Heiress Nabs Polo Star

A Page Six Exclusive Report

Stunning world-class equestrian Diana Drake’s stayed out of the family business for decades. But now Diana has the inside track on a coveted diamond...not to mention a polo-playing partner in crime in Franco Andrade. And after mere weeks, the city’s most eligible bachelor is engaged to the jewelry heiress! Still, this whirlwind romance may not be as glittering as the jewels in Drake’s. After all, we hear that Franco’s first love has always been the polo team that unceremoniously sacked him. And Diana’s still recovering from the loss of the sport she’s always cherished. Can the handsome Argentine help his new fiancée capture the diamond of the century...and in the process repair her shattered heart?

This isn’t real.

It wasn’t real, but it felt real. It even looked real.

Diana was dressed in a strapless chiffon gown, midnight blue, with a dangerously low, plunging neckline. A glittering stone rested between her breasts. A sapphire. The sapphire necklace from the photo shoot.

“Please stop staring.” She turned and met his gaze. At last.

Franco’s body hardened the instant his eyes fixed with hers. As exquisite as the sapphire around her neck was, it didn’t hold a candle to the violet depths of those luminescent eyes. “You’re lovely.”

She stared at him coldly. “Save it for the cameras, would you? There’s no one here. You can drop the act.”

“It’s not an act. You look beautiful.” He swallowed. Hard. “That’s quite a dress.”

“Just stop it, would you? I know we’re supposed to be madly in love with each other in public. But in private, can we keep things professional? Please?”

Something about the way she said please grabbed Franco by the throat and refused to let go.

Had he really been so awful to her all those years ago?

Yes. He had.

* * *

Drake Diamonds:

Looking for love that shines as bright

as the gems in their window!

It Started with a Diamond

Teri Wilson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

TERI WILSON is a novelist for Mills & Boon. She is the author of Unleashing Mr. Darcy, now a Hallmark Channel Original Movie. Teri is also a contributing writer at HelloGiggles.com, a lifestyle and entertainment website founded by Zooey Deschanel that is now part of the People magazine, TIME magazine and Entertainment Weekly family. Teri loves books, travel, animals and dancing every day. Visit Teri at www.teriwilson.net or on Twitter, @teriwilsonauthr.

For Brant Schafer, because naming a polo pony after me will guarantee you a book dedication.

And for Roe Valentine, my dear writing friend and other half of the Sisterhood of the Traveling Veuve Clicquot.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“It’s hard to be a diamond in a rhinestone world.”

—Dolly Parton

Diana Drake wasn’t sure about much in her life at the moment, but one thing was crystal clear—she wanted to strangle her brother.

Not her older brother, Dalton. She couldn’t really muster up any indignation as far as her elder sibling went, despite the fact that she was convinced he was at least partially responsible for her current predicament.

But Dalton got a free pass. For now.

She owed him.

For one thing, she’d been living rent free in his swanky Lenox Hill apartment for the past several months. For another, he was a prince now. A literal Prince Charming. As such, he wasn’t even in New York anymore. He was somewhere on the French Riviera polishing his crown or sitting on a throne or doing whatever it was princes did all day long.

Dalton’s absence meant that Diana’s younger brother, Artem, was the only Drake around to take the full brunt of her frustration. Which was a tad problematic since he was her boss now.

Technically.

Sort of.

But Diana would just have to overlook that minor point. She’d held her tongue for as long as humanly possible.

“I can’t do it anymore,” she blurted as she marched into his massive office on the tenth floor of Drake Diamonds, the legendary jewelry store situated on the corner of 5th Avenue and 57th Street, right in the glittering center of Manhattan. The family business.

Diana might not have spent every waking hour of her life surrounded by diamonds and fancy blue boxes tied with white satin bows, as Dalton had. And she might not be the chief executive officer, like Artem. But the last time she checked, she was still a member of the family. She was a Drake, just like the rest of them.

So was it really necessary to suffer the humiliation of working as a salesperson in the most dreaded section of the store?

“Engagements? Really?” She crossed her arms and glared at Artem. It was still weird seeing him sitting behind what used to be their father’s desk. Gaston Drake had been dead for a nearly a year, yet his presence loomed large.

Too large. It was almost suffocating.

“Good morning to you, too, Diana.” Artem smoothed down his tie, which was the exact same hue as the store’s trademark blue boxes. Drake blue.

Could he have the decency to look at least a little bit bothered by her outburst?

Apparently not.

She sighed. “I can’t do it, Artem. I’ll work anywhere in this building, except there.” She waved a hand in the direction of the Engagements showroom down the hall.

He stared blithely at her, then made a big show of looking at his watch. “I see your point. It’s been all of three hours. However have you lasted this long?”

“Three torturous hours.” She let out another massive sigh. “Have you ever set foot in that place?”

“I’m the CEO, so, yes, I venture over there from time to time.”

Right. Of course he had.

Still, she doubted he’d actually helped any engaged couples choose their wedding rings. At least, she hoped he hadn’t, mainly because she wouldn’t have wished such a fate on her worst enemy.

This morning she’d actually witnessed a grown man and woman speaking baby talk to each other. Her stomach churned just thinking about it now. Adults had no business speaking baby talk, not even to actual babies.

Her gaze shifted briefly to the bassinet in the corner of her brother’s office. She still couldn’t quite believe Artem was a dad now. A husband. It was kind of mind-boggling when she thought about it, especially considering what an abysmally poor role model their father had been in the family department.

Keep it professional.

She wouldn’t get anywhere approaching Artem as a sibling. This conversation was about business, plain and simple. Removing herself from Engagements was the best thing Diana could do, not just for herself, but also for Drake Diamonds.

Only half an hour ago, she’d had to bite her tongue when a man asked for advice about choosing an engagement ring and she’d very nearly told him to spend his money on something more sensible than a huge diamond when the chances that he and his girlfriend would live happily ever after were slim to none. If she accepted his proposal, they only had about an eighty percent chance of making it down the aisle. Beyond that, their odds of staying married were about fifty-fifty. Even if they remained husband and wife until death did them part, could they reasonably expect to be happy? Was anyone happily married?

Diana’s own mother had stuck faithfully by her husband’s side after she found out he’d fathered a child with their housekeeper, even when she ended up raising the boy herself. Surely that didn’t count as a happy marriage.

That boy was now a man and currently seated across the desk from Diana. She’d grown up alongside Artem and couldn’t possibly love him more. He was her brother. Case closed.

Diana’s problem wasn’t with Artem. It was with her father and the concept of marriage as a whole. She didn’t like what relationships did to people...

Especially what one had done to her mother.

Even if she’d grown up in a picture-perfect model family, Diana doubted she’d ever see spending three months’ salary on an engagement ring as anything but utter foolishness.

It was a matter of logic, pure and simple. Of statistics. And statistics said that plunking down $40,000 for a two-carat Drake Diamonds solitaire was like throwing a giant wad of cash right into the Hudson River.

But she had no business saying such things out loud since she worked in Engagements, now, did she? She had no business saying such things, period. Drake Diamonds had supported her for her entire life.

So she’d bitten her tongue. Hard.

“I’m simply saying that my talents would be best put to use someplace else.” Anyplace else.

“Would they now?” Artem narrowed his gaze at her. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and she knew what was coming. “And what talents would those be, exactly?”

And there it was.

“Don’t start.” She had no desire to talk about her accident again. Or ever, for that matter. She’d moved on.

Artem held up his hands in a gesture of faux surrender. “I didn’t say a word about your training. I’m simply pointing out that you have no work experience. Or college education, for that matter. I hate to say it, sis, but your options are limited.”

