Читать книгу Temptation In The Boardroom: Tempted by Her Billionaire Boss / Beware of the Boss / Promoted to Wife? - Paula Roe - Страница 12
ОглавлениеTHE MOST EXPENSIVE dress she had ever bought, times ten, floating around her ankles, hair tamed into a sophisticated up-do by the Chatsfield salon staff and some simple makeup in place, Frankie finally allowed herself a look in the mirror. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head.
The haute-couture-clad, daring stranger that stared back at her was not the Frankie Masseria she knew. She would never in a million years have bought this dress if the saleswoman had not insisted it was exactly right for “Leonid Aristov’s party of the year.”
“Anyone who is anyone is going to be there, sweetheart. Trust me, you cannot be ordinary.”
So here she was, anything but ordinary, and not at all sure she could carry it off. Ordinary had been her mantra her entire life. Sure, she had a killer figure; reactions from men had told her that. But she didn’t have her two sisters’ striking blue eyes to go with her dark hair. She was not a doctor, psychologist, chemical engineer or entrepreneur. She was the girl her mother sent in to calm a particularly difficult customer when no one else could. She and her nondescript GPA had been so good at it her parents had urged her to stay in the family business. But she hadn’t wanted to do it. She’d wanted to become a somebody. And coming to work at Grant Enterprises had made her feel like a somebody.
She gave her appearance another assessing look. The dress, a stunning, smoky blue color the salesperson had said perfectly matched her eyes clung to every inch of her body as though it had been painted on. But because of the way the beautiful material slipped elusively away from her skin, it was come-hither rather than tacky.
What had sealed the deal, though, and made her set Harrison’s black-label credit card down on the counter was the back of the dress. The gorgeous cutout that revealed the graceful sweep of her shoulder blades and much of her back was sexy yet ladylike.
A knock sounded on the connecting door. Her nerves amped up another notch or two. Harrison. Tessa had been right. You could have timed the Swiss train system after him, he was that punctual.
Wary of keeping the beast waiting, she picked up her wrap, draped it around her shoulders and swung the door open. Her breath stopped somewhere in her chest. He looked obscenely handsome in a tux that was undoubtedly as expensively made as her dress, the elegant formal wear a perfect foil for his clean-edged, dark masculinity.
She looked up at him before her gaping became obvious. But he was too busy looking at her to notice. His dark gaze seemed to be caught in a state of suspended animation as it moved over her, taking in the daring dress. And he didn’t remove it right away. The full-on stare went on for a good three or four seconds, sending a wave of heat through her. Unlike some men’s open admiration that had, in the past, made her feel uncomfortable, Harrison’s stare made her feel unbalanced.
He cleared his throat. “You look...beautiful.”
His uncharacteristic struggle for words unleashed a fluttery feeling deep in her stomach. Stop it, she told herself. He’s your boss. Now is the time to act cool and collected so he knows you can actually do it.
“I hope it’s not too much,” she offered casually. “The saleslady said it was perfect for tonight.”
“It’s not too much.” He looked as if he was going to say something else, then clamped his mouth shut. “We should go.”
The ride to Highgate was smooth and quiet as London flashed by the tinted windows of the Rolls-Royce. Harrison was silent, a frown etched in his brow, formulating a plan of attack for Leonid Aristov, no doubt. Her nerves skyrocketed as they entered the exclusive London suburb. Georgian homes shook hands with fascinating Victorian Gothic structures. Not to be outdone, a handful of architecturally brilliant modern homes made their own statement on the tree-lined street.
All impressive, but it was Leonid Aristov’s Georgian Revival mansion that was the most impressive of all. Tucked between a canopy of trees as they climbed the hill, the redbrick mansion stood white-pillared and regal on rolling acres. Massive. She’d read it contained fifty-two rooms, including eighteen bedrooms and ten bathrooms, an Imperial-inspired ballroom and an underground bath that harked back to Roman times. As they continued to climb, she stared up at the structure gleaming with light. She’d never seen anything like it.
