The Price of His Redemption

by Carol Marinelli

Maybe she wouldn’t have to because the receptionist shook her head as she replaced the phone. ‘Mr Zverev cannot see you.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Libby blinked, not only at the refusal but that it came with no apology or explanation. ‘What do you mean, I have—?’

  ‘Mr Zverev only sees people by strict appointment and, Ms Tennent, you don’t have one.’

  ‘But I do.’

  The receptionist shook her head. ‘It is a Mr Lindsey Tennent who has a 6:00 p.m. appointment. If he was unable to make it then he should have called ahead to see if sending a replacement was suitable—Mr Zverev doesn’t just see anyone.’

  Libby knew when she was beaten. She had rather hoped they might not notice the discrepancy—as most places wouldn’t. She was almost tempted to apologise for the confusion and leave, but her father had broken down in tears when he’d asked her to do this for him. Knowing just how much was riding on this meeting, she forced herself to stand her ground. She pulled herself as tall as her petite five-foot-three frame would allow and looked the receptionist squarely in the eye.

  ‘My father was involved in an car accident earlier today, which is the reason that he couldn’t make it, and sent me as a replacement. Now, can you please let Mr Zverev know that I’m here and ready to meet with him? He knows very well the reason for my visit, or perhaps you’d like me to clarify that here?’

  The receptionist glanced at whoever was standing behind Libby and then to the left of her. Clearly Libby had a small audience. The receptionist must have decided that the foyer wasn’t the place to discuss the great man’s business because she gave a tight shrug.

  ‘One moment.’

  Another phone call was made, though out of Libby’s earshot, and eventually the immaculate woman returned and gave Libby a visitor’s pass. Finally she was permitted past the guarded barrier that existed around Daniil Zverev.

  The elevator door was held open for her and she stepped in.

  Even the elevator was luxurious. The carpet was thick beneath her feet. There was no piped music, just cool air and subdued lighting, which was very welcome on a hot summer evening after a mad dash across London to get here.

  She should never have let her father talk into this, she thought.

  In fact, she hadn’t. When Libby had said yes to trying to persuade this man to come along to his parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary celebration, it had been a Daniel Thomas she had expected to be meeting.

  But just as she had been about to leave her father had called her back.

  ‘Oh, there’s something I forgot to tell you.’

  Her father, who had been begging Libby to the point of tears, had then looked a touch uncomfortable and evasive. ‘He goes under a different name now.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Libby had had no idea what he was talking about.

  ‘Or rather it would seem that Daniel Thomas has recently reverted to his real name—Daniil Zverev. He was adopted.’

  ‘Well, if he’s gone back to his birth name, clearly there’s a serious rift. I’m not going to interfere...’

  ‘Libby, please,’ her father begged. ‘All Zverev has to do is show up and make a speech.’

  A speech? The list of demands for Daniil had again increased. Show up, dance with aunts, be sociable, and now she had to ask him to make a speech!

  No, Libby was not comfortable with this at all. She lived in her own dreamy bubble where the role of negotiator didn’t exist. She was very forthright, in that she had an expressive face and a tendency to say what she was thinking. She also, to her parents’ disquiet, had always refused to quietly toe the line.

  ‘You never said anything about him having to make a speech.’

  ‘Can you just talk to him for me, Libby? Please!’

  Why the hell had she said yes?

  Of course, she had looked Daniil up on her taxi ride here. Her father had said that face-to-face he was sure that Libby would be able to appeal to his conscience but it would seem, from her brief skim through several articles, that the esteemed financier previously known as Daniel Thomas didn’t have one.

  It was, one article observed, as if he saw everyone as the opposition and would step over whomever he had to if it meant he achieved his aim.

  As for women—well, it would take far longer than a thirty-minute taxi ride to read up on that part of his history! The word heartbreaker was thrown around a lot. User. From what Libby could glean, his longest, for the want of a word, relationship had been a two-week affair with a German supermodel, who had been left devastated by their sudden ending.

  Well, what did these women expect? Libby had thought when she’d read how some considered the break-up to have been cruel.

  Why would anyone ever get involved with him?

  Libby had never been one for one-night stands but it would seem Daniil Zverev was a master of them. She was cautious in relationships, never quite believing men who said that her dancing wouldn’t get in the way and that they had no issue with the hours she devoted to her art.

  Always she had been proved right to be cautious. Invariably the reasons for the break-ups were the same—that she was obsessed with ballet, self-absorbed and hardly ever free to go out.

  Correct.

  She’d told them the same at the start.

  Libby got back from dwelling on her disastrous love life to trying to fathom Daniil.

  Surprisingly, there had been little made of his name change—it was as if even the press was wary of broaching certain topics around him.

  So, too, was Libby. She certainly didn’t relish the prospect of asking him to play ‘happy families.’

  Of course, she felt like David going into face Goliath as she came out of the elevator and walked along a corridor, only to face another seriously beautiful woman who ran her eyes over Libby as she approached the desk.

  ‘I’m here to see Mr Zverev,’ Libby said, but her smile wasn’t returned.