She’d considered enrolling in classes at NYU, but didn’t bother mentioning it. Her degree wasn’t going to materialize overnight. Unfortunately. College had always been on her radar, but between training and competing, she hadn’t found the time. Now she was a twenty-six-year-old without a single day of higher education under her belt.

If only she’d spent a little less time on the back of a horse for the past ten years and a few more hours in the classroom...

She cleared her throat. “Do I need to remind you that I own a third of this business? You and Dalton aren’t the only Drakes around here, you know.”

“No, but we’re the only ones who’ve actually worked here before today.” He glanced at his watch again, stood and buttoned his suit jacket. “Look, just stick it out for a while. Once you’ve learned the ropes, we’ll try and find another role for you. Okay?”

Awhile.

Just how long was that, she wondered. A week? A month? A year? She desperately wanted to ask, but she didn’t dare. She hated sounding whiny, and she really hated relying on the dreadful Drake name. But it just so happened that name was the only thing she had going for her at the moment.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen. Literally.

“Come on.” Artem brushed past her. “We’ve got a photo shoot scheduled this afternoon in Engagements. I think you might find it rather interesting.”

She was glad to be walking behind him so he couldn’t see her massive eyeroll. “Please tell me it doesn’t involve a wedding dress.”

“Relax, sister dear. We’re shooting cuff links. The photographer only wanted to use the Engagements showroom because it has the best view of Manhattan in the building.”

It did have a lovely view, especially now that spring had arrived in New York in all its fragrant splendor. The air was filled with cherry blossoms, swirling like pink snow flurries. Diana had lost herself a time or two staring out at the verdant landscape of Central Park.

But those few blissful moments had come to a crashing end the moment she’d turned away from the showroom’s floor-to-ceiling windows and remembered she was surrounded by diamonds. Wedding diamonds.

And here I am again.

She blinked against the dazzling assault of countless engagement rings sparkling beneath the sales floor lights and followed Artem to the corner of the room where the photographer was busy setting up a pair of tall light stands. A row of camera lenses in different sizes sat on top of one of glass jewelry cases.

Diana slid a velvet jeweler’s pad beneath the lenses to protect the glass and busied herself rearranging things. Maybe if she somehow inserted herself into this whole photo-shoot process, she could avoid being a part of anyone’s betrothal for an hour or two.

A girl can dream.

“Is our model here?” the photographer asked. “Because I’m ready, and we’ve only got about an hour left until sundown. I’d like to capture some of this nice view before it’s too late.”

Diana glanced out the window. The sky was already tinged pale violet, and the evening wind had picked up, scattering pink petals up and down 5th Avenue. The sun was just beginning to dip below the skyscrapers. It would be a gorgeous backdrop...

...if the model showed up.

Artem checked his watch again and frowned in the direction of the door. Diana took her time polishing the half-dozen pairs of Drake cuff links he’d pulled for the shoot. Anything to stretch out the minutes.

Just as she reached for the last pair, Artem let out a sigh of relief. “Ah, he’s here.”

Diana glanced up, took one look at the man stalking toward them and froze. Was she hallucinating? Had the blow to the head she’d taken months ago done more damage than the doctors had thought?

Nothing is wrong with you. You’re fine. Everything is fine.

Everything didn’t feel fine, though. Diana’s whole world had come apart, and months later she still hadn’t managed to put it back together. She was beginning to think she never would.

Because, deep down, she knew she wouldn’t. She couldn’t pick up the pieces, even if she tried. No one could.

Which was precisely why she was cutting her losses and starting over again. She’d simply build a new life for herself. A normal life. Quiet. Safe. It would take some getting used to, but she could do it.

People started over all the time, didn’t they?

At least she had a job. An apartment. A family. There were worse things in the world than being a Drake.

She was making a fresh start. She was a jeweler now. Her past was ancient history.

Except for the nagging fact that a certain man from her past was walking toward her. Here, now, in the very real present.

Franco Andrade.

Not him. Just...no.

She needed to leave. Maybe she could just slink over to one of the sales counters and get back to her champagne-sipping brides and grooms to be. Selling engagement rings had never seemed as appealing as it did right this second.

She laid her polishing cloth on the counter, but before she could place the cuff links back inside their neat blue box, one of them slipped right through her fingers. She watched in horror as it bounced off the tip of Artem’s shoe and rolled across the plush Drake-blue carpet, straight toward Franco’s approaching form.

Diana sighed. This is what she got for complaining to Artem. Just because she was an heiress didn’t mean she had to act like one. Being entitled wasn’t an admirable quality. Besides, karma was a raging bitch. One who didn’t waste any time, apparently.

Diana dropped to her knees and scrambled after the runaway cuff link, wishing the floor would somehow open up and swallow her whole. Evidently, there were indeed fates worse than helping men choose engagement rings.

“Mr. Andrade, we meet at last.” Artem deftly sidestepped her and extended a hand toward Franco.

Mr. Andrade.

So it was him. She’d still been holding out the tiniest bit of hope for a hallucination. Or possibly a doppelganger. But that was an absurd notion. Men as handsome as Franco Andrade didn’t roam the Earth in pairs. His kind of chiseled bone structure was a rarity, something that only came around once in a blue moon. Like a unicorn. Or a fiery asteroid hurtling toward Earth, promising mass destruction on impact.

One of those two things. The second, if the rumors of his conquests were to be believed.

Who was she kidding? She didn’t need to rely on rumors. She knew firsthand what kind of man Franco Andrade was. It was etched in her memory with excruciating clarity. What she didn’t know was what he was doing here.

Was he the model for the new campaign? Impossible.

It had to be some kind of joke. Or possibly Artem’s wholly inappropriate attempt to manipulate her back into her old life.

Either way, for the second time in a matter of hours, she wanted to strangle her brother. He was the one who’d invited Franco here, after all. Perhaps joining the family business hadn’t been her most stellar idea.

As if she had any other options.

She pushed Artem’s reminders of her inadequate education and employment record out of her head and concentrated on the mortifying matter at hand. Where was that darn cuff link, anyway?

“Gotcha,” she whispered under her breath as she caught sight of a silver flash out of the corner of her eye.

But just as she reached for it, Franco Andrade’s ridiculously masculine form crouched into view. “Allow me.”

His words sent a tingle skittering through her. Had his voice always been so deliciously low? The man could recite the alphabet and bring women to their knees. Which would have made the fact that she was already in just such a position convenient, had it not been so utterly humiliating.

“Here.” He held out his hand. The cuff link sat nestled in the center of his palm. He had large hands, rough with calluses, a stark contrast to the finely tailored fit of his custom tuxedo.

Of course that tuxedo happened to be missing a tie, and his shirt cuffs weren’t even fastened. He looked as if he’d just rolled out of someone’s bed and tossed on his discarded Armani from the night before.

Then again, he most likely had.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, steadfastly refusing to meet his gaze.

“Wait.” He balled his fist around the cuff link and stooped lower to peer at her. “Do we know each other?”

“Nope.” She shook her head so hard she could practically hear her brain rattle. “No, I’m afraid we don’t.”

“I think we might,” he countered, stubbornly refusing to hand over the cuff link.

Fine. Let him keep it. She had better things to do, like help lovebirds snap selfies while trying on rings. Anything to extricate herself from the current situation.

She flew to her feet. “Everything seems in order here. I’ll just be going...”

“Diana, wait.” Artem was using his CEO voice. Marvelous.

She obediently stayed put, lest he rethink his promise and banish her to an eternity of working in Engagements.

Franco took his time unfolding himself to a standing position, as if everyone was happy to wait for him, the Manhattan sunset included.

“Mr. Andrade, I’m Artem Drake, CEO of Drake Diamonds.” Artem gestured toward Diana. “And this is my sister, Diana Drake.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said tightly and crossed her arms.

