same choice. Say the same things.
Artem regarded him through narrowed eyes. “Fine. You don’t need to tell me. From now on, you’re a reformed man, anyway. Nothing else matters.”
“Got it.” Franco nodded.
He wasn’t seriously considering this arrangement. It was borderline demeaning, wasn’t it? To both himself and Diana.
Diana Drake.
He could practically hear her breathy, judgmental voice in his ear. From what I hear, you’re used to this kind of thing.
She’d never go along with this charade. She had too much pride. Then again, what did he know about Diana Drake these days?
He cleared his throat. “What happens afterward?”
“Afterward?”
Franco nodded. “Yes, after the gala.”
Artem smiled. “I’m assuming you’ll ride off into the sunset with your team and score a massive amount of goals. You’ll continue to behave professionally and eventually you and Diana will announce a discreet breakup.”
They’d never get away with it. Diana hadn’t even set eyes on Franco or deigned to speak a word to him in the past three years until just a few days ago. No one would seriously believe they were a couple.
He stared down at the heap of newspapers on Artem’s desk.
People already believed it.
“You’ll be compensated for each appearance at the rate we agreed upon under the terms of your modeling contract. You can start tonight.”
“Tonight?”
Artem gave a firm nod. “The Manhattan Pet Rescue animal shelter is holding its annual Fur Ball at the Waldorf Astoria. You and Diana can dress up and cuddle with a few adorable puppies and kittens. Every photographer in town will be there.”
The Fur Ball. It certainly sounded wholesome. Nauseatingly, mind-numbingly adorable.
“I’m assuming we have a deal.” Artem stood.
Franco rose from his seat, but ignored Artem’s outstretched hand. They couldn’t shake on things. Not yet. “You’re forgetting something.”
“What’s that?”
Not what. Who. “Diana. She’ll never agree to this.”
Artem’s gaze grew sharp. Narrow. “What makes you say so?”
Franco had a sudden memory of her exquisite violet eyes, shiny with unshed tears as she slapped him hard across the face. “Trust me. She won’t.”
“Just be ready for the driver to pick you up at eight. I’ll handle Diana.” Artem offered his hand again.
This time, Franco took it.
But even as they shook on the deal, he knew it would never happen. Diana wasn’t the sort of person who could be handled. By anyone. Artem Drake had no idea what he was up against. Franco almost felt sorry for him. Almost, but not quite.
Some things could only be learned the hard way.
Like a slap in the face.
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