When they reached the top of the hill, they turned a corner and accessed the property from the official entrance off a quiet road cradled in the branches of giant oak trees. Limousines pulled to a halt in a parade of arrivals in the circular driveway.
Frankie tugged the low bodice of her dress up and checked her hair for the tenth time as they waited in the queue. Harrison shot her a quelling glance. “Stop fidgeting. You look perfect.”
She stuck her hands back in her lap. “I suppose you do this once a week.”
A fleeting smile crossed his lips. “Not once a week. Remember—they are people like you.”
Her heart did a little flip. He was breathtaking when he smiled. How had she ever thought Coburn the better-looking brother? Where Coburn was stunning in a flashy, attention-getting way, Harrison was devastating in a complex, unforgettable way. He had about fifty layers. She wondered if anyone ever got to the bottom of them. It made a woman want to try, that was for sure.
She removed her gaze from him. The only lover she’d had was a year-long relationship two years ago in college. What did she know about unpeeling layers? Heavens. She needed to focus on keeping her job, not unraveling her boss in a very distracting way.
The car slid forward to the pillared entrance. A white-gloved, uniformed staff member stepped forward to open the door. “Welcome to Gvidon House.”
Harrison stepped out and offered her his hand. She took it and emerged into the flashing bulbs of paparazzi cameras. He leaned down to her. “Gvidon House?”
She blinked against the blinding lights and rested her hand on his arm for balance. “He’s a prince from a Russian fairy tale. Apparently Leonid is a big fan of them.”
“Fairy tales?”
She nodded, settling her weight firmly on two feet as she eyed the red carpet. It seemed long and never ending.
Harrison set a hand to the small of her back to guide her toward it. “How do you know that?”
“I did my research.”
He gave her a measuring look. “Then you know his current girlfriend is Juliana Rossellini, who works for one of London’s top auction houses.”
“Who is fifteen years his junior.”
He nodded. “See if you can gain some intelligence about Leonid from her.”
She would, but right now she was too consumed by the distracting feeling of his palm on the bare skin of her back as the handlers indicated they could start down the carpet. It was big and warm. Comforting yet disconcerting at the same time.
His fingers increased their pressure on her skin. “Relax. Pretend it’s a walk in the park. You’re smelling the flowers...enjoying yourself.”
The park didn’t have fifty cameras stuck in her face. The park hadn’t just realized it was Harrison on the carpet, causing an unexpected buzz. They called his name as they moved forward. Frankie stuck the fakest smile of her life on her lips and held it.
“What if they connect us in the photo?”
His mouth quirked. “It wouldn’t do my reputation any harm having a stunning brunette on my arm. I’ve apparently been going through a dry spell.”
A stunning brunette. A flush she was certain would show up in the photographs deepened her cheeks. She was quite sure she didn’t compare to any of his beautiful escorts. She’d seen them. They were way out of her league.
“Does it bother you?” she asked. “Being in a constant media spotlight?”
He shrugged. “It’s been my life. You get used to it.”
They made it down the carpet without incident to the entrance where a queue was forming. People were removing their wraps, shoes... “Metal detector,” one of the greeters explained.
A metal detector?
Frankie looked around for something to hold on to while she took off her shoes. Harrison held out his elbow. “Why is it always the women’s shoes?” she complained.
His mouth curled. “Because they are weapons. With you, they could be a dangerous thing.”
She made a face at him. They made it through the metal detector unscathed and were directed to the terrace where the cocktails were being served. Frankie was gobsmacked by the scene. Some guests were milling about the exquisitely landscaped, multilevel terrace in the same formal wear she and Harrison had on, jewels dripping from their necks and ears. Others were lounging in the pool in bathing suits, cocktails in hand.
Her eyes widened at the sight of a diamond-encrusted blonde in the pool across the bridge. She was pretty sure those were real diamonds making up the hardly there bikini. They were just too sparkly not to be.
“Apparently,” she murmured to Harrison, “I just needed to bring my bathing suit. It would have been a lot cheaper.”
He gave her one of his dark, fathomless looks. “I think you’re a lot safer in the dress.”