Artem shot her a reproachful glare. With no small amount of reluctance, she pasted on a smile and offered her hand for a shake.

Franco’s gaze dropped to her outstretched fingertips. He waited a beat until her cheeks flared with heat, then dropped the cuff link into her palm without touching her.

“El gusto es mio,” he said with just a hint of an Argentine accent.

The pleasure is mine.

A rebellious shiver ran down Diana’s spine.

That shiver didn’t mean anything. Of course it didn’t. He was a beautiful man, that was all. It was only natural for her body to respond to that kind of physical perfection, even though her head knew better than to pay any attention to his broad shoulders and dark, glittering eyes.

She swallowed. Overwhelming character flaws aside, Franco Andrade had always been devastatingly handsome...emphasis on devastating.

It was hardly fair. But life wasn’t always fair, was it? No, it most definitely wasn’t. Lately, it had been downright cruel.

Diana’s throat grew thick. She had difficulty swallowing all of a sudden. Then, somewhere amid the sudden fog in her head, she became aware of Artem clearing his throat.

“Shall we get started? I believe we’re chasing the light.” He introduced Franco to the photographer, who practically swooned on the spot when he turned his gaze on her.

Diana suppressed a gag and did her best to blend into the Drake-blue walls.

Apparently, any and all attempts at disappearing proved futile. As she tried to make an escape, Artem motioned her back. “Diana, join us please.”

She forced her lips into something resembling a smile and strode toward the window where the photographer was getting Franco into position with a wholly unnecessary amount of hands-on attention. The woman with the camera had clearly forgiven him for his tardiness. It figured.

Diana turned her back on the nauseating scene and raised an eyebrow at Artem, who was tapping away on his iPhone. “You needed me?”

He looked up from his cell. “Yes. Can you get Mr. Andrade fitted with some cuff links?”

She stared blankly at him. “Um, me?”

“Yes, you.” He shrugged. “What’s with the attitude? I thought you’d be pleased. I’m talking to the same person who just stormed into my office demanding a different job than working in Engagements, right?”

She swallowed. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

She longed to return to her dreadful post, but if she did, Artem would never take her seriously. Not after everything she’d said earlier.

“Cuff links.” She nodded. “I’m on it.”

She could do this. She absolutely could. She was Diana Drake, for crying out loud. She had a reputation all over the world for being fearless.

At least, that’s what people used to say about her. Not so much anymore.

Just do it and get it over with. You’ll never see him again after today. Those days are over.

She squared her shoulders, grabbed a pair of cuff links and marched toward the corner of the room that had been roped off for the photo shoot, all the while fantasizing about the day when she’d be the one in charge of this place. Or at least not at the very bottom of the food chain.

Franco leaned languidly against the window while the photographer tousled his dark hair, ostensibly for styling purposes.

“Excuse me.” Diana held up the cuff links—18-carat white-gold knots covered in black pavé diamonds worth more than half the engagement rings in the room. “I’ve got the jewels.”

“Excellent,” the photographer chirped. “I’ll grab the camera and we’ll be good to go.”

She ran her hand through Franco’s hair one final time before sauntering away.

If Franco noticed the sudden, exaggerated swing in her hips, he didn’t let it show. He fixed his gaze pointedly at Diana. “You’ve come to dress me?”

“No.” Her face went instantly hot. Again. “I mean, yes. Sort of.”

The corner of his mouth tugged into a provocative grin and he offered her his wrists.

She reached for one of his shirt cuffs, and her mortification reached new heights when she realized her hands were shaking.

Will this day ever end?

“Be still, mi cielo,” he whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear.

Mi cielo.

She knew the meaning of those words because he’d whispered them to her before. Back then, she’d clung to them as if they’d meant something.

Mi cielo. My heaven.

They hadn’t, though. They’d meant nothing to him.

Neither had she.

“I’m not yours, Mr. Andrade. Never have been, never will be.” She glared at him, jammed the second cuff link into his shirt with a little too much force and dropped his wrist. “We’re finished here.”

Why did she have the sinking feeling that she might be lying?

Chapter Two

Diana Drake didn’t remember him. Or possibly she did, and she despised him. Franco wasn’t altogether sure which prospect was more tolerable.

The idea of being so easily forgotten didn’t sit well. Then again, being memorable hadn’t exactly done him any favors lately, had it?

No, he thought wryly. Not so much. But it had been a hell of a lot of fun. At least, while it had lasted.

Fun wasn’t part of his vocabulary anymore. Those days had ended. He was starting over with a clean slate, a new chapter and whatever other metaphors applied.

Not that he’d had much of a choice in the matter.

He’d been fired. Let go. Dumped from the Kingsmen Polo Team. Jack Ellis, the owner of the Kingsmen, had finally made good on all the ultimatums he’d issued over the years. It probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Franco knew he’d pushed the limits of Ellis’s tolerance. More than once. More than a few times, to be honest.

But he’d never let his extracurricular activities affect his performance on the field. Franco had been the Kingsmen’s record holder for most goals scored for four years running. His season total was always double the number of the next closest player on the list.

Which made his dismissal all the more frustrating, particularly considering he hadn’t actually broken any rules. This time, Franco had been innocent. For probably the first time in his adult life, he’d done nothing untoward.

The situation dripped with so much irony that Franco was practically swimming in it. He would have found the entire turn of events amusing if it hadn’t been so utterly frustrating.

“Mr. Andrade, could you lift your right forearm a few inches?” the photographer asked. “Like this.”

She demonstrated for him, and Franco dragged his gaze away from Diana Drake with more reluctance than he cared to consider. He hadn’t been watching her intentionally. His attention just kept straying in her direction. Again and again, for some strange reason.

She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Then again, beautiful women were a dime a dozen in his world. There was something far more intriguing about Diana Drake than her appearance.

Although it didn’t hurt to look at her. On the contrary, Franco rather enjoyed the experience.

She stood at one of the jewelry counters arranging and rearranging her tiny row of cuff links. He wondered if she realized her posture gave him a rather spectacular view of her backside. Judging by the way she seemed intent on ignoring him, he doubted it. She wasn’t posing for his benefit, like, say, the photographer seemed to be doing. Franco could tell when a woman was trying to get his attention, and this one wasn’t.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was about her that captivated him until she stole a glance at him from across the room.

The memory hit him like a blow to the chest.

Those eyes...

Until he’d met Diana, Franco had never seen eyes that color before—deep violet. They glittered like amethysts. Framed by thick ebony lashes, they were in such startling contrast with her alabaster complexion that he couldn’t quite bring himself to look away. Even now.

And that was a problem. A big one.

“Mr. Andrade,” the photographer repeated. “Your wrist.”

He adjusted his posture and shot her an apologetic wink. The photographer’s cheeks went pink, and he knew he’d been forgiven. Franco glanced at Diana again, just in time to see her violet eyes rolling in disgust.

A problem. Most definitely.

He had no business noticing any woman right now, particularly one who bore the last name Drake. He was on the path to redemption, and the Drakes were instrumental figures on that path. As such, Diana Drake was strictly off-limits.

So it was a good thing she clearly didn’t want to give him the time of day. What a relief.

Right.

Franco averted his gaze from Diana Drake’s glittering violet eyes and stared into the camera.

“Perfect,” the photographer cooed. “Just perfect.”

Beside her, Artem Drake nodded. “Yes, this is excellent. But maybe we should mix it up a little before we lose the light.”

The photographer lowered her camera and glanced around the showroom, filled with engagement rings. You couldn’t swing a polo mallet in the place without hitting a dozen diamond solitaires. “What were you thinking? Something romantic, maybe?”

“We’ve done romantic.” Artem shrugged. “Lots of times. I was hoping for something a little more eye-catching.”

