With an effort, she steered him back toward their conversation, needing his captivating eyes to be on something besides her.
“I’m curious about the plan you developed with my father. I’m certain it didn’t involve us being engaged.” She would rather know before her father contacted her. Her powerful parent would never stop interfering with her life, insisting he knew best on everything from which public relations firm should promote her career to hiring a matchmaker she didn’t want.
They’d butted heads on everything since her mother had died of breast cancer during Sofia’s teens, ending her independence and putting her under the roof of a cold, controlling man. Until then, she and her mother had lived a bohemian lifestyle all over the US and Europe, her mom painting while she danced. When her mother died, she’d been too young to strike out alone and her father had been determined to win her over with his wealth and the opportunities it could afford.
She’d wanted no part of it. Until he’d found that magic carrot—ballet school in St. Petersburg, Russia, an opportunity she truly couldn’t ignore. But she’d been paying for the privilege in so many ways since then, her debt never truly repaid.
“He wanted me to write off Cam’s behavior as a private joke between old friends.” Quinn shifted conversational gears easily. “But I’m sure he’ll be glad that your preferences were considered.”
“Vitaly has never concerned himself with my preferences.” She already dreaded the phone call from him she knew was coming. He would be angry with her, for certain. But she needed to remind him that he wasn’t the injured party here. “But he is not the only one affected by his decision to hire a matchmaker without my permission. I need to call him and demand he have that contract terminated immediately. I don’t want my photo and profile posted anywhere else.”
“Would you like me to tell him?” Quinn asked. She must have appeared surprised because he quickly added, “I don’t mean to overstep. But he and I have unfinished business and I plan to find out exactly where Cameron found your profile. I’m not sure who is at fault for the miscommunication between your matchmaker and his, but I plan to look into it as a matter of legal protection for McNeill Resorts since your father threatened to sue at one point.”
Sofia sighed. “I’m ninety percent sure that was just blustering, but I honestly don’t blame you. And since I’d rather not speak to my father when I’m so upset with him, I’d actually be grateful if you would handle it.”
It was a sad commentary on her relationship with her father that, while she hardly knew Quinn, she was already certain he would deal with her dad more effectively.
“Consider it done. And for what it’s worth, he seemed to care a great deal about you when I spoke with him.” Quinn said the words carefully. Diplomatically. No wonder Cameron relied on him to take care of sticky situations. “But I’m most concerned about your expectations going forward.” He narrowed his gaze as he turned back toward her. “For instance, how often we need to be seen together in public. If we’re going to do this, we’ll need to coordinate dates and times.”
“Really?” She was too tired and overwhelmed by the events of the evening to maintain the pragmatic approach now that it was just the two of them. “Although it’s been a while since I dated, I’m sure that we managed to schedule outings without a lot of preplanning. Why don’t I just text you tomorrow?”
His short bark of laughter surprised her as the limo descended into the Lincoln Tunnel toward Manhattan. Shadows crossed his face in quick succession in spite of the tinted windows.
“Fair enough. But maybe we could find a time to speak tomorrow. I’d like to be sure we agree on a story about how we met since you’ll be talking to the media.”
A stress headache threatened just from thinking about how carefully she would have to walk through that minefield, but damn it, she’d worked too hard to land that feature in Dance magazine to allow her pretend love life to steal all the spotlight.
“I have a rehearsal tomorrow at ten and I’ll be jet-lagged and foggy-headed before that.” She could barely think straight now to hammer out the details. “What if I just avoid reporters until we speak later in the day?”
Tomorrow’s challenges would be difficult enough. She couldn’t believe she’d also offered for Dance magazine to film her private audition with Idris Fortier the following week. She would be stressed enough that day without having her mistakes captured on video.
“This news might travel fast.” He frowned, clearly disliking the idea of waiting. “But I understand about jet lag making conversation counterproductive in the morning. Can I pick you up after rehearsal then?”
His voice slid past her defenses for a moment; the question was the kind of thing a lover might ask her. Was it certifiable to spend so much time with him this month? He was the antithesis of the kind of men she normally dated—artists and bohemians who moved in vastly different worlds from the Koslov family dynasty. Quinn, on the other hand, was the kind of polished, powerful captain of industry who liked to rule the world according to his whim. The tendency was apparent from the moment he’d strode into her personal drama today and quietly taken over.
His assistance had been valuable, without question. But would she regret letting herself get close to a man like that? Especially one with such unexpected appeal?
“After rehearsal will work.” She steadied herself as the limo driver jammed on the gas, trying to make some headway down Fifth Avenue despite the rush-hour traffic. “I’ll be done by four. Do you know where the theater is?”
“Of course.” He shifted his long legs in front of him, his open overcoat brushing her thigh when he moved. “Is there a side door? Somewhere to make a more discreet exit?”
She crossed her legs, shifting away from him.
“Good idea. There’s a coffee shop on Columbus Avenue.” She checked the address on her phone and shared it with him as the car finally turned down Ninth Street in the East Village where she lived. Her phone continued to vibrate every few minutes, reminding her that the whole world would have questions for her in the morning.
“Do you live alone?” he asked as the car rolled to a stop outside her building.
The question shouldn’t surprise her since the neighborhood wasn’t the kind of place where hedge fund managers made their home. Her father hated this place, routinely trying to entice her into rooms at the Plaza or a swank Park Avenue place.
“Yes.” Her spine straightened as if she was standing in front of the ballet barre. “I love it here.”
He got out of the car to walk her to the door while the driver retrieved her bag. In the time it took her to find her keys in her purse, two older men stumbled out of a local bar, boisterous and loud. She noticed that Quinn kept an eye on them until they passed the entrance to her building.
“Thanks for the ride.” She opened the front door and stood in the entryway, very ready to dive into bed.
Alone, obviously. Although the thought of diving into bed with Quinn sent a warm wave of sexual interest through her.
“I’m walking you to your apartment door,” he insisted, eyes still scanning the street out front that was filled with more bars than residences.
Too weary to argue, she gave a clipped nod and led the way through the darkened corridor toward the elevator. She was vaguely aware that he had taken her bags from the limo driver and was carrying them for her. A few moments later, arriving at apartment 5C, Quinn stepped inside long enough to settle her luggage in the narrow foyer. Strange how much smaller her apartment seemed with him in it. She watched as his blue gaze ran over the row of pendant lamps illuminating the dark hardwood floor and white grass-cloth walls covered with dozens of snapshots of ballet performances