It Started With A Diamond. Teri Wilson
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Franco, which is why she’d been stupid enough to end up in his bed. The way she felt when he looked at her had been intoxicating back then. Impossible to ignore.
But she didn’t want to be seen now. Not anymore. She just wanted to be invisible for a while.
Maybe she wouldn’t have been so rattled if it had been someone else. But it had been him. And she was most definitely still shaken up.
She needed to get a grip. So she’d posed for a few pictures with a handsome man she used to know. That’s all. Case closed. End of story. No big deal.
She squared her shoulders and marched down the street with renewed purpose. This was getting ridiculous. She would not let a few minutes with Franco ruin her new beginning. He meant nothing to her. She was only imagining things, anyway. He probably looked at every woman he met with that same knowing gleam in his eye. That’s why they were always falling at his feet everywhere he went.
It was nauseating.
She wouldn’t waste another second thinking about the man. She sighed and realized she was standing right in front of the Times Square Starbucks. Perfect. Coffee was just what she needed.
As soon as she took her place in line, a man across the room did a double take in her direction. His face broke into a wide smile. Diana glanced over her shoulder, convinced he was looking at someone behind her. His wife, maybe. Or a friend.
No one was there.
She turned back around. The man winked and raised his cardboard cup as if he were toasting her. Then he turned and walked out the door.
Diana frowned. People were weird. It was probably just some strange coincidence. Or the man was confused, that was all.
Except he didn’t look confused. He looked perfectly friendly and sane.
“Can I help you?” The barista, a young man with wire-rimmed glasses and a close-cropped beard, jabbed at the cash register.
“Yes, please,” Diana said. “I’d like a...”
The barista looked up, grinned and cut her off before she could place her order. “Oh, hey, you’re that girl.”
That girl?
Diana’s gaze narrowed. She shook her head. “Um, I don’t think I am.”
What was she even arguing about? She didn’t actually know. But she knew for certain that this barista shouldn’t have any idea who she was.
Unless her accident had somehow ended up on YouTube or something.
Not that. Please not that.
Anything but that.
“Yeah, you are.” The barista turned to the person in line behind her. “You know who she is too, right?”
Diana ventured a sideways glance at the woman, who didn’t look the least bit familiar. Diana was sure she’d never seen her before.
“Of course.” The woman looked Diana up and down. “You’re her. Most definitely.”
For a split second, relief washed over her. She wasn’t losing it, after all. People on the sidewalk really had been staring at her. The triumphant feeling was short-lived when she realized she still had no idea why.
“Will one of you please tell me what’s going on? What girl?”
The woman and the barista exchanged a glance.
“The girl from the billboard,” the woman said.
Diana blinked.
The girl from the billboard.
This couldn’t be about the photos she’d taken with Franco. It just couldn’t. Artem was her brother. He wouldn’t slap a picture of her on a Drake Diamonds billboard without her permission. Of course he wouldn’t.
Would he?
Diana looked back and forth between the woman and the barista. “What billboard?”
She hated how shaky and weak her voice sounded, so she repeated herself. This time she practically screamed. “What billboard?”
The woman flinched, and Diana immediately felt horrible. Her new life apparently included having her face on billboards and yelling at random strangers in coffee shops. It wasn’t exactly the fresh start she’d imagined for herself.
“It’s right outside. Take two steps out the front door and look up. You can’t miss it.” The barista lifted a brow. “Are you going to order something or what? You’re holding up the line.”
“No, thank you.” She couldn’t stomach a latte right now. Simply putting one foot in front of the other seemed like a monumental task.
She scooted out of line and made her way to the door. She paused for a moment before opening it, hoping for one final, naive second that this was all some big mistake. Maybe Artem hadn’t used the photo of her and Franco for the new campaign. Maybe the billboard they’d seen wasn’t even a Drake Diamonds advertisement. Maybe it was an ad for some other company with a model who just happened to look like Diana.
That was possible, wasn’t it?
But deep down she knew it wasn’t, and she had no one to blame but herself.
She’d stormed into Artem’s office and demanded that he find a role for her in the company that didn’t involve Engagements. She’d practically gotten down on her knees and begged. He’d given her exactly what she wanted. She just hadn’t realized that being on a billboard alongside Franco Andrade in the middle of Times Square was part of the equation.
She took a deep breath.
It was just a photograph. She and Franco weren’t a couple or anything. They were simply on a billboard together. A million people would probably walk right past it and never notice. By tomorrow it would be old news. She was getting all worked up over nothing.
How bad could it be?
She walked outside, looked up and got her answer.
It was bad. Really, really bad.
Emblazoned across the top of the Times Tower was a photo of herself being embraced from behind by Franco. The sapphire necklace dangled from his fingertips, but rather than looking like he was helping her put it on, the photo gave the distinct impression he was removing it.
Franco’s missing tie and the unbuttoned collar of his tuxedo shirt didn’t help matters. Neither did her flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips.
This wasn’t an advertisement for cuff links. It looked more like an ad for sex. If she hadn’t known better, Diana would have thought the couple in the photograph was just a heartbeat away from falling into bed together.
And she and Franco Andrade were that couple.
What have I done?
* * *
Franco was trying his level best not pummel Artem Drake.
But it was hard. Really hard.
“I didn’t sign up for this.” He wadded the flimsy newsprint of Page Six in his hands and threw it at Artem, who was seated across from Franco in the confines of his Drake-blue office. “Selling cuff links, yes. Selling sex, no.”
Artem had the decency to flinch at the mention of sex, but Franco was guessing that was mostly out of a brotherly sense of propriety. After all, his sister was the one who looked as though Franco was seducing her on the cover of every tabloid in the western hemisphere.
From what Franco had heard, there was even a billboard smack in the middle of Times Square. His phone had been blowing up with texts and calls all morning. Regrettably, not a single one of those texts or calls had included an offer to return to the Kingsmen.
“Mr. Andrade, please calm down.” Artem waved a hand at the generous stack of newspapers fanned across the surface of his desk.