The photographer frowned. “Let me think for a minute.”

A generous amount of furtive murmuring followed, and Franco sighed. He’d known modeling wouldn’t be as exciting as playing polo. He wasn’t an idiot. But he’d been on the job for less than an hour and he was already bored out of his mind.

He sighed. Again.

His eyes drifted shut, and he imagined he was someplace else. Someplace that smelled of hay and horses and churned-up earth. Someplace where the ground shook with the thunder of hooves. Someplace where he never felt restless or boxed in.

The pounding that had begun in his temples subsided ever so slightly. When he opened his eyes, Diana Drake was standing mere inches away.

Franco smiled. “We meet again.”

Diana’s only response was a visible tensing of her shoulders as the photographer gave her a push and shoved her even closer toward him.

“Okay, now turn around. Quickly before the sun sets,” the photographer barked. She turned her attention toward Franco. “Now put your arms around her. Pull her close, right up against your body. Yes, like that. Perfect!”

Diana obediently situated herself flush against him, with her lush bottom fully pressed against his groin. At last things were getting interesting.

Maybe he didn’t hate modeling so much, after all.

Franco cleared his throat. “Well, this is awkward,” he whispered, sending a ripple through Diana’s thick dark hair.

He tried his best not to think about how soft that hair felt against his cheek or how much her heady floral scent reminded him of buttery-yellow orchids growing wild on the vine in Argentina.

“Awkward?” Diana shot him a glare over her shoulder. “From what I hear, you’re used to this kind of thing.”

He tightened his grip on her tiny waist. “And here I thought you didn’t remember me.”

“You’re impossible,” Diana said under her breath, wiggling uncomfortably in his arms.

“That’s not what you said the last time we were in this position.”

“Oh, my God, you did not just say that.” This was the Diana Drake he remembered. Fiery. Bold.

“Nice.” Artem strode toward them, nodding. “I like it. Against the sunset, you two look gorgeous. Edgy. Intimate.”

Diana shook her head. “Artem, you’re not serious.”

“Actually, I am. Here.” He lifted his hand. A sparkling diamond and sapphire necklace dangled from it with a center stone nearly as large as a polo ball. “Put this around your neck, Diana.”

Diana crossed her arms. “Really, I’m not sure I should be part of this.”

“It’s just one picture out of hundreds. We probably won’t even use it. The campaign is for cuff links, remember? Humor me, sis. Put it on.” He arched a brow. “Besides, I thought you were interested in exploring other career opportunities around here.”

She snatched the jewels out of his hands. “Fine.”

Career opportunities?

“You’re not working here, are you?” Franco murmured, barely loud enough for her to hear.

Granted, her last name was Drake. But why on earth would she give up a grand prix riding career to peddle diamonds?

“As a matter of fact, I am,” she said primly.

“Why? If memory serves, you belong on a medal stand. Not here.”

“Why do you care?” she asked through clenched teeth as the photographer snapped away.

Good question. “I don’t.”

“Fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. He did care, damn it. He shouldn’t, but he did.

He would have given his left arm to be on horseback right now, and Diana Drake was working as a salesgirl when she could have been riding her way to the Olympics. What was she thinking? “It just seems like a phenomenal waste of talent. Be honest. You miss it, don’t you?”

Her fingertips trembled and she nearly dropped the necklace down her blouse.

Franco covered her hands with his. “Here, let me help.”

“I can do it,” she snapped.

Franco sighed. “Look, the faster we get this picture taken, the faster all this will be over.”

He bowed his head to get a closer look at the catch on the necklace, and his lips brushed perilously close to the elegant curve of her neck. She glanced at him over her shoulder, and for a sliver of a moment, her gaze dropped to his mouth. She let out a tremulous breath, and Franco could have sworn he heard a kittenish noise escape her lips.

Her reaction aroused him more than it should have, which he blamed on his newfound celibacy.

This lifestyle was going to prove more challenging than he’d anticipated.

But that was okay. Franco had never been the kind of man who backed down from a challenge. On the contrary, he relished it. He’d always played his best polo when facing his toughest opponents. Adversity brought out the best in Franco. He’d learned that lesson the hard way.

A long time ago.

Another time, another place.

“You two are breathtaking,” the photographer said. “Diana, open the collar of your blouse just a bit so we can get a better view of the sapphire.”

She obeyed, and Franco found himself momentarily spellbound by the graceful contours of her collarbones. Her skin was lovely. Luminous and pale beside the brilliant blue of the sapphire around her neck.

“Okay, I think we’ve got it.” The photographer lowered her camera.

“We’re finished?” Diana asked.

“Yes, all done.”

“Excellent.” She started walking away without so much as a backward glance.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, mi cielo?” he said.

She spun back around, face flushed. He’d seen her wear that same heated expression during competition. “What?”

He held up his wrists. “Your cuff links.”

“Oh. Um. Yes, thank you.” She unfastened them and gathered them in her closed fist. “Goodbye, Mr. Andrade.”

She squared her shoulders and slipped past him. All business.

But Franco wasn’t fooled. He’d seen the tremble in her fingertips as she’d loosened the cuffs of his shirt. She’d been shaking like a leaf, which struck him as profoundly odd.

Diana may have pretended to forget him, but he remembered her all too well. There wasn’t a timid bone in her body, which had made her beyond memorable. She was confidence personified. It was one of the qualities that made her such an excellent rider.

If Diana Drake was anything, it was fearless. In the best possible way. She possessed the kind of tenacity that couldn’t be taught. It was natural. Inborn. Like a person’s height. Or the tone of her voice.

Or eyes the color of violets.

But people changed, didn’t they? It happened all the time.

It had to. Franco was counting on it.

Chapter Three

Diana was running late for work.

Since the day of the mortifying photo shoot, she’d begun to dread the tenth-floor showroom with more fervor than ever before. Every time she looked up from one of the jewelry cases, she half expected to see Franco Andrade strolling toward her with a knowing look in his eyes and a smug grin on his handsome face. It was a ridiculous thing to worry about, of course. He had no reason to return to the store. The photo shoot was over. Finished.

Thank goodness.

Besides, if history had proven anything, it was that Franco wasn’t fond of follow-through.

Still, she couldn’t quite seem to shake the memory of how it had felt when he fastened that sapphire pendant around her neck...the graze of his fingertips on her collarbone, the tantalizing warmth of his breath on her skin.

It had been a long time since Diana had been touched in such an intimate way. A very long time. She knew getting her photo taken with Franco hadn’t been real. They’d been posing, that’s all. Pretending. She wasn’t delusional, for heaven’s sake.

But her body clearly hadn’t been on the same page as her head. Physically, she’d been ready to believe the beautiful lie. She’d bought it, hook, line and sinker.

Just as she’d done the night she’d slept with him.

It was humiliating to think about the way she’d reacted to seeing him again after so long. She’d practically melted into a puddle at the man’s feet. And not just any man. Franco Andrade was the king of the one night stand.

Even worse, she was fairly sure he’d known. He’d noticed the hitch in her breath, the flutter of her heart, the way she’d burned. He’d noticed, and he’d enjoyed it. Every mortifying second.

Don’t think about it. It’s over and done. Besides, it wasn’t even a thing. It was nothing.

Except the fact that she kept thinking about it made it feel like something. A very big, very annoying something.

Enough. She had more important things to worry about than embarrassing herself in front of that polo-playing lothario. It hadn’t been the first time, after all. She’d made an idiot out of herself in his presence before and lived to tell about it. At least this time she’d managed to keep her clothes on.

She tightened her grip on the silver overhead bar as the subway car came to a halt. The morning train was as crowded as ever, and when the doors slid open she wiggled her way toward the exit through a crush of commuters.

She didn’t realize she’d gotten off at the wrong stop until it was too late.