The heat that passed between them was swift and unmistakable. She bit the inside of her mouth. Unfair, her eyes told him. I thought we were playing by the rules.
You asked for that one, his gaze flashed in return. Be honest.
She wanted to say she had no experience playing this game. That she was merely attempting to keep her job by attending this party. But he was already scouting the crowd. “Let’s make our way to the bar. We can look for our hosts along the way.”
They weren’t more than a few feet into the crowd when Harrison spotted Aristov. He nodded his head toward the far pool. “He’s in a tux, Juliana’s in a red dress.” Frankie found the couple easily, having also looked at photos of Leonid Aristov during her research. They stood out even among this decadent crowd with their superior, distinctive good looks. A definite power couple.
Harrison acquired a drink for them at the bar, then they wound their way around the candle-strewn lively pools until they were close enough to greet Aristov when he was finished his conversation. It was a good twenty minutes before the Russian made his way over to them with his entourage. She could feel Harrison’s powerful body gaining heat beside her with every minute that passed.
Harrison and Leonid exchanged greetings. Leonid, a tall, thin Russian with whiskey-colored eyes and a craggy attractive face, gave Frankie a kiss on each cheek, then introduced his tall, statuesque girlfriend, Juliana, and his second in command, Viktor Kaminski. Juliana was a jaw-droppingly beautiful brunette with just enough imperfections to make her fascinating. She gave Harrison an appreciative look as he kissed her on each cheek, then greeted Frankie. Viktor Kaminski, a ruddy-cheeked, slightly paunchy, not attractive Russian, brought Frankie’s hand to his mouth. “How lucky for Harrison,” he murmured against her fingers.
She retrieved her hand but couldn’t escape Viktor’s ardent admiration, particularly when Harrison mentioned she spoke Russian. He insisted she try it out with him while he told her all about the magnificent paintings up for auction that evening, a subject she knew nothing about but feigned interest in.
Thankfully she and Juliana, who was unpretentious and lovely, hit it off. When Leonid offered to introduce Harrison around, Juliana grabbed her hand. “I’ll take Francesca to get another glass of champagne. You are so boring when you talk business.”
“Good thing I shine in other areas,” Leonid came back with one of his crooked smiles.
Juliana gave him a saucy look as she took Frankie’s arm and led her through the crowd. “Two powerful, delicious men,” she murmured. “They look good together.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
At the bar, Juliana claimed two seats. Frankie sat down beside her. “Poor Viktor,” Juliana teased, “he so has the hots for you. But who would be interested in him when your boss looks like Harrison?”
“I’d like to keep my job.”
Juliana’s dark eyes sparkled. “You can always find another job...”
Not like hers. Not when she’d worked so hard to prove she could be a success. She hadn’t performed a ground-breaking open-heart surgery like her brother Emilio had.
Juliana caught the bartender’s attention and ordered them champagne. “Leonid says Harrison has big political ambitions...that a presidential run isn’t out of the question.”
“I wouldn’t mention that to him,” Frankie said drily. “He’ll feed you a whole spiel about how presidential candidates don’t really run. They lurk.”
“Still.” Juliana gave her a meaningful look. “Power is an aphrodisiac. And he is delicious.”
“He’s not hard to look at.”
“There’s tension between him and Leonid,” Juliana observed.
She kept her smile even. “I think Harrison is just anxious to close the deal. There seems to be a couple of minor sticking points.”
Juliana snorted. “I think they’re too much alike, that’s the problem. Leonid likes to be in control. So does Harrison. They’re alpha dogs of the highest order. Even if Leonid’s empire is crumbling in a very public way, his ego needs to be stroked.”
Frankie wasn’t sure that was in the cards.
The bartender laid two glasses of champagne on the bar. Juliana slid one over to Frankie. “People might find it hard to believe, but it’s not all about business with Leonid. Tonight is about him doing good. He is a good man. He needs to feel the decisions he’s making are right. So if something is holding him back with Harrison’s deal at this late stage, it’s not about what’s on paper, it’s about what’s in his heart.”
