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. “The new campaign was unveiled just hours ago, and it’s already a huge success. I’ve made you famous. You’re a household name. People who’ve never seen a polo match in their lives know who you are. This is what you wanted, is it not?”
Yes...
And no.
He’d wanted to get Jack Ellis’s attention. To force his hand. Just not like this.
But he couldn’t explain the details of his reinvention to Artem Drake. His new “employer” didn’t even know he’d been cut from the team. To Franco’s knowledge, no one did. And if he had anything to say about it, no one would. Because he’d be back in his jersey before the first game of the season in Bridgehampton.
That was the plan, anyway.
He stared at the pile of tabloids on Artem’s desk. Weeks of clean living and celibacy had just been flushed straight down the drain. More importantly, so had his one shot at getting his life back.
He glared at Artem. “Surely you can’t be happy about the fact that everyone in the city thinks I’m sleeping with your sister.”
A subtle tension in the set of Artem’s jaw was the only crack in his composure. “She’s a grown woman, not a child.”
“So I’ve noticed.” It was impossible not to.
A lot could happen in three years. She’d been young when she’d shared Franco’s bed. Naive. Blissfully so. If he’d realized how innocent she was, he never would have touched her.
But all that was water under the bridge.
Just like Franco’s career.
“Besides, this—” Artem gestured toward the pile of newspapers “—isn’t real. It’s an illusion. One that’s advantageous to both of us.”
This guy was unbelievable. And he was clearly unaware that Franco and Diana shared a past. Which was probably for the best, given the circumstances.
Franco couldn’t help but be intrigued by what he was saying, though. Advantageous to both of us...
“Do explain.”
Artem shrugged. Yep, clueless. “I’m no stranger to the tabloids. Believe me, I understand where you’re coming from. But there’s a way to use this kind of exposure and make the most out of it. We’ve managed to get the attention of the world. Our next step is keeping it.”
He already didn’t like the sound of this. “What exactly are you proposing?”
“A press tour. Take the cuff links out for a spin. You make the rounds of the local philanthropy scene—black-tie parties, charity events, that sort of thing—and smile for the cameras.” His gaze flitted to the photo of Franco and Diana. “Alongside my sister, of course.”
“Let me get this straight. You want to pay me to publically date Diana.” No way in hell. He was an athlete, not a gigolo.
“Absolutely not. I want to pay you to make appearances while wearing Drake gemstones. If people happen to assume you and Diana are a couple, so be it.”
Franco narrowed his gaze. “You know they will.”
Artem shrugged. “Let them. Look, I didn’t plan any of this. But we’d all be fools not to take advantage of the buzz. From what I hear, appearing to be in a monogamous relationship could only help your reputation.”
Ah, so the cat was out of the bag, after all.
Franco cursed under his breath. “How long do you expect me to keep up this farce?”
He wasn’t sure why he was asking. It was a completely ludicrous proposition.
Although he supposed there were worse fates than spending time with Diana Drake.
Don’t go there. Not again.
“Twenty-one days,” Artem said.
Franco knew the date by heart already. “The day before the American polo season starts in Bridgehampton. The Kingsmen go on tour right after the season starts.”
“Precisely. And you’ll be going with them. Assuming you’re back on the team by then, obviously.” Artem shrugged. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Franco wondered how Artem had heard about his predicament. He hadn’t thought the news of his termination had spread beyond the polo community. Somehow the fact that it had made it seem more real. Permanent.
And that was unacceptable.
“It’s absolutely what I want,” he said.
“Good. Let us help you fix your reputation.” Artem shrugged as if doing so was just that simple.
Maybe it is. “I don’t understand. What would you be getting out of this proposed arrangement? Are you really this desperate to move your cuff links?”
“Hardly. This is about more than cuff links.” Artem rummaged around the stack of gossip rags on his desk until he found a neatly folded copy of the New York Times. “Much more.”
He slid the paper across the smooth surface of the desk. It didn’t take long for Franco to spot the headline of interest: Jewelry House to be Chosen for World’s Largest Uncut Diamond.
Franco looked up and met Artem’s gaze. “Let me guess. Drake Diamonds wants to cut this diamond.”
“Of course we do. The stone is over one thousand carats. It’s the size of a baseball. Every jewelry house in Manhattan wants to get its hands on it. Once it’s been cut and placed in a setting, the diamond will be unveiled at a gala at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Followed by a featured exhibition open to the public, naturally.”
Franco’s eyes narrowed. “Would the date for this gala possibly be twenty-one days from now?”
“Bingo.” Artem leaned forward in his chair. “It’s the perfect arrangement. You and Diana will keep Drake Diamonds on the front page of every newspaper in New York. The owners of the diamond will see the Drake name everywhere they turn, and they’ll have no choice but to pick us as their partners.”
“I see.” It actually made sense. In a twisted sort of way.
Artem continued, “By the time you and Diana attend the Met’s diamond gala together, you’ll have been in a high-profile relationship for nearly a month. Monogamous. Respectable. You’re certain to get back in the good graces of your team.”
Maybe. Then again, maybe not.
“Plus you’ll be great for the team’s ticket sales. The more famous you are, the more people will line up to see you play. The Kingsmen will be bound to forgive and forget whatever transgression got you fired.” Artem lifted a brow. “What exactly did you do, anyway? You’re the best player on the circuit, so it couldn’t have been related to your performance on the field.”
Franco shrugged. “I didn’t do anything, actually.”
He’d been cut through