Perfect. Just perfect. She was already running late, and now she’d been so preoccupied by Franco Andrade that she’d somehow gotten off the subway at the most crowded spot in New York. Times Square.

She slipped her messenger bag over her shoulder and climbed the stairs to street level. The trains had been running slow all morning, and she’d never be on time now. She might as well walk the rest of the way. A walk would do her good. Maybe the spring air would help clear her head and banish all thoughts of Franco once and for all.

It was worth a shot, anyway.

Diana took a deep inhale and allowed herself to remember how much she’d always loved to ride during this time of year. No more biting wind in her face. No more frost on the ground. In springtime, the sun glistened off her horse’s ebony coat until it sparkled like black diamonds.

Diana’s chest grew tight. She swallowed around the lump in her throat and fought the memories, pushed them back to the farthest corner of her mind where they belonged. Don’t cry. Don’t do it. If she did, she might not be able to stop.

After everything that had happened, she didn’t want to be the pitiful-looking woman weeping openly on the sidewalk.

She focused, instead, on the people around her. Whenever the memory of the accident became too much, she tried her best to focus outward rather than on what was going on inside. Once, at Drake Diamonds, she’d stared at a vintage-inspired engagement ring for ten full minutes until the panic had subsided. She’d counted every tiny diamond in its art deco pavé setting, traced each slender line of platinum surrounding the central stone.

When she’d been in the hospital, her doctor had told her she might not remember everything that had led up to her fall. Most of the time, people with head injuries suffered memory loss around the time of impact. They didn’t remember what had happened right before they’d been hurt.

They were the lucky ones.

Diana remembered everything. She would have given anything to forget.

Breathe in, breathe out. Look around you.

The streets were crowded with pedestrians, and as Diana wove her way through the crush of people, she thought she caught a few of them looking at her. They nodded and smiled in apparent recognition.

What was going on?

She was accustomed to being recognized at horse shows. On the riding circuit she’d been a force to be reckoned with. But this wasn’t the Hamptons or Connecticut. This was Manhattan. She should blend in here. That was one of the things she liked best about the city—a person could just disappear right in the middle of a crowd. She didn’t have to perform here. She could be anyone.

At least that’s how she’d felt until Franco Andrade had walked into Drake Diamonds. The moment she’d set eyes on him, the dividing line between her old life and her new one had begun to blur.

She didn’t like it. Not one bit. Before he’d shown up, she’d been doing a pretty good job of keeping things compartmentalized. She’d started a new job. She’d spent her evening hours in Dalton’s apartment watching television until she fell asleep. She’d managed to live every day without giving much thought to what she was missing.

But the moment Franco had touched her she’d known the truth. She wasn’t okay. The accident had affected her more than she could admit, even to herself.

There’d been an awareness in the graze of his fingertips, a strange intimacy in the way he’d looked at her. As if she were keeping a secret that only he was privy to. She’d felt exposed. Vulnerable. Seen.

She’d always felt that way around Franco, which is why she’d been stupid enough to end up in his bed. The way she felt when he looked at her had been intoxicating back then. Impossible to ignore.

But she didn’t want to be seen now. Not anymore. She just wanted to be invisible for a while.

Maybe she wouldn’t have been so rattled if it had been someone else. But it had been him. And she was most definitely still shaken up.

She needed to get a grip. So she’d posed for a few pictures with a handsome man she used to know. That’s all. Case closed. End of story. No big deal.

She squared her shoulders and marched down the street with renewed purpose. This was getting ridiculous. She would not let a few minutes with Franco ruin her new beginning. He meant nothing to her. She was only imagining things, anyway. He probably looked at every woman he met with that same knowing gleam in his eye. That’s why they were always falling at his feet everywhere he went.

It was nauseating.

She wouldn’t waste another second thinking about the man. She sighed and realized she was standing right in front of the Times Square Starbucks. Perfect. Coffee was just what she needed.

As soon as she took her place in line, a man across the room did a double take in her direction. His face broke into a wide smile. Diana glanced over her shoulder, convinced he was looking at someone behind her. His wife, maybe. Or a friend.

No one was there.

She turned back around. The man winked and raised his cardboard cup as if he were toasting her. Then he turned and walked out the door.

Diana frowned. People were weird. It was probably just some strange coincidence. Or the man was confused, that was all.

Except he didn’t look confused. He looked perfectly friendly and sane.

“Can I help you?” The barista, a young man with wire-rimmed glasses and a close-cropped beard, jabbed at the cash register.

“Yes, please,” Diana said. “I’d like a...”

The barista looked up, grinned and cut her off before she could place her order. “Oh, hey, you’re that girl.”

That girl?

Diana’s gaze narrowed. She shook her head. “Um, I don’t think I am.”

What was she even arguing about? She didn’t actually know. But she knew for certain that this barista shouldn’t have any idea who she was.

Unless her accident had somehow ended up on YouTube or something.

Not that. Please not that.

Anything but that.

“Yeah, you are.” The barista turned to the person in line behind her. “You know who she is too, right?”

Diana ventured a sideways glance at the woman, who didn’t look the least bit familiar. Diana was sure she’d never seen her before.

“Of course.” The woman looked Diana up and down. “You’re her. Most definitely.”

For a split second, relief washed over her. She wasn’t losing it, after all. People on the sidewalk really had been staring at her. The triumphant feeling was short-lived when she realized she still had no idea why.

“Will one of you please tell me what’s going on? What girl?”

The woman and the barista exchanged a glance.

“The girl from the billboard,” the woman said.

Diana blinked.

The girl from the billboard.

This couldn’t be about the photos she’d taken with Franco. It just couldn’t. Artem was her brother. He wouldn’t slap a picture of her on a Drake Diamonds billboard without her permission. Of course he wouldn’t.

Would he?

Diana looked back and forth between the woman and the barista. “What billboard?”

She hated how shaky and weak her voice sounded, so she repeated herself. This time she practically screamed. “What billboard?”

The woman flinched, and Diana immediately felt horrible. Her new life apparently included having her face on billboards and yelling at random strangers in coffee shops. It wasn’t exactly the fresh start she’d imagined for herself.

“It’s right outside. Take two steps out the front door and look up. You can’t miss it.” The barista lifted a brow. “Are you going to order something or what? You’re holding up the line.”

“No, thank you.” She couldn’t stomach a latte right now. Simply putting one foot in front of the other seemed like a monumental task.

She scooted out of line and made her way to the door. She paused for a moment before opening it, hoping for one final, naive second that this was all some big mistake. Maybe Artem hadn’t used the photo of her and Franco for the new campaign. Maybe the billboard they’d seen wasn’t even a Drake Diamonds advertisement. Maybe it was an ad for some other company with a model who just happened to look like Diana.

That was possible, wasn’t it?

But deep down she knew it wasn’t, and she had no one to blame but herself.

She’d stormed into Artem’s office and demanded that he find a role for her in the company that didn’t involve Engagements. She’d practically gotten down on her knees and begged. He’d given her exactly what she wanted. She just hadn’t realized that being on a billboard alongside Franco Andrade in the middle of Times Square was part of the equation.

She took a deep breath.

It was just a photograph. She and Franco weren’t a couple or anything. They were simply on a billboard together. A million people would probably walk right past it and never notice. By tomorrow it would be old news. She was getting all worked up over nothing.

How bad could it be?

She walked outside, looked up and got her answer.

It was bad. Really, really bad.

Emblazoned across the top of the Times Tower was a photo of herself being embraced from behind by Franco. The sapphire necklace dangled from his fingertips, but rather than looking like he was helping her put it on, the photo gave the distinct impression he was removing it.

Franco’s missing tie and the unbuttoned collar of his tuxedo shirt didn’t help matters. Neither did her flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips.

