The Magnate's Mail-Order Bride

by Joanne Rock

  And...he’d said she had the part? Excitement trembled through her as she became aware of rehearsal music in the next studio over. A group was working on an interpretation of Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons.”

  “I am prepared to devote everything to the project,” she told him sincerely. She’d pinned all her professional hopes on it.

  His hands lingered on her wrists as his dark eyes met hers.

  “What will your new fiancé think of you spending all your time with me?” He didn’t move. Didn’t release her.

  She stepped back, pulling her wrists from his hold but easing any offense with a smile.

  “He will be proud of my success.” She refrained from mentioning that her engagement had ended. With the strange dynamic at work in the room, she felt that it would be good protection from any misguided notions Idris might have about her becoming his lover, the way his last two featured performers had.

  “Will he?” The choreographer narrowed his gaze and backed up a step. “Many new relationships are full of jealousy. That can destroy a dancer’s focus.”

  It would destroy anyone’s focus. But she could see his point. Besides, using her relationship with Quinn for show was exactly what she’d said she wouldn’t do anymore. She’d wanted honesty about their relationship, not more subterfuge.

  “Actually, our engagement is off,” she confided. “We aren’t announcing it to the press, but it was all so sudden—”

  “This is very good news, Sofia.” He smiled in a way that unsettled her.

  It was almost as if he’d been expecting her to say that. She’d known the man for less than an hour and already she didn’t like him. Artists could be strong personalities though. Maybe that accounted for it. And sometimes, the more successful, the more eccentric. Backing up another step, she bent to retrieve her phone, disconnecting it from the external speaker that had played her audition music.

  “For me, as well. I couldn’t be more pleased to work with you on a new ballet.” When she straightened, he was still there, closer than ever.

  His eyes were fastened to her left hand. He picked it up and kissed her ring finger before she could yank her hand back.

  “Just happy to see this place is bare and that you are free,” he explained, finally stepping away from her. “Let’s go to lunch and celebrate the launch of our new partnership.”

  “I can’t today.” She hadn’t even showered. She’d barely slept. And she had a very strange vibe from him that she needed to seriously consider. “I have another appointment.”

  “And I thought you were prepared to devote everything to this project?” The man’s tone withered.

  Damn it. She wasn’t going to play this game. She’d worked too hard for her spot at the top of the company to be treated this way—even by a major star of the industry.

  “Everything within the bounds of professionalism. And since I knew you had two other dancers to audition, I haven’t cleared my schedule yet to begin working on new development.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t bother. I can see you’re not excited to begin.” He gave her body a meaningful look, one she’d seen too often leveled at a dancer desperate for a break.

  “If you’re looking for a creative partnership, Mr. Fortier, I can’t wait to begin.” She didn’t want to lose the role on a misunderstanding or because she was admittedly testy today.

  Then again, she wasn’t going to let him touch her, kiss her finger and stare at her body without calling him out.

  “What if I’m looking for more, Ms. Koslov? What if I’ve read your reviews about passionless performances and I think I could be the man to inspire a creative fire that would make you unforgettable in every viewer’s eyes?”

  Anger simmered. She knew her Black Swan had just contained so much damn passion she’d burned down the room with it.

  “How exactly would you accomplish that?” she asked, hearing a scuttling noise in the backstage area.

  Had someone else entered the small theater or was that just wishful thinking?

  He leaned closer, not touching her, but lowering his voice considerably. “Put yourself in my hands, Sofia, and you will see.”

  She didn’t know if that was intended to be seductive, but she’d had enough of walking the edge of creepiness with him. And maybe her time with Quinn had given her enough confidence in herself to know she had all the passion she needed inside. This man couldn’t undermine her with his smarmy insinuations.

  A voice niggled at her, making her wonder if she could have walked away so confidently a week ago.

  “I wonder if you actively seek out the most insecure women for your games, Mr. Fortier?” She backed away from him. “But I am not one of them, I assure you. I know my own worth. And I can admire your artistic excellence without being madly in love with you. I hope you will respect me enough to do the same for me.”

  Padding across the floor in her ballet shoes, Sofia left him to splutter condemning warnings about the future of her career. He threatened to tell the world she’d flubbed the audition and that’s why she didn’t get the part. And while that hurt, she refused to engage with him any further. She gathered her dance bag to change in a more private dressing room when she ran into Delaney.

  The reporter held up a quieting finger as if she didn’t want to be discovered, then waved her out into the corridor while Fortier ranted about naïve girls who didn’t understand the way the world worked. What a disappointment the man had turned out to be. Usually news about people like him—a lecherous creep in the ranks—traveled along the dance grapevine quickly. She wondered if she’d alienated her fellow dancers too much in the past and that’s why she hadn’t already heard it for herself.

  “Sofia, I taped a little of your audition,” Delaney confided privately. “And I stayed behind even when he told me to leave—”

  “My God.” Sofia slammed through another door into a private dressing room empty except for open bags and discarded street clothes; everyone else was rehearsing right now. “Are there any lengths you wouldn’t go to in order to get a story?” she fumed.

