Mister Diamond Read online

  Mister Diamond

  CHANCE CARTER

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Bonus Content - The Baby Favor

  Bonus Content - Bridesmaid For Hire

  Bonus Content - Her Baby Donor

  Bonus Content - First Time Lucky

  Bonus Content - Royal Engagement

  Bonus Content - Stranded, A Reverse Harem Romance

  Free Story Offer!

  MISTER DIAMOND

  CHANCE CARTER

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  Copyright © 2018 Chance Carter

  ISBN: 978-1-77382-023-1

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my diamonds.

  I love you all.

  Join the Chance Carter Diamond Group on Facebook for your chance to win an item of your choosing from Tiffany’s.

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  Chapter 1

  Dominik

  Today was a long day.

  Then again, it had also been a long week. Sometimes the days seemed to fuse together in one never-ending, eternally boring journey around the clock that left me exhausted in ways sleep could never salvage.

  My father would say that meant I was on the road to success. He would know; he’d overseen the family business since he turned twenty-one. If this was how he felt every day for the past thirty odd years, I wondered how the old man kept at it. Then again, the business was all he had left.

  I took a couple deep breaths on the elevator ride to my penthouse, filling my blood with fresh oxygen and trying to wake up a little. I’d been awake since before the sun and only had another hour or so before I’d likely be in bed. Orlov Import/Export was a booming business and, as the CEO of our American division, my workload was booming too.

  The elevator doors slid open to a small hall with only two doors. One led to the rooftop garden. The other to my paradise—my home sweet home.

  Inside, I kicked off my shoes and walked across the polished oak floors of the entryway toward the kitchen, but stopped only halfway through the living room. Throw pillows littered the floor.

  I paused and listened, detecting the light snuffling of breath from the direction of the couch, which faced the wall-length windows at the opposite side of the room. New York’s glittering skyscrapers charged up into the sky and cast buttery light across the floor. I approached the couch and peeked over the top.

  Light from the window illuminated a thin male face, and shaggy silver hair covered one of his eyes. The other was closed, and he was pulled in a tight ball.

  I rolled my eyes and shook his shoulder.

  “Wha-?” Dexter Kleinman, my best friend and the ever-present pain my ass, sat up in alarm. His blue eyes relaxed when he saw me and he pulled his lips into a grin.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  I scoffed and continued my path to the kitchen. “It’s nearly ten.”

  “Then I’ve had a full night’s sleep.” Dex hopped up and tagged along behind me, leaning against the granite-topped island once we reached the kitchen.

  “What’s wrong with your own apartment?” I rooted through the fridge and produced a couple bottles of beer, uncapping one and handing it over to him.

  Dex took it with a wink. “Your couch is more comfortable than my bed ever will be. Plus, there was a troupe of acrobats crashing in my bed the last time I saw it.”

  “A troupe of...” I stopped and shook my head. Better not to question it. “You’re going out tonight, I presume?”

  Dex nodded, sharp cheekbones catching the light. He was small compared to me, standing only about 5’10” with a wiry frame, and his features were much more delicate. Sometimes one could even say he looked feminine.

  “There’s a rave down in Harlem that looks promising. Everyone’s going dressed as their favorite bird.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “What are you going to be?”

  “I’m offended you even have to ask,” Dex huffed, taking a swig of his beer. “What else could I be but a Super Bird of Paradise?”?

  I chuckled. “How did I not know that”

  “You’re lucky you’ve got such a comfortable couch.” He winked. “Want to come? You’d make a handsome raven.”

  An image of myself dressed in all black while flashing lights and pulsing bodies whirled around me zipped through my mind and I curled my lip.

  “Hard pass. Maybe next time.”

  Dex pushed his hair back from his forehead. “Suit yourself. I’m going to pick up a little chickadee or two.”

  “Just don’t bring them back here. I want to sleep tonight.”

  Humor glittered in my best friend’s eye. “We wouldn’t be back until after you left for work anyway,” he said. “But don’t worry, my bed may not be the best for sleeping, but it’s ideal for everything else.”

  “Thanks for sharing.” I tipped back my head and downed about half of my beer. My own bed was calling, and the sooner I answered, the better.

  “Long day?” Dexter asked.

  I nodded, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Longer than I would have liked. I was in pointless meetings all day and didn’t have time to work on anything useful until everyone else was gone.”

  He leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms. I noticed his white t-shirt was ripped in a few places, like something or someone had tried to tear him apart. Dex had what I considered to be horrible fashion sense, but he did well for himself in the ladies department so I tried not to judge. I’d been dying to get him to my tailor since the day we met, but doubted I ever would.