  ‘Perhaps you would like to freshen up before you go through.’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine, thank you.’ Libby shook her head—she really just wanted to get this over and done with.

  ‘You will find the ladies’ room just down the hall and to your right.’

  To her sudden embarrassment Libby realised that it was being suggested, and strongly so, that she needed to tidy herself up.

  Could the great Daniil Zverev only lay eyes on perfect people? Was he only prepared to hold court with women at their coiffed best?

  She held back the smart retort, though, and instead, blushing to her roots, took herself off to the ladies room. As she stepped inside and saw herself in a full-length mirror she was, though she would never admit it, rather grateful for the advice to take a little time before seeing Daniil.

  It was a warm and windy August day and she had the hair to prove it.

  Determined to keep practising and to maintain her skills, without the delicious routine of dance class and rehearsals, Libby had been home, warming up, when word had come in that her father had been involved in a car accident. Of course, she had just pulled on some leggings and a wrap over her leotard, grabbed her workbag and raced to the accident and emergency department.

  Her head was still spinning with all her father had revealed that afternoon. The family business was in serious trouble and they needed this anniversary party to go ahead next month. For that to happen, though, Daniil’s acceptance of his parents’ invitation must be secured.

  Libby couldn’t think about her father’s business troubles now.

  She went through her huge bag and pulled out a fresh ivory wrap and put that on over her leotard and changed from leggings into a grey tube skirt. Her blonde hair was already tied back but messy so she brushed and retied it and pinned it up. Her face was devoid of make-up and she looked far younger than her twenty-five years. Somehow she didn’t
think fresh-faced would appeal to such a sophisticated man but Libby didn’t have an awful lot in her make-up bag to work with. Some mascara made her blue eyes look bigger and she added some lip gloss too.

  She’d just have to do.

  Libby knew she didn’t stand a hope with him. A man who had cut ties with his family so dramatically that he’d changed his name was hardly going to want to turn things around on her say-so.

  And, anyway, Libby was the last person to tell someone else what they should do.

  She, herself, didn’t like free advice.

  She’d be working in the family business if she did.

  Resigned to being sent away even before she’d got out the first sentence almost took away the fear of meeting him.

  Yes, she’d just say what she had to and then walk away. She would not allow herself to be intimidated.

  Snooty Pants at Reception must have deemed Libby looked suitable now because she picked up the phone and informed him that his 6:00 p.m. appointment was here. ‘However, as I said it is—’ He must have interrupted her because she didn’t finish explaining again that it was Libby rather than Lindsey who was there. ‘I’ll send her in.’

  As Libby finally went to head for the door it would seem that she’d jumped the mark.

  ‘You can leave your bag here.’

  She was about to decline but again she realised it wasn’t a suggestion so she put her bag down and headed for the door. As she was about to raise her arm she was halted.

  ‘Don’t knock, it irritates him. Just go straight through.’

  Libby felt like knocking just for the hell of it!

  And knocking again.

  And then knocking again.

  The thought made her smile.

  Widely!

  And that was how he first saw her.

  Smiling at some secret joke, because, Daniil knew, nothing his PA would have said would have put her at ease.

  She was a dancer.

  He knew that not just from her attire but from her posture as she closed the door behind her, and she was fighting her dancer’s gait as she walked a little way towards him and then paused.

  As she stepped in Libby blinked. She was standing in a postcard view of London. She might just as well have bought a ticket for the London Eye, though there would never have been someone quite as delicious sitting opposite her there!

  He had dark hair, dark eyes and pale skin and there was a livid scar across his left cheekbone. He sat straight in his seat at a very large desk, watching her with mild interest.

  Despite the huge office, despite the vast space, he looked so formal and imposing that he owned every inch of it.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr Zverev,’ she said, while privately, such was his impact, she rather wanted to turn and run.

  ‘My, my, Mr Tennent,’ Daniil said. ‘What a high, clear voice you have.’

  His own voice was deep and his words were dipped and richly coated in a chocolaty Russian accent, and as she realised he was alluding to the appointment being with her father her smile stretched further and she lost her fear.

  ‘And, oh, Mr Tennent,’ Daniil continued, his eyes taking in her slender bare legs, ‘what smooth skin you have.’

  She stood before him and, no, Libby wasn’t scared in the least. Still she smiled.

  ‘I think we both know, Mr Zverev...’ she started, and then halted as she properly met those cold grey eyes that pierced her. She sent a silent apology to the women she had so merrily scorned for getting involved with him. She had never understood women who could simply leap into bed with a man but she had to wrestle to hold on to her conscience, for he was so beautiful, his stare so intense and so sexy that he could possibly have had her then.

  She had to clear her throat so she could continue speaking, and she had to recall their words just to find her thread.

  Yes, that’s right...

  ‘I think we both know, Mr Zverev,’ Libby said, ‘that you’re the big bad wolf!’

  CHAPTER TWO

  SURPRISINGLY, WHEN SHE was so bold as to call him the big bad wolf to his face, Daniil actually smiled. ‘Indeed I am.’