  “No.” The reporter set a small disk on the makeup table in front of Sofia. “But in this case, you should be thrilled since this can prove you danced your freaking toes off. You were amazing back there.”

  “You think so?” So maybe the self-worth she bragged about to Idris Fortier wasn’t quite as steadfast as she’d pretended. Who didn’t love to hear good reviews?

  “I know so. And the footage I got shows it.” She tapped the disk. “I heard that bastard threaten to tell people you flubbed it. I couldn’t hear everything that happened before that, but it sounded like he was coming on to you?”

  “Yes.” Sofia dug through her bag for her facecloth. “I tried to tell myself he was just eccentric, but in the end, there was no mistaking he was angling for me to kiss his ass. And more.”

  “Bastard.” Delaney frowned. “I took the footage hoping to use it to persuade you to give me a story about Cameron McNeill using a matchmaker.”

  “Excuse me?” She set down the cleansing cloth, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “I moonlight for a gossip magazine on the side. It pays better.” She shrugged, unapologetic. “It’s expensive to live anywhere near this city. I was a dancer once, you know. A halfway decent one. But after I got hurt, my options were limited. I’d like to write about ballet and only ballet. But there’s no money in it.”

  “What did you hear about Cameron using a matchmaker?” Sofia asked, needing to know what she was up against. Now that she’d ended her relationship with Quinn, she wouldn’t have his help figuring out what to do next.

  “Just that he hired Mallory West to find him a bride. I’m going to publish that much, but if you can give me anything else to add...”

  “You’re trying to trade the audition footage for inform
ation?” Sofia was going home and going to bed for a week. She couldn’t deal with this toxic environment. Especially not with her heart breaking over Quinn and her career very likely in the dumps now that she’d told off the most respected choreographer of her time.

  “I thought about it. But I can’t do it.” The journalist shoved the disk closer. “I can’t stand it when guys try to use their position to manipulate women. Consider this me cheering on your rejection of his slimy suggestions.”

  “In that case—” Sofia put the disk in her bag along with her pointe shoes “—thank you. I can’t help you with any information about the McNeills, though.”

  “Is your engagement really over with Quinn?” the other woman asked. “Or were you just saying that to convince Fortier you could do the role?” Delaney pointed to Sofia’s bare ring finger.

  “No comment.” Sofia smiled brightly to hide the fact that just hearing Quinn’s name hurt today.

  He’d been such a generous lover the night before. Could a man so giving in bed really want to deceive her as thoroughly as she’d accused him of doing? She wished she had some perspective on the situation. Later, she would call Jasmine and ask for her best friend’s advice. For now, she needed to go home and wrap her sore knees.

  “Fine. But if you want my two cents, I would not let that man go.” She shoved the strap for her black leather satchel onto her shoulder and checked her phone. “Besides being one of the city’s most eligible bachelors, he seems to only date people he really cares about, you know? You won’t see his name in the gossip rags, that’s for sure.” The woman headed for the door, shoving her phone into the back pocket of black jeans under a quilted blue parka. “And there was an older woman looking for you backstage earlier. With an accent. Oleska? Olinka?”

  “Olena?” Sofia stilled. Olena Melnyk was one of her father’s oldest friends from Ukraine. They’d visited with her briefly in Kiev after one of Sofia’s performances. What was she doing in New York?

  Delaney snapped her fingers. “That’s it. I told her you’d probably be in the main theater after this.”

  Grabbing her bag, Sofia left the dressing area to peer inside the main theater. She didn’t feel guilty about going home for the day. She didn’t have any rehearsals scheduled and she’d substituted her audition for a class to keep her limber. The audition had been as physically demanding as two classes—a fierce workout for certain.

  “There you are.” A voice sounded behind her, the thick Ukrainian accent familiar since it still colored her father’s speech.

  “Olena.” Sofia turned to find the petite, round-cheeked woman pacing the halls outside the theater. “My father didn’t mention you were coming to New York. How nice to see you.”

  Olena wore a red scarf around her head and tied under her chin, the bright silk covering hair that had faded from blond to gray, but still gleamed with good health in the bright overhead lights.

  “I go to Des Moines to visit my son. But I stop in New York when I find out your father, he is angry with me.” She gestured with her hands, agitated.

  Sofia spoke very little Ukrainian, so she was grateful for Olena’s English. Although, at the moment, she wondered if her father’s childhood friend had chosen the right words. Why would her father be mad at her?

  “I can’t imagine why he would be.” Sofia hadn’t spoken to her father since the flight home from Kiev, letting Quinn intervene on her behalf because she’d been so upset with him. She’d been ignoring his calls for days. “He was so glad to see you the night after my performance—”

  “He is furious I did not choose Ukrainian husband for you. That I allow New York rich man to meet your plane.” Her round cheeks deflated with her frown. “I am so sorry, my girl.”

  “You’re the matchmaker he hired?” Sofia leaned into the back of a nearby theater seat, revising her perspective on her father’s underhanded scheme.