Frankie filed that away for future use. “What’s he like?” she asked Juliana curiously. “Leonid? He seems like such an enigma.”
The brunette’s lips curved. “Very much so. Mensa-level IQ. Hard. Tough as nails. But good to his friends, good to those who work for him and a marshmallow with me despite the fact his ex-wife took half his money and ran.”
“One of the good oligarchs, then.”
Juliana nodded. “Unlike some. Anton Markovic, for instance.” She gave a delicate shiver. “I wouldn’t have him in this house if Leonid didn’t do business with him.”
Frankie knew of Markovic, of course. He was one of the world’s richest men, two places higher on the list than Harrison last year. “Is he here?”
“He’s out of the country, thank goodness. I don’t have to pretend I like him.”
“Why don’t you like him?”
The smile faded from the brunette’s face. “He’s dangerous. Far too many underworld connections, far too nasty and far too unfriendly to his women.”
Frankie made a mental note to avoid Anton Markovic if she ever came into contact with him. Which was unlikely since this was probably the last time she’d ever be at a party like this.
“Anyway,” Juliana said, holding her glass up to Frankie’s, “enough about business. Cin-cin.”
Frankie sipped her champagne slowly as Juliana introduced her around. But the spirit hit her quickly as it always did. By the time Juliana delivered her to Harrison the better part of an hour later, she was in a much more relaxed mood. Harrison, unfortunately, was not. Leonid was not with him and it was clear from the tense set of her boss’s jaw he had yet to have the talk he needed to have with the Russian.
Juliana left them to facilitate the auction that was to begin shortly and Viktor disappeared to greet a guest. Harrison threw back the last swallow of whatever amber liquid he was drinking and scowled. “I have no idea why we came. He’s been avoiding me, pawning me off on his guests when he knows I want to talk to him.”
Frankie thought about what Juliana had said. Did she dare speak up or would that be the last straw for her and Harrison? She pressed her empty glass to her chin and surveyed the beast at his most riled. She had valuable information. She needed to tell him.
She took a deep breath. “Juliana said with Leonid it’s not all about business. That he needs to feel good about the decisions he’s making. She said if something is holding him back with this deal, it’s not about what’s on paper, it’s about what’s in his heart.”
The deadly stare he directed at her made Frankie shift her weight to both feet. “You discussed the deal with her?”
Her chin snapped up. “You asked me to feel her out. She was the one to bring it up. She could sense the tension between you two.”
He muttered an oath under his breath. She stood her ground, palms moist, knees shaky as he turned and prowled over to stare into one of the cascading pools. “He doesn’t need to feel good about the bloody deal,” he growled. “It’s going to save his hide.”
“And what’s going to save his pride?” Frankie returned softly. “Leonid is in financial difficulty. His empire is suffering a very public defeat, yet he throws a party like this one tonight to make a gesture. It sends a message that he is not bowed by it. That he will survive. Let him see you understand that. Show him you understand.”
He turned around, a savage light in his gaze. “This is all from Juliana?”
She quaked a little inside. “Yes.”
He scowled. “Even if I could show him I understand, how can I do it when he won’t talk? He is never alone. Kaminski hasn’t left his goddamned side for a minute.”
“There has to be an opportunity.” Frankie had always been a glass-half-full kind of person. “Juliana said the auction is very important to Leonid. He wants it to go well. Maybe he’s keyed up about it and you’ll have your chance afterward.”
“Or maybe it’s another giant waste of my time.”
“You won’t know until you try.”
The glass-half-full part of her hoped she was right.
He stared hard at her. Deposited his empty glass on the table. “Let’s go, then.”
* * *
The over-the-top ballroom done in gold and imperial red was buzzing with anticipation when they arrived. Again, as it seemed with all of Leonid Aristov’s estate, it was like nothing she’d ever seen before. Slavic in feel, it dripped with ornate, antique chandeliers, featuring a half-dozen tiny balconies that opened to a view over the man-made lake Leonid had created. All of the little balconies reminded Frankie of the inside of a Russian opera house.
