to fall. “Are you going to be warm enough for this?”
Her blazer was heavy but now that the sun was almost down, the temperature was hovering just below freezing.
“My cape is in my bag,” she said, pointing to the satchel on his shoulder. He lifted his arm so she could rifle through it and pull out the same mohair garment she’d worn the day before.
“Let me.” Drawing her to the quieter side of the street near the buildings, he took the cape and draped it over her shoulders, then turned her so he could fasten the two big buttons close to her neck. His eyes met hers and, for half a heartbeat, that same awareness from their kiss danced in the air between them.
“I can get them,” she protested, trying to sidle away politely.
He held fast, hands lingering on the placket as the snowfall picked up speed, coating her shoulders.
“But the more comfortable we get with each other now, the easier it’s going to be to fool everyone on Friday.” He looked forward to it.
Very much.
Part of it had something to do with the way her heartbeat quickened at his touch. He could feel the quick thrum beneath his knuckles right through her layers of clothing. He wanted to kiss her again, to taste her rosy lips where a snowflake quickly melted. But instead, he reached for the wide hood of her cape and drew it over her head to keep the snow off.
“Then I will try to think of this day as a dress rehearsal.” She sounded so damn serious.
That, combined with some of the things she’d shared with him the night before, reinforced his notion of her as highly driven. He admired her work ethic and her dedication to her career. He’d always been the type to pour himself into a work project, too. Duty and perseverance were the cornerstones of his approach to the world.
“In that case, we can’t go wrong.” Readjusting her bag on his shoulder, he pressed a light hand to the small of her back to guide her through a left on Central Park West and the quick right to get on the path that would take them toward his apartment. “From what I gleaned about you last night as I read up on your career, it sounds like you’ve succeeded at everything you’ve set out to accomplish.”
Even with the hood pulled up, he could see the way she smiled.
“Either that or I have an excellent publicist.”
That surprised a laugh out of him as they strode deeper into the park, which seemed a bit busier than usual, the fresh snow bringing out kids and kids-at-heart. They passed people walking dogs and packs of middle-school-aged children in uniforms, still wearing backpacks.
“Jasmine does seem determined to package your career—and you—in the best possible way.”
“She’s a good friend and an equally awesome public relations manager.”
“And this reception she wants us to attend. That’s for the choreographer you mentioned who’s putting together the new ballet.” He’d read about the guy a good bit last night. “The media can’t use enough superlatives about him gracing New York with his presence.” It had been a bit much in Quinn’s mind, but then, he was far from an expert.
“You have been doing your research.” She rewarded him with an approving smile that renewed the urge to kiss her.
But he also liked finding out more about her that would help him get closer to her. He would wait.
“This is a dress rehearsal for me, too, Sofia.” He watched a few kids try to shake a radio-controlled helicopter down from some tree limbs; they were attracting an audience. “I’m trying to get my part down.”
“You’re doing well. If you were one of my students, you’d be promoted to the next level.”
“You teach?” He paused on the outskirts of the crowd.
“A lot of the dancers do.” Sofia’s gaze went up to the helicopter and the kids shaking any branches of the old oak they could reach. “It’s a way to pick up some extra income and give back to the company. The School of American Ballet is like our farm system...it feeds the City Ballet.”
“Give me one second.” He hated to interrupt her, but he also couldn’t let the kids kill a tree that—for all he knew—could predate the damn park itself. He set down Sofia’s bag and grabbed a football at one of the boys’ feet as he strode into the group. “Guys, back up a minute.”
The group did as he asked, a few calling out taunts that he’d never be able to reach the branch where the helicopter teetered. Which he welcomed, of course, since the ribbing only ensured that he’d throw twice as hard. He’d grown up with brothers, after all. He spoke the language.
“I get three shots,” he insisted. “Only because I haven’t warmed up my arm.”
“I’ll give you six, old man,” shouted a wiry redhead who seemed to be the ringleader. “That thing is straight-up stuck.”
Old?
Quinn told himself that he was only interested in saving the tree, but with a beautiful woman he wanted to impress watching from the sidelines, there was a chance he was fueled by another motivation altogether. Far from old...he was acting like a damn kid.