This wasn’t an advertisement for cuff links. It looked more like an ad for sex. If she hadn’t known better, Diana would have thought the couple in the photograph was just a heartbeat away from falling into bed together.

And she and Franco Andrade were that couple.

What have I done?

* * *

Franco was trying his level best not pummel Artem Drake.

But it was hard. Really hard.

“I didn’t sign up for this.” He wadded the flimsy newsprint of Page Six in his hands and threw it at Artem, who was seated across from Franco in the confines of his Drake-blue office. “Selling cuff links, yes. Selling sex, no.”

Artem had the decency to flinch at the mention of sex, but Franco was guessing that was mostly out of a brotherly sense of propriety. After all, his sister was the one who looked as though Franco was seducing her on the cover of every tabloid in the western hemisphere.

From what Franco had heard, there was even a billboard smack in the middle of Times Square. His phone had been blowing up with texts and calls all morning. Regrettably, not a single one of those texts or calls had included an offer to return to the Kingsmen.

“Mr. Andrade, please calm down.” Artem waved a hand at the generous stack of newspapers fanned across the surface of his desk. “The new campaign was unveiled just hours ago, and it’s already a huge success. I’ve made you famous. You’re a household name. People who’ve never seen a polo match in their lives know who you are. This is what you wanted, is it not?”

Yes...

And no.

He’d wanted to get Jack Ellis’s attention. To force his hand. Just not like this.

But he couldn’t explain the details of his reinvention to Artem Drake. His new “employer” didn’t even know he’d been cut from the team. To Franco’s knowledge, no one did. And if he had anything to say about it, no one would. Because he’d be back in his jersey before the first game of the season in Bridgehampton.

That was the plan, anyway.

He stared at the pile of tabloids on Artem’s desk. Weeks of clean living and celibacy had just been flushed straight down the drain. More importantly, so had his one shot at getting his life back.

He glared at Artem. “Surely you can’t be happy about the fact that everyone in the city thinks I’m sleeping with your sister.”

A subtle tension in the set of Artem’s jaw was the only crack in his composure. “She’s a grown woman, not a child.”

“So I’ve noticed.” It was impossible not to.

A lot could happen in three years. She’d been young when she’d shared Franco’s bed. Naive. Blissfully so. If he’d realized how innocent she was, he never would have touched her.

But all that was water under the bridge.

Just like Franco’s career.

“Besides, this—” Artem gestured toward the pile of newspapers “—isn’t real. It’s an illusion. One that’s advantageous to both of us.”

This guy was unbelievable. And he was clearly unaware that Franco and Diana shared a past. Which was probably for the best, given the circumstances.

Franco couldn’t help but be intrigued by what he was saying, though. Advantageous to both of us...

“Do explain.”

Artem shrugged. Yep, clueless. “I’m no stranger to the tabloids. Believe me, I understand where you’re coming from. But there’s a way to use this kind of exposure and make the most out of it. We’ve managed to get the attention of the world. Our next step is keeping it.”

He already didn’t like the sound of this. “What exactly are you proposing?”

“A press tour. Take the cuff links out for a spin. You make the rounds of the local philanthropy scene—black-tie parties, charity events, that sort of thing—and smile for the cameras.” His gaze flitted to the photo of Franco and Diana. “Alongside my sister, of course.”

“Let me get this straight. You want to pay me to publically date Diana.” No way in hell. He was an athlete, not a gigolo.

“Absolutely not. I want to pay you to make appearances while wearing Drake gemstones. If people happen to assume you and Diana are a couple, so be it.”

Franco narrowed his gaze. “You know they will.”

Artem shrugged. “Let them. Look, I didn’t plan any of this. But we’d all be fools not to take advantage of the buzz. From what I hear, appearing to be in a monogamous relationship could only help your reputation.”

Ah, so the cat was out of the bag, after all.

Franco cursed under his breath. “How long do you expect me to keep up this farce?”

He wasn’t sure why he was asking. It was a completely ludicrous proposition.

Although he supposed there were worse fates than spending time with Diana Drake.

Don’t go there. Not again.

“Twenty-one days,” Artem said.

Franco knew the date by heart already. “The day before the American polo season starts in Bridgehampton. The Kingsmen go on tour right after the season starts.”

“Precisely. And you’ll be going with them. Assuming you’re back on the team by then, obviously.” Artem shrugged. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Franco wondered how Artem had heard about his predicament. He hadn’t thought the news of his termination had spread beyond the polo community. Somehow the fact that it had made it seem more real. Permanent.

And that was unacceptable.

“It’s absolutely what I want,” he said.

“Good. Let us help you fix your reputation.” Artem shrugged as if doing so was just that simple.

Maybe it is. “I don’t understand. What would you be getting out of this proposed arrangement? Are you really this desperate to move your cuff links?”

“Hardly. This is about more than cuff links.” Artem rummaged around the stack of gossip rags on his desk until he found a neatly folded copy of the New York Times. “Much more.”

He slid the paper across the smooth surface of the desk. It didn’t take long for Franco to spot the headline of interest: Jewelry House to be Chosen for World’s Largest Uncut Diamond.

Franco looked up and met Artem’s gaze. “Let me guess. Drake Diamonds wants to cut this diamond.”

“Of course we do. The stone is over one thousand carats. It’s the size of a baseball. Every jewelry house in Manhattan wants to get its hands on it. Once it’s been cut and placed in a setting, the diamond will be unveiled at a gala at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Followed by a featured exhibition open to the public, naturally.”

Franco’s eyes narrowed. “Would the date for this gala possibly be twenty-one days from now?”

“Bingo.” Artem leaned forward in his chair. “It’s the perfect arrangement. You and Diana will keep Drake Diamonds on the front page of every newspaper in New York. The owners of the diamond will see the Drake name everywhere they turn, and they’ll have no choice but to pick us as their partners.”

“I see.” It actually made sense. In a twisted sort of way.

Artem continued, “By the time you and Diana attend the Met’s diamond gala together, you’ll have been in a high-profile relationship for nearly a month. Monogamous. Respectable. You’re certain to get back in the good graces of your team.”

Maybe. Then again, maybe not.

“Plus you’ll be great for the team’s ticket sales. The more famous you are, the more people will line up to see you play. The Kingsmen will be bound to forgive and forget whatever transgression got you fired.” Artem lifted a brow. “What exactly did you do, anyway? You’re the best player on the circuit, so it couldn’t have been related to your performance on the field.”

Franco shrugged. “I didn’t do anything, actually.”

He’d been cut through no fault of his own. Even worse, he’d been unable to defend himself. Telling the lie had been his choice, though. His call. He’d done what he’d needed to do.

It had been a matter of honor. Even if he’d been able to go back in time and erase the past thirty days, he’d still do it all over again.

Make the same choice. Say the same things.

Artem regarded him through narrowed eyes. “Fine. You don’t need to tell me. From now on, you’re a reformed man, anyway. Nothing else matters.”

“Got it.” Franco nodded.

He wasn’t seriously considering this arrangement. It was borderline demeaning, wasn’t it? To both himself and Diana.

Diana Drake.

He could practically hear her breathy, judgmental voice in his ear. From what I hear, you’re used to this kind of thing.

She’d never go along with this charade. She had too much pride. Then again, what did he know about Diana Drake these days?

He cleared his throat. “What happens afterward?”

“Afterward?”

Franco nodded. “Yes, after the gala.”

Artem smiled. “I’m assuming you’ll ride off into the sunset with your team and score a massive amount of goals. You’ll continue to behave professionally and eventually you and Diana will announce a discreet breakup.”

They’d never get away with it. Diana hadn’t even set eyes on Franco or deigned to speak a word to him in the past three years until just a few days ago. No one would seriously believe they were a couple.