Tuxedo-clad waiters circulated with trays of champagne to whet the appetites of bidders, while staff passed out gold embossed lists of the items up for auction.
The list would have been impressive, she was sure, if Frankie had known anything more about art than Viktor Kaminski had bent her ear with earlier. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head when she saw the opening bids for some of the paintings. They were in the millions.
“Wow,” she murmured. “This is the real deal.”
Harrison didn’t respond. He was scanning the list with a furrowed brow.
The lights went up. Leonid took the stage and welcomed everyone, Juliana at his side. He made a joke about her not being up for auction with his dry humor that drew an amused response from the crowd. Frankie found his speech about his commitment to the arts and the artists who continued to make the world a more beautiful place heartfelt and eloquent. She could see the goodness in him Juliana had talked about. It made the charismatic Russian even more attractive and compelling.
Leonid highlighted a few of the marquee items up for auction, then exited the stage to be replaced by Juliana’s auctioneer. The Brit with his booming voice began the auction with some paintings by a new modern Russian artist. The value of the works continued to go up with every item, with the last painting selling for two million pounds.
A Chagall in brilliant blue tones came next. “I love that one,” she murmured to Harrison. It was, according to the brochure, “a piece from one of the artist’s most famous series set in Nice, featuring his famous sirens.”
Harrison nodded. “I like it, too.”
The bidding for the painting started at one and a half million pounds. A Brit in the front row signaled two. A determined look on his face, an American with a Southern accent took it up to two and a half million. The two men went back and forth until the price tag sat at three and a half million.
Harrison raised his hand. “Four million.”
Frankie gaped at him. “Four million,” the auctioneer crowed, “by the gentleman in the back.”
The auctioneer tried to persuade the other bidders to up the price, but the American and Brit weren’t biting. Apparently they were sane.
“Sold,” sang the auctioneer, “for four million pounds to Mr. Grant in the back.”
The ballroom was a buzz of conversation. Frankie looked at Harrison, her astonishment written across her face.
“It was a gesture,” he said roughly. “And I like the painting.”
A four-million-pound gesture. Two more paintings were sold, an astonishing amount of money changed hands, then Leonid appeared back on stage to thank the guests for their generosity and wrap the proceedings. When he stepped down from the stage, said something to Viktor Kaminski and slipped into the crowd, Harrison’s gaze tracked him. The Russian was finally alone.
He turned to her. “Can you occupy Kaminski for a few minutes?”
She knew what he was asking, knew it was well past her job description, but tonight she wanted to show Harrison Grant what she was made of. “No problem,” she replied crisply, smoothing her dress over her hips. “Leave him to me.”
He nodded and strode off after Leonid. Frankie kept her eyes on Viktor as he spoke to the auctioneer. When he left him and headed to the opulent bar, done in exotic dark woods and stone, she headed through the crowd and discreetly shouldered her way to the front of the line. She emerged to the right of Viktor, who had his forearms on the bar and was chatting with one of the attractive servers. She trained her gaze on the bartender as he took her order, hoping Viktor would notice her. But the Russian was lazily engaged with the attractive blonde, chatting for a few moments with her before she heard him order two cognacs. One for Leonid.
Adrenaline surged through her. She raised her voice beyond her usual soft, modulated tone as she thanked the bartender for the soda and lime. Viktor glanced over at her, his eyes lighting up as if he’d struck gold in the Yukon.
He wrapped his fingers around the two glasses of cognac that sat on the bar and made his way over to her. “You shouldn’t be getting your own drink,” he chastised. “Where’s Grant?”
“Talking to an acquaintance.” She adopted as arch a look as her limited repertoire allowed. “Maybe I can take you up on your offer to show me Leonid’s art collection while he’s occupied? I’m so inspired after the auction. It’s all so beautiful...”
Viktor flicked a glance toward the balconies. His frown belied his indecision. “Pretty please,” she murmured, laying it on thick. “I’ll never get another chance like this.”
He gave her an indulgent look. “Only if you agree to experience what a nineteenth-century Frapin Cuvée tastes like.” He held up the cognac. “I was on my way to meet Leonid.”
