The Drake Diamonds: His Ballerina Bride. Teri Wilson

      Her employer...

      When would she have another opportunity to talk to Artem Drake one-on-one? Never, probably. Because she sure wasn’t planning on sneaking off to the kitchen anymore. And who knew when he’d show up again? She had to make the most of this moment. If she didn’t, she’d regret it. Just as soon as she went back out on the sales floor among all those engaged couples.

      It was now or never.

      But maybe she should scrape the cake off the floor first.

      * * *

      Artem Drake was having difficulty wrapping his mind around the fact that the goddess of a woman who’d just dropped to her knees in front of him worked for him. But to be fair, the concept of anyone in this Fifth Avenue institution answering to him was somewhat laughable.

      Granted, his last name was on the front of the building. And the gift bags. And those legendary blue boxes. But he’d never had much to do with running the place. That had been his father’s job. And now that his father was gone, the responsibility should fall on the shoulders of his older brother, Dalton. Dalton lived and breathed Drake Diamonds. Dalton spent so much time here that he had a foldout sofa in his office. Hell, Artem didn’t even have an office.

      Nor did he have any idea how much those silly little cakes cost. He’d pulled a number out of thin air. And now he’d nearly made the goddess cry. Maybe he was cut out to run the place, after all. His dad had loved making people cry.

      Besides, goddess wasn’t quite the right word. There was something ethereal about her. Delicate. Unspeakably graceful. She had a neck made for diamonds.

      Which sounded exactly like something his father would say.

      “Stand up,” Artem said, far more harshly than he’d intended. But if she didn’t get up off her knees, he wouldn’t have any hope of maintaining an ounce of professional behavior.

      She finished dabbing at the mess with a napkin and stood, her motions so effortlessly fluid that the air around her seemed to dance. “Yes, sir.”

      He rather liked the sir business. But he needed to do what he’d come here to do and get the hell out of this place. He pushed away from the counter and straightened his cuff link. Singular. One of them had managed to go missing since the symphony gala the night before. Maybe he’d pick up a new pair on his way out. After he’d waved the proverbial white flag in his brother’s face.

      He cleared his throat. “While this has been interesting, to say the least, I have some business to attend to. And I’m sure you have work to do, as well.”

      Could he sound more ridiculous? I have some business to attend to. And I’m sure you have work to do, as well. He’d never spoken like that in his life. Dalton, yes. All the time. That’s probably how he spoke to his girlfriends.

      “Wait,” Ophelia blurted, just as he took a step toward the door. “Please, Mr. Drake. Sir.”

      He turned. “Yes, Miss Rose?”

      “I’d like to schedule a meeting with you. At your convenience, of course.” She lifted her chin, and her neck seemed to lengthen.

      God, that neck. Artem let his gaze travel down the length of it to the delicate dip between her collarbones. A diamond would look exquisite nestled right there, set off by her perfect porcelain skin. Artem had never seen such a beautiful complexion on a woman. She almost looked as though she’d never set foot outdoors. Like she was crafted of the purest, palest marble. Like she belonged in a museum rather than here. What in God’s name was she doing working behind a jewelry counter, anyway?

      He lifted his gaze back to her face, and her cheeks went rosebud pink. “A meeting? With me?”

      He’d heard worse ideas.

      “Yes. A business meeting,” she said crisply. “I have some design ideas I’d like to present. I know I work in sales at the moment, but I’m actually a trained gemologist.”

      Artem wasn’t sure why he found this news so surprising, but he did. Few people surprised him. He wished more of them did. Ophelia Rose was becoming more intriguing by the minute.

      She was also his employee, at least for the next ten minutes or so. He shouldn’t be thinking about her neck. Or the soft swell of her breasts beneath the bodice of the vintage sea-foam dress she wore. Or what her delicate bottom would feel like in the palms of his hands. He shouldn’t be thinking about any of the images that were currently running through his mind.

      “A gemologist? Really?” he said, somehow keeping his gaze fixed on her face. God, he deserved a medal for such restraint.

      She nodded. “I’ve have a degree from the New York School of Design. I graduated with honors.”

      “Then congratulations are in order. Perhaps even a celebration.” He just couldn’t help himself. “With cake.”

      Her blush deepened a shade closer to crimson. “Honestly, I’d rather have that meeting. Just half an hour of your time to show you my designs. That’s all I need.”

      She was determined. He’d give her that. Determined and oh-so-earnest.

      And rather bold, now that he thought about it. He had, after all, just walked in on her shoving cake in her mouth. Cake meant for lovebirds prepared to drop thousands of dollars for a Drake diamond. She had a ballsy streak. Sexy, he mused.

      Artem wondered how much he was paying her. He hadn’t a clue. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

      She took a step closer to him, and he caught a whiff of something warm and sweet. Vanilla maybe. She smelled like a dessert, which Artem supposed made perfect sense. “Can’t or won’t?”

      He shrugged. “I guess you could say both.”

      She opened her lovely mouth to protest, and Artem held up a hand to stop her. “Miss Rose, before you waste any more of your precious time, there’s something you should know. I’m resigning.”

      She went quiet for a beat. A beat during which Artem wondered what had prompted him to tell this total stranger his plans before he’d even discussed them with his own flesh and blood. He blamed it on his hangover. Or possibly the sad, haunted look in Ophelia’s blue eyes. Eyes the color of Kashmir sapphires.

      It didn’t seem right to let her think he could help her when he’d never even see her again.

      “Resigning?” She frowned. “But you can’t resign. This is Drake Diamonds, and you’re a Drake.”

      Not the right Drake. “I’m quitting my family business, not my family.” Although the thought wasn’t without its merits, considering he’d never truly been one of them. Not the way Dalton and their sister, Diana, had.

      “But your father left you in charge.” Her voice had gone as soft as feathers. Feathers. A bird. That’s what she reminded him of—a swan. A stunning, sylphlike swan. “That matters.”

      He shook his head. She had no clue what she was talking about, and he wasn’t about to elaborate. He’d already said too much. And frankly, it was none of her business. “I assure you, this is for the best. I might add that it’s also confidential.”

      “Oh, I won’t tell anyone.”

      “I know you won’t.” He pointed at the petit four that she’d scraped up off the floor, still resting in her palm. “You’ll keep my secret, and I’ll keep yours. Does that sound fair, princess?”

      His news wouldn’t be a secret for long, anyway. Dalton’s office was right down the hall. If Artem hadn’t heard Ophelia’s sensual ode to cake and made this spontaneous detour, the deed would already be done.

      He’d enjoyed toying with her, but now their encounter had taken a rather vexing turn. As much as he liked the thought of half an hour behind closed doors with those lithe limbs and willowy grace, the meeting she so desperately wanted simply wasn’t going to happen. Not with him,