He stared down at the heap of newspapers on Artem’s desk.

People already believed it.

“You’ll be compensated for each appearance at the rate we agreed upon under the terms of your modeling contract. You can start tonight.”

“Tonight?”

Artem gave a firm nod. “The Manhattan Pet Rescue animal shelter is holding its annual Fur Ball at the Waldorf Astoria. You and Diana can dress up and cuddle with a few adorable puppies and kittens. Every photographer in town will be there.”

The Fur Ball. It certainly sounded wholesome. Nauseatingly, mind-numbingly adorable.

“I’m assuming we have a deal.” Artem stood.

Franco rose from his seat, but ignored Artem’s outstretched hand. They couldn’t shake on things. Not yet. “You’re forgetting something.”

“What’s that?”

Not what. Who. “Diana. She’ll never agree to this.”

Artem’s gaze grew sharp. Narrow. “What makes you say so?”

Franco had a sudden memory of her exquisite violet eyes, shiny with unshed tears as she slapped him hard across the face. “Trust me. She won’t.”

“Just be ready for the driver to pick you up at eight. I’ll handle Diana.” Artem offered his hand again.

This time, Franco took it.

But even as they shook on the deal, he knew it would never happen. Diana wasn’t the sort of person who could be handled. By anyone. Artem Drake had no idea what he was up against. Franco almost felt sorry for him. Almost, but not quite.

Some things could only be learned the hard way.

Like a slap in the face.

Chapter Four

Diana called Artem repeatedly on her walk to Drake Diamonds, but his secretary refused to put her through. She kept insisting that he was in an important business meeting and had left instructions not to be disturbed, which only made Diana angrier. If such a thing was even possible.

A billboard. In Times Square.

She wanted to die.

Calm down. Just breathe. People will forget all about it in a day or two. In the grand scheme of life, it’s not that big a deal.

But there was no deluding herself. It was, quite literally, a big deal. A huge one. A whopping 25,000-square-foot Technicolor enormous deal.

Artem would have to take it down. That’s all there was to it. She hadn’t signed any kind of modeling release. Drake might be her last name, but that didn’t mean the family business owned the rights to her likeness.

Or did it? She wasn’t even sure. Drake Diamonds had been her sponsor on the equestrian circuit. Maybe the business did, in fact, own her.

God, why hadn’t she gone to college? She was in no way prepared for this.

She pushed her way through the revolving door of Drake Diamonds with a tad too much force. Urgent meeting or not, Artem was going to talk to her. She’d break down the door of his Drake-blue office if that’s what it took.

“Whoa, there.” The door spun too quickly and hurled her toward some poor, unsuspecting shopper in the lobby who caught her by the shoulders before she crashed into him. “Slow down, Wildfire.”

“Sorry. I just...” She straightened, blinked and found herself face-to-face with the poster boy himself. Franco. “Oh, it’s you.”

What was he doing here? Again? And why were his hands on her shoulders? And why was he calling her that ridiculous name?

Wildfire.

She’d loved that song when she was a little girl. So, so much.

Well, she didn’t love it anymore. In fact, Franco had just turned her off it for life.

“Good morning to you too, Diana.” He winked. He was probably the only man on planet Earth who could make such a cheesy gesture seem charming.

Ugh.

She wiggled out of his grasp. “Why are you here? Wait, don’t tell me. You’re snapping selfies for the Drake Diamonds Instagram.”

He was wearing a suit. Not a tuxedo this time, but a finely tailored suit, nonetheless. It was weird seeing him dressed this way. Shouldn’t he be wearing riding clothes? He adjusted his shirt cuffs. “It bothers you that I’m the new face of Drake Diamonds?”

“No, it doesn’t actually. I couldn’t care less what you do. It bothers me that I’m the new face of Drake Diamonds.” A few shoppers with little blue bags dangling from their wrists turned and stared.

Franco angled his head closer to hers. “You might want to keep your voice down.”

“I don’t care who hears me.” She was being ridiculous. But she couldn’t quite help it, and she certainly wasn’t going to let Franco tell her how to behave.

“Your brother will care,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” Then she put two and two together. Finally. “Wait a minute...were you just upstairs with Artem?”

He nodded. Diana must have been imagining things, because he almost looked apologetic.

“So you’re the reason his secretary wouldn’t put my calls through?” Unbelievable.

“I suppose so, yes.” Again, something about his expression was almost contrite.

She glared at him. He could be as nice as he wanted, but as far as Diana was concerned, it was too little, too late. “What was this urgent tête-à-tête about?”

Why was she asking him questions? She didn’t care what he and Artem had to say to each other...

Except something about Franco’s expression told her she should.

He leveled his gaze at her and arched a single seductive brow. Because, yes, even the man’s eyebrows were sexy. “I think you should talk to Artem.”

She swallowed. Something was going on here. Something big. And she had the distinct feeling she wasn’t going to like it. “Fine. But just so we’re clear, I’m talking to him because I want to. And because he’s my brother and sort of my boss. Not because you’re telling me I should.”

“Duly noted.” He seemed to be struggling not to smile.

She lifted her chin in defiance. “Goodbye, Franco.”

But for some reason, her feet didn’t move. She just kept standing there, gazing up at his despicably handsome face.

“See you tonight, Wildfire.” He shot her a knowing half grin before turning for the door.

She stood frozen, gaping after him.

Tonight?

She definitely needed to talk to Artem. Immediately.

She skipped the elevator and took the stairs two at a time until she reached the tenth floor, where she found him sitting at his desk as if it was any ordinary day. A day when Franco Andrade wasn’t wandering the streets of Manhattan wearing Tom Ford and planning on seeing her tonight.

“Hello, sis.” Artem looked up and frowned as he took in her appearance. “Why do you look like you just ran a marathon?”

“Because I just walked a few miles, then sprinted up the stairs.” She was breathless. Her legs burned, which was just wrong. She shouldn’t be winded from a little exercise. She was an elite athlete.

Used to be an elite athlete.

He gestured toward the wingback chair opposite him. “Take a load off. I need to talk to you, anyway.”

“So I’ve heard.” She didn’t want to sit down. She wanted to stand and scream at him, but that wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Besides, she felt drained all of a sudden. Being around Franco, even for a few minutes, was exhausting. “Speaking of which, what was Franco Andrade doing here just now?”

“About that...” He calmly folded his hands in front of him, drawing Diana’s attention first to the smooth surface of his desk and then to the oddly huge stack of newspapers on top of it.

She blinked and cut him off midsentence. “Is that my picture on the front page of the New York Daily News?”

She hadn’t thought it possible for the day to get any worse, but it just had. So much worse.

And the hits kept on coming. As she sifted through the stack of tabloids—all of which claimed she was having a torrid affair with “the drop-dead gorgeous bad boy of polo”—Artem outlined his preposterous idea for a public relations campaign. Although it sounded more like an episode of The Bachelor than any kind of legitimate business plan.

“No, thank you.” Diana flipped the copy of Page Six facedown so she wouldn’t have to look at the photo of herself and Franco on the cover. If she never saw that picture again, it would be too soon.

Artem’s brow furrowed. “No, thank you? What does that mean?”

“It means no. As in, I’ll pass.” What about her answer wasn’t he understanding? She couldn’t be more clear. “No. N.O.”

“Perhaps you don’t understand. We’re talking about the largest uncut diamond in the world. Do you have any idea what this could mean for Drake Diamonds?” There was Artem’s CEO voice again.

She wasn’t about to let it intimidate her this time. “Yes. I realize it’s very important, but we’ll simply have to come up with another plan.” Preferably one that doesn’t involve Franco Andrade in any way, shape or form.