Backing up a step to adjust his aim, he cocked his arm and let the football fly.
Like in an ESPN highlight reel, the thing connected with the toy helicopter on the first try, earning cheers of admiration. And, because it had been so high up, the kids had time to run underneath the tree where the mouthy redhead caught it, scoring some of the victory for himself.
“Sorry about that.” Quinn jogged back to Sofia, who stood on the path under a halo of light from a cast-iron street lamp. He grabbed her bag and hitched it higher on his shoulder.
With her hooded cape and the snow falling all around her, she looked like some exotic character from one of her ballets. A Russian princess, maybe.
“You appeared to have performed that trick a few times before,” she observed.
“With two brothers? Of course. We got plenty of things caught in trees as kids. Kites were the worst to get down. By comparison, the helicopter was a piece of cake.” His warm breath lingered in the cool air, making it seem as though his words hung in the space between them. A gust of wind sent a slight chill through him. Glancing at Sofia, he noticed her hair was still wet.
“I can’t imagine what it would be like to have siblings.” The loneliness in her words was evident.
“Your bio doesn’t say much about your family.” He knew because he’d scoured it for details about her.
“In the past, I tried to keep my personal life and work life separate. Not that I have a lot of personal life to speak about.” She stared up at Tavern on the Green as they passed. The restaurant looked sort of otherworldly in the snowfall with the trees and white lights all around. “But my mother died when I was thirteen and I am not close with my father.”
“I’m sorry about your mother.” He took her hand for the dash across West Drive before they reached quieter roads through the middle of the park. “That must have been a really difficult age to lose a parent.”
He didn’t let go of her hand since her fingers were chilled. And because he wanted to touch her. Besides, they would be in the public eye again soon enough, where they would have to sell themselves as a loving couple.
As if she understood his motivations, she leaned into him and the spicy smell of her currant perfume wafted up to him. Hooking her arm through his, she drew closer.
“I was devastated. All the more so because my mother hated my father, which meant I hated him, too. Then, suddenly, after her death I was left with him.” Sofia pushed off her hood as they reached denser growth that limited how much snow fell on them. Maybe she’d just been looking for a reason to untwine their fingers. “To this day, I don’t know what drew the two of them together since he represented everything she despised. She called the privileged wealthy a ‘soulless culture.’”
“What about you?” Quinn wondered where that left him in her world view. “Do you agree with your mother?”
“Wait.” She turned around to look at the path they’d just traveled, tugging on his arm so they stood off the walkway to one side. “Let’s stop for a second and take it in.”
She didn’t have to explain what she meant. This part of the park was beautiful on any given day. But in a fresh snowfall, with the Tavern on the Green glowing from within and the tree trunks and branches draped in white lights, the view was like no other in the city. The snow dulled the sounds from the streets nearby, quieting rush hour to white noise.
Standing with Sofia at his side made it all the more appealing. The glow of the white lights reflected on her face.
“Beautiful.” His assessment, while simple, was heartfelt.
“But you know what my mother taught me about beauty?” Sofia asked, a mischievous light in her liquid silver eyes. “It is not a matter of just looking beautiful. It should surround us.” She held her hand out, palm up to catch snowflakes. “Feel special.” Inhaling deeply, she smiled with her eyes closed. “Have a unique scent when you breathe it in. And if you can catch it on your tongue, the taste will be beautiful, too.”
He watched, transfixed, as this aloof and disciplined dancer stuck her tongue out and tipped her head to the sky.
Another time, he might have laughed at her antics. But she seemed lost in a happy childhood memory, and he didn’t want to spoil it. Reaching for her hand full of snowflakes, he warmed her palm with his and peered upward through the white branches at the hint of stars beyond.
“You’re right.” He felt the beauty around him, that much was certain. But it had more to do with the slide of her damp fingers between his. With the tattoo of the pulse at her wrist that he felt on his palm.
“Did you catch one?” She lowered her chin to meet his gaze, her eyes still alight with a glow of happiness.
But she must have seen another expression reflected in his face because her smile faded.
“No.” He reached for her jaw to thumb a snowflake from her creamy cheek, her skin impossibly soft to the touch. Capturing her chin in his hand, he angled her lips for a taste. “But I’m about to.”