  “I wish you would just break free of all that crap, Nik,” Dex said, suddenly stone-cold serious. “You’re too good a guy to end up strangled by your own necktie.”

  “You paint such a pretty picture,” I muttered.

  We’d had this conversation more than once. I didn’t know why he kept trying, since it only ended with both of us getting annoyed.

  “I sense so much untapped creativity in you,” he continued, growing more passionate. “I just want to get you in front of a canvas, give you a bucket of paint, and see what happens.”

  “Unless the result of such an endeavor makes me richer than I already am, you’re out of luck.”

  Dex frowned. He opened his mouth to retort but my phone rang, and I smirked as I tugged it from my pocket. My lips fell when I saw my father’s name flash across the screen.

  “I’ve got to take this,” I said.

  Dexter sighed and I rolled my eyes, elbowing him in the side as I walked past.

  I slipped into my bedroom and closed the door, not that it was strictly necessary. Even if my father and I discussed something sensitive, it wouldn’t be in a language Dex could understand.

  �
�Privet?” I answered.

  Fyodor Orlov’s familiar baritone molded around a string of fast Russian. “Hello, son. I trust things are well with the company.”

  It irritated me that he had to check in on the company first, even though we regularly exchanged reports. “Of course,” I replied in Russian. His English was passable, but not nearly as good as my Russian. “And I’m good too.”

  “I know that. I raised you to be able to take care of yourself.”

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  I wished just once that Fyodor would do something fatherly, but he’d treated our relationship like that of a business contact my whole life. By this point I’d gotten used to it, but sometimes I still wished he would surprise me and come out with something paternal. It wasn’t like I wanted to play catch or go to a Knicks game with him, but would it kill him to wonder how I was doing?

  “I won’t waste your time or mine with pointless pleasantries,” he said. “You’re getting married.”

  My brows rose. “Oh, I am?”

  “You’re familiar with Alexei Petrokov?”

  “Yes.”

  Alexei was an oil tycoon in Russia sitting on more money than there was snow in Siberia. My father had been circling his fortune for a while now, trying to find a crack to jam his way into, so it didn’t surprise me that this had something to do with him.

  “He and I have struck an arrangement for you to marry his daughter, Valentina,” Father continued. “Once you’re legally bound, he’ll receive a few thousand shares of the company.”

  “And what are you getting out this?”

  I needn’t bother asking what I stood to gain. Presumably a wife, and perhaps even a kind word from the old man.

  “She’s his only child. The heir to his fortune. And Alexei’s no spring lamb. Once he kicks it, we’ll inherit his fortune.”

  We was a notable word. The affairs of my wife and I should have nothing to do with my father, but, then again, he subscribed to a different set of values than most.

  I sat down on my bed and fell back, running my free hand through my hair. “I’m...flattered Father, but I’ve never even met the girl. I don’t know a thing about her.”

  “She’s well-educated and a model. Everything else you need to know you can learn once you’re married. We’re setting a date for the wedding for eighteen months’ time, after which she will move to America with you.”

  “Okay, to be a little more blunt then, no.”

  Silence from the other end of the line. I didn’t often deny my father anything, and I could tell this wasn’t going to be as easy as disagreeing with him about an investment opportunity.

  “I don’t ask much, son.” His tone had a little more bite in it now, giving the impression he was close to a full-on roar. “You’re thirty-two and still unmarried, and I’m offering you the opportunity to marry a beautiful woman and bring prosperity to the company. I cannot believe you would disrespect me by refusing.”

  I sighed. It wasn’t worth arguing over. I’d known since I was a child that Fyodor would use every part of me he could to gain further wealth, and frankly I was just surprised he hadn’t tried to do this sooner. Perhaps it would have been smart to get married while I still had a choice. Only problem was, I’d never met someone I wanted to take that plunge with.

  “Need I remind you,” he continued when I still hadn’t spoken. “That everything you have, your fancy apartment, your six-figure salary, the goddamn shine on your leather shoes, you owe it all to me. I’ve given you everything. It’s time for you to do your duty and give back.”

  “Fine,” I bit out.

  His tone relaxed. “Good. Pick out a ring and send it over as soon as possible.”

  “Sure,” I said, though he’d already hung up.

  I hated how easily Fyodor pulled my strings. Most of the time I could forget the puppeteer looming above my head, but times like this I wished I could snap the threads that bound me to him without collapsing into a motionless heap on the ground. I would never get that wish.

  I stood and opened my bedroom door, surprised to find Dex waiting just outside, arms folded over his chest.

  “I tried to listen in but you were speaking gibberish.”

  I chuckled. “It was my father.”

  Dex’s eyes widened. The two of them had never met, and I was glad of it. I wouldn’t put it past good old Dad to forbid me from having anything to do with the Bohemian in ripped shirts.