“Let’s hear your suggestions, then.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I’m all ears.”

He wanted her to come up with a plan now?

Diana cleared her throat. “I’ll have to give it some thought, obviously. But I’m sure I can come up with something.”

“Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

“Artem, come on. We can take the owners of the diamond out to dinner or something. Wine and dine them.”

“You realize every other jeweler in Manhattan is doing that exact same thing,” he said.

Admittedly, that was probably true. “There’s got to be a better way to catch their attention than letting everyone believe I’m having a scandalous affair with Franco.”

Please let there be another way.

“Not scandalous. Just high profile. Romantic. Glamorous.” Artem gave her a thoughtful look. “He told me you’d refuse, by the way. What, exactly, is the problem between you two?”

Diana swallowed. Maybe she should simply tell Artem what happened three years ago. Surely then he’d forget about parading her all over Park Avenue on Franco’s arm just for the sake of a diamond. Even the biggest diamond in the known universe.

But she couldn’t. She didn’t even want to think about that humiliating episode, much less talk about it.

Especially to her brother, of all people.

“He’s a complete and total man whore. You know that, right?” Wasn’t that reason enough to turn down the opportunity to pretend date him for twenty-one days? “Aren’t you at all concerned about my virtue?”

“The last time I checked, you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, Diana. In fact, you’re one of the strongest women I know. I seriously doubt I need to worry about your virtue.” He shrugged. “But I could have a word with Franco...do the whole brother thing and threaten him with bodily harm if he lays a finger on you. Would that make you feel better?”

“God, no.” She honestly couldn’t fathom anything more mortifying.

“It’s your call.” Artem shrugged. “He’s rehabilitating his image, anyway. Franco Andrade’s man-whore days are behind him.”

Diana laughed. Loud and hard. “He told you that? And you believed him?”

“When did you become such a cynic, sis?”

Three years ago. Right around the time I lost my virginity. “It seems dubious. That’s all I’m saying. Why would he change after all this time, unless he’s already had his way with every woman on the eastern seaboard?”

It was a distinct possibility.

“People change, Diana.” His expression softened and he cast a meaningful glance at the bassinet in the corner of his office. A pink mobile hung over the cradle, decorated with tiny teddy bears wearing ballet shoes. “I did.”

Diana smiled at the thought of her adorable baby niece.

He had a point. Less than a year ago, Artem had been the one on the cover of Page Six. He’d been photographed with a different woman every night. Now he was a candidate for father of the year.

Moreover, Diana had never seen a couple more in love than Artem and Ophelia. It was almost enough to restore her faith in marriage.

But not quite.

It would take more than her two brothers finding marital bliss to erase the memory of their father’s numerous indiscretions.

It wasn’t just the affairs. It was the way he’d made no effort whatsoever to hide them from their mother. He’d expected her to accept it. To smile and look away. And she had.

Right up until the day she died.

She’d been just forty years old when Diana found her lifeless body on the living room floor. Still young, still beautiful. The doctors had been baffled. They’d been unable to find a reason for her sudden heart attack. But to Diana, the reason was obvious.

Her mother had died of a broken heart.

Was it any wonder she thought marriage was a joke? She was beyond screwed up when it came to relationships. How damaged must she have been to intentionally throw herself at a man who was famous for treating women as if they were disposable?

Diana squeezed her eyes shut.

Why did Franco have to come strutting back into her life now, while she was her most vulnerable? Before her accident, she could have handled him. She could have handled anything.

She opened her eyes. “Please, Artem. I just really, really don’t want to do this.”

He nodded. “I see. You’d rather spend all day, every day, slaving away in Engagements than attend a few parties with Franco. Understood. Sorry I brought it up.”

He waved a hand toward the dreaded Engagements showroom down the hall. “Go ahead and get to work.”

Diana didn’t move a muscle. “Wait. Are you saying that if I play the part of Franco’s fake girlfriend by night, I won’t have to peddle engagement rings by day?”

She’d assumed her position in Engagements was still part of the plan. This changed things.

She swallowed. She still couldn’t do it. She’d never last a single evening in Franco’s company, much less twenty-one of them.

Could she?

“Of course you wouldn’t have to do both.” Artem gestured toward the newspapers spread across his desk. “This would be a job, just like any other in the company.”

She narrowed her gaze and steadfastly refused to look at the picture again. “What kind of job involves going to black-tie parties every night?”

“Vice president of public relations. I did it for years. The job is yours now, if you want it.” He smiled. “You asked me to find something else for you to do, remember? Moving from the sales floor to a VP position is a meteoric rise.”

When he put it that way, it didn’t sound so bad. Vice president of public relations sounded pretty darn good, actually.

Finally. This was the kind of opportunity she’d been waiting for. She just never dreamed that Franco Andrade would be part of the package.

“I want a pay increase,” she blurted.

What was she doing?

“Done.” Artem’s grin spread wide.

She wasn’t seriously considering accepting the job though, was she? No. She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. No amount of money was worth her dignity.

But there was one thing that might make participating in the farce worthwhile...

“And if it works, I want to be promoted.” She pasted on her sweetest smile. “Again.”

Artem’s brows rose. “You’re going to have to be more specific. Besides, vice president is pretty high on the food chain around here.”

“I’m aware. But this diamond gala is really important. You said so yourself.”

Artem’s smile faded. Just a bit. “That’s right.”

“If I do my part and Drake Diamonds is chosen as the jewelry house to cut the giant diamond and if everything goes off with a hitch at the Met’s diamond gala, I think I deserve to take Dalton’s place.” She cleared her throat. “I want to be named co-CEO.”

Artem didn’t utter a word at first. He just sat and stared at her as if she’d sprouted another head.

Great. She’d pushed too far.

VP was a massive career leap. She should have jumped at the opportunity to put all the love-struck brides and grooms in the rearview mirror and left it at that.

“That’s a bold request for someone with no business experience,” he finally said.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t vice president of public relations the only position you held at Drake Diamonds before our father died and appointed you his successor as CEO?” Did Artem really think she’d been so busy at horse shows that she had no clue what had gone on between these Drake-blue walls the past few years?

Still, what was she saying? He’d never buy into this.

He let out an appreciative laugh. “You’re certainly shrewd enough for the job.”

She grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As you should.” He sighed, looked at her for a long, loaded moment and nodded. “Okay. It works for me.”

She waited for some indication that he was joking, but it never came.

Her heart hammered hard in her chest. “Don’t tease me, Artem. It’s been kind of a rough day.”

And it was about to get rougher.

If she and Artem had actually come to an agreement, that meant she was going out with Franco Andrade tonight. By choice.

She needed to have her head examined.

“I’m not teasing. You made a valid point. I didn’t know anything about being a CEO when I stepped into the position. I learned. You will, too.” He held up a finger. A warning. “But only if you deliver. Drake Diamonds must be chosen to cut the stone and cosponsor the Met Diamond gala.”

“No problem.” She beamed at him.

For the first time since she’d fallen off her horse, she felt whole. Happy. She was building a new future for herself.

In less than a month, she’d be co-CEO. No more passing out petit fours. No more engagement rings. She’d never have to look at another copy of Bride magazine for as long as she lived!

Better yet, she wouldn’t have to answer any more questions about when she was going to start riding again. Every time she turned around, it seemed someone was asking her about her riding career. Had she gotten a new horse? Was she ready to start showing again?

Diana wasn’t anywhere close to being ready. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready.

Co-CEO was a big job. A huge responsibility—huge enough that it just might make people forget she’d once dreamed of going to the Olympics. If she was running the company alongside Artem, no one would expect her to compete anymore. It was the perfect solution.

She just had to get through the next twenty-one days first.

“Go home.” Artem nodded toward his office door. “Rest up and get ready for tonight.”

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