“Done,” she murmured. She had one more glass of tolerance in her.
She picked up the glass, took the arm Viktor offered and they made their way through the crowd to the long marble hallway that stretched the second floor of the manor. Aristov’s art collection, Viktor explained, was displayed along this and the grand hallway of the third floor. Frankie could see why. The Oriental-carpeted, ornately wainscoted hallways and expert lighting set the artwork off to perfection.
She didn’t have to feign attention. Viktor took her through each piece with an enthusiasm that was infectious. His clear love for his subject matter shone through and understanding what she was looking at made it so much more enjoyable for her. She put her hand on his arm frequently to indicate her pleasure, smiling up at him with exaggerated fascination. She could see it was working, from his animated expression and heightened color in his cheeks.
A surge of feminine power heated her veins. She really wasn’t half-bad at this femme fatale thing. Why hadn’t she tried it before?
Viktor took her through the artwork on the second, then third floors. By the time he stopped in front of what he called the pièce de résistance, an exceedingly modern piece by one of the great Russian masters that looked like random splotches of black and green to Frankie, a good twenty minutes had gone by.
“It’s so...interesting,” she commented, cradling her cognac in her hands. She was sipping the five-thousand-dollar-a-bottle spirit as slowly as she could, but its faint spiciness and floral aroma was delicious, sending a smooth, silky warmth through her bloodstream.
“It’s breathtaking,” Viktor countered, resting a palm against the wall where she stood. “I really should get back. Leonid is waiting for me.”
“Oh,” she murmured in disappointment, not sure they’d been gone long enough. “I was hoping there was more.”
The Russian’s eyes flashed. “There is an even more glorious Chagall in Leonid’s personal rooms. I’m sure he won’t mind me showing it to you.”
Alarm bells went off in Frankie’s head. The expression of intent in Viktor’s light brown eyes was clear. He was so close she could smell his overwhelming aftershave, a spicy combination that made her want to sneeze.
“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “I wouldn’t dare intrude on Leonid’s personal space.”
“Are you sure?” He moved closer. “You’ve been such a good audience.”
“Yes,” she said firmly. She put a hand to the wall to lever herself away from it, but Viktor stepped closer, stopping her. He was going to kiss her. She’d been flirting outrageously with him to keep his attention, so why wouldn’t he?
Her heart raced. “Viktor...this has been so sweet of you to give me a tour but—”
He set his other hand on the wall beside her so she was well and truly captured. “Don’t run away,” he said in Russian, his voice low and gravelly. “Stay.”
Panic sliced through her. He dipped his head toward hers. She ducked under his arm and took a step away from him. He gave her a bemused look. Frankie held up her almost empty glass. “I think I need another one of these first.”
He eyed her glass. “Another?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “It was sooo delicious. Just one more.”
His generous mouth curved into a smile. “We’ll make a full Russian out of you yet with that...appetite.”
Her stomach did a little churn. Then relaxed as he good-naturedly held out an arm and led the way back down the hallway to the stairs and the ballroom below. He kept a possessive hand on her back as they wound their way through the crowd toward the bar. Frankie searched furiously for Harrison while he got their drinks, but the crowds were thick now, massed on the dance floor with a strobe light passing over them. She couldn’t see him anywhere.
Viktor came back with their drinks, handing one to her. “We should dance,” he announced.
Frankie thought that might be a good idea because she really didn’t need any more to drink. She went to put the glass down on a table. Viktor waved a hand at her. “Bring it with you.”
He led her onto the dance floor, where the band was playing a slow enough tune that they could dance and drink at the same time. She fake-sipped the cognac as Viktor’s free hand around her waist kept her close. The champagne she’d consumed combined with the first cognac had cast the world in an all-over rosy glow, which would have been nice except this was a bit of a nightmare. The dance floor was packed, the heat of hundreds of bodies was magnifying her partner’s überstrong cologne and he kept moving her closer with his free hand. She had the feeling he was going to try and kiss her again any minute...
Goddamn you, Harrison Grant. Where are you?
