The Platinum Collection: A Convenient Proposal. Maisey Yates
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a man who never seemed to fit into his surroundings. Not entirely at the gym, and not entirely here, either. There was something more to him, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
Something intriguing, which made it dangerous. Because she should not be intrigued by him. Not now, not ever. He was simply a means to an end; he was nothing to get excited about.
She cleared her throat. “Either way, I think you will be well served to share your story. I found it inspiring.”
“Did you, Victoria? If so, I’m surprised.”
“Why is that?”
“You don’t seem the type to be moved by human interest pieces.”
Victoria wasn’t quite sure how to take that. “I’m not sure what you mean. I have been celebrated for my work in charity.”
“I fail to see what charity work has to do with the way things actually make you feel. You seem a woman more motivated by the bottom line than by altruism.”
She made an indignant sound. “I love altruism. I’m a huge fan of it. I also like people to be fed. I like them to have shelter. I don’t think I like the personality that you seem to be ascribing to me.” His words stung a bit. But it wasn’t as if she was doing a good job of being honest with him about how much her charity work meant to her. But it was personal, and she didn’t like to share personal.
In her experience, sharing personal pieces of herself only led to rejection. It was one thing to risk that for her father, or for the man she’d thought herself in love with. She saw no point risking that with Dmitri.
“Do not be offended. I am merely saying it as I see it. I am not a man given to sentimentality, either. Except in this case. Except where Colvin, and his legacy, are concerned. Because of what he did for me personally I want him remembered, what he did remembered. And more importantly, I want the essence of who he was to keep living.”
Well, now she felt slightly guilty for withholding honesty since his response was completely genuine. She cleared her throat. “Good. Channel all of that into a speech about how incredibly your life changed because of your experiences with martial arts and the opportunities the mind-set opened up to you.”
The scenery had started to change, the buildings growing older as they went deeper into the city. A track line for trolleys ran through the center of a busy street, lined with large hotels, fast-food restaurants and upscale boutiques, as though everything had sort of crashed into each other and settled like this.
They turned off the main drive, all of the architecture here reminiscent of things more commonly found in Europe than in the United States. But there was something else, too. An open friendliness to go with the stateliness that was unlike any place she had ever been before. Magnolia trees grew on the sidewalks, large white blossoms punctuating the dark green leaves, strands of colored beads trapped in the branches, like Christmas decorations that had been left behind.
The buildings were connected, tall and narrow, made from stone with ornate iron balconies that wrapped around the facades. And every few feet there were signs hanging down from the balconies, advertising rentals that came in two varieties: haunted and non.
“I forgot to ask about ghosts.” She was trying to lighten up the topic of conversation now. Trying to move it away from his personal take on her as a human being, which she was almost certain she didn’t like it all. “It appears there are ghostly options here. I hope very much I have not put us on the wrong side of those options.”
He waved a hand. “It’s New Orleans. As far as I know every place has its ghost, and if it doesn’t...the owners are lying.”
“I don’t want any ghosts coming in and spoiling our party.”
“How do you know they would spoil it? They may very well enhance it.”
“For a man who is so confident in his ability to manage the ghosts of the past, you seem open to the idea of them coming into the present.”
“Someone else’s ghosts are fine. It’s my own that I prefer to keep buried.”
That made her laugh. “I’ll drink to that. In fact, perhaps we should, later.”
“An excellent idea.”
The car came to a stop in front of a pink building that wrapped around a street corner. It was three floors high with hanging plants and vines growing over the balconies, doing their part to obscure the windows, and those who might be behind them, from the street below.
“This is it,” she said, “I recognize it from the pictures online.”
“An excellent venue—I have faith that those who came looking for something uniquely New Orleans will be satisfied.”
Victoria certainly hoped so. She had made sure to tell him that there would be no guarantees on her end of the deal. After all, there was no way she could force people to change their opinion of him. But the fact remained that she wanted to do the best job possible. It was important to her, because when she said she would do something, she felt she’d better bloody well do it. The fact was she had enough of letting people down. Yes, it had been only one major mistake, but it had been a major mistake. One her own father could scarcely forgive her for.
She had never felt clean after. She wasn’t sure she ever would. Wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to obliterate the stain from her record. But she had to try, she had to. That was why she was here now. That was why she was doing her damnedest to accomplish this for her father, and suddenly, she felt driven to accomplish this for Dmitri, as well.
He meant nothing to her, not personally. But his story was compelling, his goal was noble.
He spoke about how Colvin had changed his life and that made her want to be a part of this. It made her want to change the lives of the children his program would impact. Because if Dmitri Markin could come from a dirty bar in Moscow, Russia, to be one of the wealthiest men in all of Europe, then truly anything was possible. Even reconciliation with her father.
And she knew she wouldn’t be the only one who came away from this week’s gala feeling that way.
“I do hope you brought suitable gowns,” he said.
“Of course I brought suitable gowns. I have an entire closet full of nothing but suitable gowns. It is all but my profession to attend these kinds of events.”
“Yes, I do realize that. But you’re not attending as Victoria Calder. You are attending as Victoria Calder, lover to Dmitri Markin, and my lovers have standards.”
She snorted. “Maybe you have raised your standards since the last time you appeared with a lover.”
He laughed and opened the back door to the car, leaving her sitting in the air-conditioned space by herself. She unbuckled and scrambled out her side, stumbling as she placed her foot on the uneven pavement just outside the vehicle. “Good Lord.” She righted herself. “Just one second,” she said. “What exactly do you think is so funny? I’m very classy.”
“In my experience, Victoria, when someone has to tell you they are something, they are not it.”
She spread her hands. “I exude class.”
“Certainly you do.” He regarded her closely, looking up and down as though she was a car he was interested in buying and not a human being. “The problem is my lovers tend not to.”
“I thought we went over this. The press would expect you to be with a woman who had a little bit of fight in her. Maybe ultimately the press will be expecting for you to end up with a woman who doesn’t fit your normal repertoire.”
“Perhaps.” He rounded to her side of the car and knocked on the front passenger window. The driver rolled it down. Dmitri leaned in. “Have the bags sent up. I need to get Ms. Calder out of the car as I believe the Southern weather has thoroughly rumpled her rather delicate English temperament.”
Victoria