  Libby caught her breath. Those hooded, guarded features briefly relaxed, that deep red sulky mouth stretched and the cold grey eyes softened. Not a lot, just enough that, for a brief second, he didn’t look quite so formidable.

  But very quickly that changed and it was down to business.

  ‘Take a seat,’ he instructed.

  Libby did, crossing her ankles and resting her hands in her lap.

  ‘Would you like some refreshment?’ he offered.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ he checked.

  ‘Quite sure.’ Libby nodded, just as she realised she was terribly thirsty, yet she felt uncomfortable knowing what she was about to ask him and cross with her father for the position she was in.

  Daniil reached across his desk and opened a bottle of sparkling water. It was chilled, she could see that from the condensation on the bottle, and, suddenly very thirsty, Libby heard the delicious fizzing sound as he opened it and then the lovely glug, glug, glug as he poured it into a heavy glass.

  He didn’t offer again.

  Bastard.

  But then he pushed the glass towards her, and with a slight roll of her eyes she took it. ‘Thank you.’

  He poured his own and she glanced at his hands—even they were beautiful, his fingers long and slender, his nails short and manicured.

  ‘So?’ Daniil said.

  Oh, yes. She dragged her mind back to the reason she was there. ‘My father is very sorry that he couldn’t make it this evening. He was involved in a car accident earlier today.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Daniil said. ‘He wasn’t seriously injured, I hope?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ She was surprised at the concern in his voice. ‘It’s just a mild concussion...’

  Daniil hid his smirk as her voice trailed off and he watched as Libby frowned. It was a very mild concussion. In fact, the doctor had come in just as Libby had been leaving and had told Lindsey that he could go home.

  If this meeting with Daniil had been so pressing, so vital and urgent, then surely he could have made the effort and come?

  ‘He needs to rest for the next forty-eight hours,’ she said, though suddenly she felt as if she was convincing herself instead of him. ‘As you know, he’s an events planner and—’

  ‘And the event that he is planning will not go ahead unless I attend.’ Daniil broke into her chatter.

  ‘Yes.’ Libby took a sip of her water. ‘Sir Richard is very adamant that without his son there...’ She looked at Daniil and saw the tiny rise of his eyebrows and she had the feeling he was laughing at her, though his lips did not move. ‘Well, it’s their fortieth wedding anniversary. That’s quite an achievement these days.’

  ‘What is?’ Daniil checked.

  ‘A forty-year marriage.’

  ‘Why?’

  Libby blinked at his question. ‘Well, I guess if it’s a happy marriage then it’s quite an achievement.’ She shot out a nervous laugh—he picked up on everything.

  ‘I guess it is something.’ Daniil shrugged. ‘I have never made it past forty-eight hours...’

  His eyes held hers, really held hers, and to her astonishment Libby realised that there was a warning there. A delicious warning perhaps, and Libby’s own eyes narrowed at something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  One—she pondered, was he flirting with her?

  Possibly, she conceded. A lot of work would have gone into honing his technique so he was just idly practising perhaps.

  Two—if he could be so direct then so would she.

  ‘There was that German su
permodel...’ Libby wagged her finger at him. ‘You lasted two weeks with her, I believe.’

  ‘You’ve done your homework,’ Daniil said approvingly. ‘Ah, yes, Herta. I followed her to a photo shoot in Brazil, not because I was lovesick, more that I had to check something...’ His gorgeous index finger went to his Adam’s apple.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I kept thinking—she was so tall and that voice of hers was so deep...’

  Oh, my God, he was shocking.

  ‘And was she...?’ Libby croaked.

  ‘A she?’ Daniil said, and nodded. ‘She definitely was. Thank God.’ He let out a low laugh and Libby forgot what planet she was on. It was Daniil who had to bring her back to earth. ‘Go on,’ he said.

  She had two big guns to use on him and a very impatient target. She could almost sense her time with the great man was about to expire.

  ‘Well, as you know, Lady Katherine is unwell,’ Libby said. ‘Extremely unwell.’

  ‘Not so unwell that she can’t throw a party,’ Daniil pointed out.

  ‘No, but...’

  ‘But?’

  She tried to trip or even make a tiny jiggle on his guilt switch but he just coolly stared back at her as she spoke. ‘Well, there might not be a forty-first.’

  ‘Is that it?’ Daniil frowned.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Your attempt to persuade me?’

  She swallowed. She did think of her other big gun, that there was a letter awaiting him if he went and something about Sir Richard not giving Daniil’s inheritance to his cousin, but, hell, Libby thought, how tacky was that, so she chose not to use it.

  ‘That’s it.’ Libby sighed and gave in. ‘I’m not very good at trying to persuade people. I tend not to bother, in fact.’

  ‘Well, just so you know, your technique is all wrong,’ he said. ‘First, you should have given me all the shit, just laid it out on the table for me.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘You should have told me that I would have to go by my adopted name if I attended—Daniel Thomas—and that I would be expected to give a speech...’

  Libby sat with her mouth gaping, realising he was streets ahead of her.