The Drake Diamonds: His Ballerina Bride

The secretary nodded. “Yes, now. In his office.”

Not the hotel, his office. Right. That was good. Proper.

It required superhuman effort to keep the smile on her face from fading. “I see.”

“Follow me, please.”

Ophelia followed Artem’s secretary across the showroom floor, around the corner and down the hall toward the corporate offices. They passed the kitchen with its bevy of petits fours atop gleaming silver plates, and Ophelia couldn’t help but feel a little wistful.

She took a deep breath and averted her gaze. At least all this was about to end, and she could go back to the way things were before he’d ever walked in on her scarfing down cake. She assumed the reason for this forced march into his office was to retrieve her portfolio.

Although wouldn’t it have been easier to simply have someone return it to her on his behalf? Then they wouldn’t have been forced to interact with one another at all. He’d never cross Ophelia’s mind again, except when Jewel purred and rubbed up against her ankles. Or when she saw him looking devastatingly hot in the society pages of the newspaper every morning. Or the other million times a day she found herself thinking of him.

“Here you go.” Artem’s secretary pushed open the door to his office and held it for her.

Ophelia stepped inside. For a moment she was so awestruck by the full force of Artem’s gaze directed squarely at her for the first time since the Plaza that the fact they weren’t alone didn’t even register.

“Miss Rose,” he said. For a millisecond, his focus drifted to her mouth, then darted back to her eyes.

Ophelia’s limbs went languid. There was no legitimate reason to feel even the slightest bit aroused, but she did. Uncomfortably so.

She pressed her thighs together. “Mr. Drake.”

He stood and waved a hand at the man sitting opposite him, whom Ophelia had finally noticed. “I’d like to introduce you to my brother, Dalton Drake.”

Dalton rose from his chair and shook her hand. Ophelia had never thought Dalton and Artem looked much alike, but up close she could see a faint family resemblance. They had the same straight nose, same chiseled features. But whereas Dalton’s good looks seemed wrapped in dark intensity, Artem’s devil-may-care expression got under her skin. Every time.

It was maddening.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rose,” he said, in a voice oddly reminiscent of his brother’s, minus the timbre of raw sexuality.

Ophelia nodded, unsure what to say.

What was going on? Why was Dalton here, and why were her sketches spread out on the conference table?

“Please, have a seat.” Dalton gestured toward the chair between him and Artem.

Ophelia obediently sat down, flanked on either side by Drakes. She took a deep breath and steadfastly avoided looking at Artem.

“We’ve been discussing your work.” Dalton waved a hand at her sketches. “You have a brilliant artistic eye. It’s lovely work, Miss Rose. So it’s our pleasure to welcome you to the Drake Diamonds design team.”

Ophelia blinked, unable to comprehend what she was hearing.

Artem hadn’t forgotten about her, after all. He’d shown her designs to Dalton, and now they were giving her a job. A real design job, one that she’d been preparing and studying for for two years. She would no longer be working in Engagements.

Something good was happening. Finally.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” she breathed, dropping her guard and fixing her gaze on Artem.

He smiled, ever so briefly, and Ophelia had to stop herself from kissing him right on his perfect, provocative mouth.

Dalton drummed his fingers on the table, drawing her attention back to the sketches. “We’d like to introduce the new designs as the Drake Diamonds Dance collection, and we plan on doing so as soon as possible.”

Ophelia nodded. It sounded too good to be true.

Dalton continued, “The ballerina rings will be the focus of the collection, as my brother and I both feel those are the strongest pieces. We’d like to use all four of your engagement designs, plus we’d like you to come up with a few ideas for companion pieces—cocktail rings and the like. For those, we’d like to use colored gemstones—emeralds or rubies—surrounded by baguettes in your tutu pattern.”

This was perfect. Ophelia had once danced the Balanchine choreography for Jewels, a ballet divided into three parts, Emeralds, Rubies and Diamonds. She’d performed one of the corps roles in Rubies.

“Can you come up with some new sketches by tomorrow?” Artem slid his gaze in her direction, lifting a brow as her toes automatically began moving beneath the table in the prancing pattern from Rubies’ dramatic finale.

Ophelia stilled her feet. She didn’t think he’d noticed, but she felt hot under his gaze all the same. “Tomorrow?”

“Too soon?” Dalton asked.

“No.” She shook her head and did her best to ignore the smirk on Artem’s face, which probably meant he was sitting there imagining her typical evening plans of hanging out with kittens. “Tomorrow is fine. I do have one question, though.”

“Yes, Miss Rose?” Artem leaned closer.

Too close. Ophelia’s breath froze in her lungs for a moment. Get yourself together. This is business. “My inspiration for the collection was the tiara design. I’d hoped that would be the centerpiece, rather than the ballerina rings.”

He shook his head. “We won’t be going forward with the tiara redesign.”

Dalton interrupted, “Not yet.”

“Not ever.” Artem pinned his brother with a glare. “The Drake Diamond isn’t available for resetting, since soon it will no longer be part of the company’s inventory.”

Ophelia blinked. She couldn’t possibly have heard that right.

“That hasn’t been decided, Artem,” Dalton said quietly, his gaze flitting to the portrait of the older man hanging over the desk.

Artem didn’t bat an eye at the painting. “You know as well as I do that it’s for the best, brother.”

“Wait. Are you selling the Drake Diamond?” Ophelia asked. It just wasn’t possible. That diamond had too much historical significance to be sold. It was a part of the company’s history.

It was part of her history. Her grandmother had been one of only three women to ever wear the priceless stone.

“It’s being considered,” Artem said.

Dalton stared silently down at his hands.

“But you can’t.” Ophelia shook her head, vaguely aware of Artem’s chiseled features settling into a stern expression of reprimand. She was overstepping and she knew it. But they couldn’t sell the Drake Diamond. She had plans for that jewel, grand plans.

She shuffled through the sketches on the table until she found the page with her tiara drawing. “Look. If we reset the diamond, people will come from all over to see it. The store will be packed. It will be great for business.”

Ophelia couldn’t imagine that Drake Diamonds was hurting for sales. She herself had sold nearly one hundred thousand dollars in diamond engagement rings just the day before. But there had to be a reason why they were considering letting it go. Correction: Artem was considering selling the diamond. By all appearances, Dalton was less than thrilled about the idea.

Of course, none of this was any of her business at all. Still. She couldn’t just stand by and let it happen. Of the hundreds of press clippings and photographs that had survived Natalia Baronova’s legendary career, Ophelia’s grandmother had framed only one of them—the picture that had appeared on the front page of the arts section of the New York Times the day after she’d debuted in Swan Lake. The night she’d worn the Drake Diamond.