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
