The Platinum Collection: A Convenient Proposal. Maisey Yates
had access to her trust fund. She’d made her own investments with it, paid back the fund and now proudly lived predominantly with her own money.
The break from her family had been what prompted her to get involved in charity work. Initially as an outward show of some sort of virtue, but in the end, it had come to mean a lot more to her than that.
It had taught her the value of independence. Of hard work. It was the one place she could see positive change coming out of her actions. A positive change that helped others. A much-needed outlet when, at home, she was still paying for mistakes of the past.
Not for much longer.
“You want your family business back. I don’t see any point in skirting around the real reason you’re here.”
“Yes, nothing more complicated than that. Nothing more nefarious than that. It’s such a small portion of your empire I fail to see why it would be of concern to you. I want my birthright, my inheritance.”
He said nothing, his dark eyes fixed on her as though he was waiting for more. So she obliged him. “Like I said, a straightforward transaction. My family’s company is returned to me at the end of our agreement, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that your reputation is solid. With me helping in the establishment of your charity you should have benefactors throwing money at you from all corners of the earth. I guarantee you that my presence in your life will improve your standing in the media.”
“You are quite confident in yourself.”
Victoria tried her best to keep her eyes on his...and not on his chest. “I see no point in failing to acknowledge your strengths. I know mine. Shallow, some might call them, or unimportant. But I see them for what they are. I have spent much of my life learning to be a savvy investor, and also donating my time to worthy causes. My reputation is flawless.” She hesitated. “I was very nearly engaged to a prince about three years ago. So that does make for interesting commentary on my past. However, if there was any dirt to be discovered about me, it would have been discovered then. Around the time I was with Stavros the media became quite interested in me, and since there were no scandals then...”
“There won’t be one now. Unless... Why did your engagement with the prince fail?” It was his turn to smile. “Or did he have a similar deal to me?”
“Nothing like that. I intended to marry Stavros. Sadly, he fell in love with someone else. And I wished him the best when it happened. I made not a ripple in the waves of the media when things ended between us. I was nothing but gracious.”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing, distracting her yet again. Her eyes followed the dark lines of the tattoos that were inked into his skin, and to the leather band that was tied around his wrist. He was so very different than the kind of men she typically interacted with. Different and fascinating.
“Yes, you do come over as very gracious.”
She nodded in agreement, even though she knew he was being sarcastic.
He uncrossed his arms and waved a hand, beginning to pace around the room. And she was very worried for the precarious position of the towel, riding so low on his hips. Okay, maybe worried wasn’t the appropriate word. Concerned? Fascinated. No, she should not be fascinated. She knew better than to be fascinated by men.
“How long do you think this will take?” he asked.
She blinked, almost unable to believe that he sounded interested. “We’ll need to put in several appearances together. We will need to organize a few galas, where we will collect pledges and let the public know about what you hope to accomplish. We will need to make contact with the appropriate people in high society, and if not in high society per se, those who are part of the one percent. That takes time. In all actuality I’m imagining we will need somewhere around three months to accomplish all of this.”
“A month is a more acceptable time frame.”
Victoria tried to imagine planning something on the scale she was picturing in only thirty days. Obviously the man hadn’t planned many parties. “Yes, but sometimes no matter how liberally you throw money at things time is still a factor. It’s unforgiving, really.”
“You’ve got that right. Time really is quite unforgiving.”
Ironic to hear him say that, since time had clearly been good to him. In his thirties, Dmitri was in peak physical condition, and for a man who had lived the kind of life that he had, he was strikingly devoid of scars.
“I can’t promise it will be a success,” she said, pressing on. “You know I have to allow for variables. I’m not entirely certain what all your past entails, and that might hinder both of us.”
“I do not expect a guarantee—what I expect is effort.”
She shrugged, feigning a casualness she did not feel at all. “As long as you understand that while I can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear I will have a harder time making one out of a horse’s ass.”
He laughed again, his dark chuckle filling the space. “You are amusing—I will grant you that.”
“I am gleeful at the thought of being a source of your amusement.” She was not gleeful, not by half. Her heart was racing, the thrill of possible victory pouring through her. Yes, this must be what it was like to be an opponent on the mats. No, she had not defeated him with her fists, but persuading someone using only her tongue was much more satisfying. “Anyway, I promise I will keep my cleverness under control when we’re in public venues.”
“Don’t. I hardly think the press would be impressed by my engagement to a simpering, unclever female. Moreover, I doubt they would believe it. I like a fight. I like a fight in the ring, I like a fight in the boardroom. And I very much like a fight in the bedroom.”
His words sent a flash of heat through her. And they echoed what she had just been thinking moments ago, minus the commentary about the bedroom, so closely in fact she feared for a second he might be a mind reader. Which would be bad indeed, since she had spent an undue amount of time pondering his muscles.
“And what kind of woman do you suppose the press might expect you to be with?”
He began to pace again. “When I choose opponents in the ring I choose them because I know they’re going to give me a good match. I like someone who is clever, strong and fast. I like someone who will make me believe I might lose, if only for a moment. I like a challenge,” he said, his voice rough, sending a shiver through her. “So just be yourself. That should be enough.”
In spite of herself, Victoria felt strangely complimented. But she wouldn’t let him see it. In fact, now that she was aware of it, she wouldn’t let herself feel it. She only needed the approval of one person, the forgiveness of one person, and that was her father.
Sixteen years of perfection erased by one mistake. And every year since desperately trying to regain it.
Her father was the only one who could absolve her.
“I can be myself, Mr. Markin. Effortlessly, as I imagine most people can, but the question is which version of myself would you like?”
His smile turned feral. “Do most people have more than one version of themselves, Ms. Calder?”
“Everyone does.”
“Not everyone,” he said, his deep voice rolling over her in a wave. “Everything that you see now is all that I am. This apartment, this gym, my work. I have been other things—I have been a great many other things. But this is all that’s left.”
“I’m not sure I believe that.” There was something strangely grim about that. And there was something about it that she couldn’t quite believe, either. For some reason, though, she believed that he bought into it wholly and completely. And she was not certain why.
He seemed to think that he had only one layer, that this was the sum total