“I thought the same thing after I left the airport yesterday.” Cameron turned his laptop screen so Quinn could see the web banner for a Manhattan matchmaker, Mallory West. “I called my own matchmaker and she reminded me that I knowingly chose a match off a third-party web site Mallory West’s clients can access, so I was informed ahead of time that Ms. West didn’t know those women personally. She simply facilitated the meet. She gave me a full refund and assured me she would speak to the person who vetted the women on the web site I viewed.”
Quinn sank down onto the crate and looked out across the bay on the sprawl of Lower Manhattan anchored by the Freedom Tower. Now that he’d seen firsthand how much havoc Cameron’s bride hunt had caused for Sofia, he was thoroughly invested in the whole debacle.
“How can a matchmaker match people she doesn’t actually know?” That sounded unethical. “I didn’t think that’s how they worked.”
Cameron nodded as he signed into a private web page.
“They don’t. But I was in a hurry and didn’t want to jump through a lot of hoops since I wasn’t really looking for true love everlasting.” Cameron shrugged. “And Mallory’s right—she was just a facilitator. I was paying special attention to the women listed on that third-party web site.”
“Defeating the whole purpose of a matchmaker.” Quinn ground his teeth together. “You might as well have gone shopping for a bride online. Why the hell would you pay the rates for a private matchmaker only to meet a woman whose name you pulled out of a damn hat?”
Cam seemed to take the question seriously. “I wanted to speed up the process and I hoped that the matchmaker’s résumé lent credibility to the women I met.”
Quinn wished he’d paid better attention when Cameron had first told him about his visit to the matchmaker’s office, but at the time, he’d been focused on talking Cam out of jumping into a marriage.
“So she’s taking no responsibility and she gave you your money back, which makes me wonder if she’s worried about that web site, too. Can you still access that page?”
“No. Now that I’ve given up my membership with Mallory West, I can’t, but Ms. West said Sofia’s profile is no longer included on the page.”
“And once you told her you were interested in meeting Sofia, she texted you the flight details?”
“Correct.” Cameron closed the laptop.
“I’ll pass that information along to Sofia’s father. I’m hoping to defuse some of his anger. After all, he was the one who released her photo in the first place. It’s not your fault he hired an incompetent matchmaker.” Quinn raised his voice as a jackhammer went to work somewhere in the building. The roof vibrated with the noise.
“I find it ironic that I ran out to marry a woman because of Gramps’ will, and Sofia was my match based on her father’s equally manipulative tactics to see her wed.” Cameron picked up his hard hat and juggled it from one hand to another, his eyes never leaving some distant point to the northwest.
“Right. But I don’t understand why Vitaly was surprised to see you in the airport if he shared the flight information with Sofia’s matchmaker, who shared it with yours.” Quinn’s teeth rattled as the vibrations under his feet picked up strength. “I don’t think his surprise was an act. Which means something doesn’t add up.”
He’d already hired a guy in his company’s IT department to research any information about Sofia Koslov that had been posted online in the last month. Even if the third-party web site had deleted her profile, this guy could usually find reliable traces. For Quinn, it would help to show Vitaly where Cameron had found Sofia’s profile. How could Sofia’s father block the sale of the hotels the McNeills wanted if they were blameless in this matchmaking snafu?
But hiring an investigator served a second purpose, too—protecting Sofia’s privacy.
Rising to his feet in one fluid motion, Cameron picked up his hard hat and shoved it onto his head.
“It makes sense to figure out what happened with Sofia’s personal information before you move forward with your engagement.” Cam checked his phone and put it in his pocket. “Or your wedding.”
“Whoa.” Quinn clapped a hand on his brother’s back. Hard. “We’re not getting married, as you damn well know.”
The thought of spending a night with her revved him up fast, though. He didn’t need that image in his head when he was on his way to meet her and talk through a plan for their fake engagement.
Then again, it wasn’t as if he’d promised to keep his hands off her or anything. And she wanted the engagement to be believable. Already he was giving himself permission to get closer to her.
Much, much closer.
“You keep on telling yourself there’s nothing going on.” Cam shook off his hand and stalked toward the stairwell. “But no matter how much you play it off like Gramps’ will doesn’t matter to you, I know it’s got to be in the back of your mind that you need to get married.” Cameron rested a hand on the brick half wall that housed the stairs and faced Quinn. “Soon.”
A dark expression clouded Cameron’s features as he turned away, his steps echoing in the sudden silence as the jackhammer stopped. Quinn watched his brother walk away before he could argue. He was not getting married for the sake of McNeill Resorts, damn it. He was just running some damage control for the family business after his brother had made such a damn mess of things.
But maybe Cameron had a point. Quinn was attracted to her. He had to pretend to be her fiancé. There was no reason in the world he couldn’t use this time to get closer to Sofia.
To enjoy Sofia.
To find out if that kiss had been a fluke or if the heat between them was every bit as scorching as he imagined.
Sofia braided her wet hair in the large, shared dressing room after her shower, unwilling to attend her meeting with Quinn while drenched in sweat from her second class of the day. The writer Anton Chekov had once famously said that he knew nothing about the ballet but that the ballerinas “stink like horses” during the intervals, and the man had a point.
Digging in her bag for a hair tie, she scuttled past some of the junior dancers before she dropped into a chair near one of the makeup mirrors. The afternoon classes tended to have more of the sixteen-to eighteen-year-olds who could give her a run for her money physically, which had been just what she’d needed. After a day in the air yesterday, her body had felt off during her first class of the morning. So after her show rehearsals, she’d joined an afternoon session as well to will her body back into show shape. A day missed, and a dancer noticed. Besides, cramming every second of her day with hard work meant there were less opportunities for her older colleagues to quiz her about yesterday.
Or the huge rock on her finger.
She hadn’t left the breathtaking ring on for long, but she’d worn it from the cab to the dressing room before removing it for dancing, causing a room full of whispers and raised eyebrows before the dancing master put everyone to work. She retrieved Quinn’s gift now that she was in street clothes and slid the beautiful piece onto her finger. The few junior ballerinas remaining at the end of the day were in a heated discussion about the romantic availability of one of the male dancers.
“Holy