  Something about “hiring” his good friend from the old country—a woman who had helped him with his history homework in grade school—seemed far more forgivable than if he’d contracted an expensive global dating agency. While still underhanded of him, at least there was something personal about the approach.

  “Yes.” She gave an emphatic nod. “He told me, ‘Olena, find our girl a good man.’ But afterward, Vitaly very angry I did not choose man from old neighborhood.”

  “He never told me that he wanted to hire a matchmaker.” And the more she thought about that, the more she remembered how his pressure to get married had undermined her. As did his insistence she take his money. Had her father been holding her back from becoming self-confident all this time? Yet a voice inside her persisted; something had changed to give her a newfound strength and belief in herself. “And then, my photo and contact information ended up on a web site for men seeking wives—”

  “I did this.” Olena patted her chest to make it clear. “Come, we walk and talk. I explain where walls do not have ears.” She glared at a young ballerina who had come out into the hallway, probably just trying to find a place to smoke.

  The girl skittered back into the theater while Sofia tried to process what the woman was saying.

  “You posted my photo on a site for men seeking a quick marriage?” Sofia asked as they walked out into the chill of a New York winter, a crust of snow covering most of Lincoln Center.

  “My nephew helped. But I am very clear.” Olena pounded one fist against the palm of her hand, her heavy silver rings glinting in the sun. “I say, my girl only date men ready to marry.”

  Sofia closed her eyes briefly, letting that news wash over her. Her father had asked an old friend to find her a Ukrainian husband. Instead, Olena had gone online to advertise her. No wonder Cameron had only gotten half of Sofia’s details. The older woman was hardly a professional matchmaker. Just a well-liked woman from her father’s hometown.

  “So you told someone about my plane landing in New York?” Sofia wasn’t ready to fight her way through the crowds on the subway yet. Maybe she’d walk for a while to let the fresh air clear her head and sooth the ache in her heart.

  “First, I check the name of the man who asks about my Sofia. Very rich. Very handsome. I give details of flight.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But you are not happy?”

  Halting on the sprawling mezzanine outside Lincoln Center, Sofia let the snow fall on her as she watched the lunchtime traffic fill the streets. She wasn’t about to delve into a long explanation of why she hadn’t want her father in charge of her dating life. But she didn’t mind sharing why she wasn’t happy.

  “I am only unhappy that my father thinks he can control my life. That he could manipulate me into marrying a wealthy man who moves in the same kind of circles as him.” Her hands fisted inside the bright yellow mittens that a fan had knitted her long ago—a young ballet student who hadn’t been invited into the company after graduation. The girl had moved back to Nebraska, but had given the mittens to Sofia as a thank you for inspiring her.

  Oddly, looking down at them now made her realize that was a little bit of magic in her career. She’d told Quinn there wasn’t any—only hard work. But that wasn’t entirely true. Touching someone else’s life, making a difference—that was beauty and magic combined. An insight she wondered if she would have realized without Quinn.

  “It is not the point to be rich.” Olena gripped her shoulders with her weathered hands. “It is the point to be a good man. And this McNeill, he is smart and successful. His smile is kind.”

  “So the fact that he is wealthy was incidental?” She shouldn’t be hung up on it. The fact that she protested it only proved Quinn’s point that she was too focused on the bottom line and didn’t see him for himself.

  Had she made a horrible mistake in sending Quinn away?

  “Rich man focus on you instead of struggle to make life for himself. But there are good men everywh
ere.” Olena spread her arms wide to point to the whole city. “You look beyond this small corner where dance is all you do. Find different men who give you new look at world, yes?”

  “Yes.” Sofia agreed, although in her heart she knew that search wouldn’t be happening for a long time.

  “Good. Then I have done my job.” Olena patted her cheek. “I will not help anymore, as you ask. Tell Vitaly that we spoke, yes? He will forgive me then, I think.” The older woman pulled her in for a hug and a kiss on each cheek. Exchanging goodbyes, she turned on her furry boots and stalked toward the subway station through the crusty snow.

  Totally spent on every level, Sofia turned toward downtown to start the walk home. She might give in and get the bus in a dozen blocks or so, but right now she needed the fresh air. Striding across the mezzanine, she neared the crosswalk when a black Escalade rolled to a stop at the curb. She wasn’t sure why her eye went to it.

  But when Quinn McNeill stepped out of the back door of the chauffeured vehicle, she felt his presence like an electric shock.

  “Sofia.” He beckoned her through a veil of snowflakes. “Can I give you a ride home?”

  Her pulse sped, her mouth going dry at the sight of him. How had he gotten more handsome since the night before?

  “No. Thank you.” She could hardly resist him from ten yards away. She would have no chance of denying him anything if she sat beside him in the warm comfort of that luxury SUV. Especially after Olena’s pep talk about finding someone who made her see beyond the confines of her narrow world.

  She questioned her feelings for Quinn, what she’d learned from him, but, damn it, this was still so new.

  But her refusal didn’t make Quinn jump back in his ride and leave. He exchanged a word with the driver before dismissing the vehicle. Then he strode toward her, his long, denim-clad legs covering the space quickly.