  “What did he want?”

  I headed to the kitchen and grabbed another beer for each of us. “I’m getting married.”

  Dex ignored the beer I offered him. “You’re fucking joking.”

  “Solemn as a judge.” I wiggled the beer until he grabbed it. “He’s found me a lovely–more importantly, very rich—bride. I’m to pick out an engagement ring tomorrow and send it to Moscow.”

  “Nik!” He snatched the beer from my hand. “You can’t marry some girl you’ve never even met! That’s bonkers!”

  “It’s business.”

  “That’s even worse.”

  I tipped back my head and drank deep. “I hate that man sometimes.”

  “Then don’t marry the girl,” Dex said. “Just call him back and tell him to shove it.”

  “I can’t. It’s my duty.”

  “Your duty?” His brows surged together. “Fuck that.”

  “It’s easy for you to say.” Irritation grew hot under my skin. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “That’s good, because I don’t.” He still hadn’t touched his beer, but I’d nearly finished mine.

  “It’s getting late, Dex. I just want to get to sleep.”

  Dex stared at me long and hard, then jabbed his bottle in my direction. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re messing with me.” His lips curved into a grin. “You’re not actually getting married. I bet that phone call was about stocks or figures or how many bills you can fit into a set of those babushka dolls.”

  I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. “First of all, they’re called matroyoshka dolls. Second of all, no. I was serious.” I dropped my hand and speared him with my gaze. “I’m getting married. And you, my dear friend, are getting out of my apartment so I can get some sleep.”

  I began to herd him toward the door, batting away his protests like troublesome flies.

  “You’re serious? Nikki, you can’t! Think about your happiness! Your future!”

  I opened the door and guided him out. “I am, Dexter. I am.”

  The door closed.

  And, finally, silence.

  Chapter 2

  Gemma

  The dulcet instrumental music wrapped itself around me like a comforting blanket, warm and cozy, and tried to lull me to sleep. It was like Tiffany’s had selected their music choice specifically to test their bored staff, like some highfalutin version of the Hunger Games.

  The last to stay awake took the prize.

  And kept their job.

  I leaned over the counter and sighed, running my gaze along the glass cabinets filled to the brim with sparkle and expense. Each of the diamonds and precious jewels winked mischievously, tempting me to close my eyes for a minute. We hadn’t had a customer for at least an hour, even though the Fifth Avenue flagship was usually busy. Not a great day for romance, I supposed.

  I moved my view to the window, spying on the sunny spring day and the hordes of businesspeople and shoppers streaming past it. People watching would get me by.

  My gaze switched from an elderly woman making slow progress up the sidewalk to a tall, attractive man in a long, dark overcoat with inky hair brushing his ears. I suppressed a dreamy sigh. He wore a determined expression that could have been a scowl, and I wondered what was on his mind.

  Then I realized, as he appeared in the glass-fronted doorway, that I was about to find out.

  I was
no longer sleepy and my skin burst into heat. I stood bolt upright and stretched a polite smile over my cheeks just as he stepped inside, trying not to stumble over my words as I welcomed him into the store.

  “Welcome to Tiffany’s,” I said. “Is there anything I can help you find?”

  The man’s jaw ticked and he walked right up to me. He was even more handsome up close, looming above me at about 6’3”. His eyes were shards of onyx, and they stared down at me intensely, as if my skin were paper and he could see right through it.

  “I need a ring,” he said. “An engagement ring.”

  His voice was deep, crisp, like he meant every single word that left his lips.

  I chuckled lightly.”You’ve come to the right place. Is there a particular style you’re interested in?”

  “No.”

  Usually a potential groom would come in with a little more enthusiasm, but I could work with this.

  “Let’s think about the band first, then. White, yellow, rose?”

  The man’s forehead creased. He was out of his depth and he knew it, and I could tell he loathed feeling that way.

  “What do you suggest?” he asked. “I’ll be honest, I have no idea what she wants, or even what any woman would want. I just need a nice ring.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Will you follow me down to the last case?”

  We walked toward a case that contained many of our best sellers, and I took him through the varieties on display, talking about each of their selling points. When I passed him the first ring to take a closer look at, he weighed it in his palm.

  “I thought it was going to be heavier,” he admitted, and I got the feeling he found it plenty heavy enough.

  What was this guy’s deal? I longed to know more about him, everything about him, to find out what had brought him into my store even though it seemed this was the last place he wanted to be. His chiseled cheekbones and strong chin spoke of a man who never compromised, never let the world beat him down, but yet here he stood—beaten.

  “I’m Gemma, by the way,” I said. An awkward time for introductions, but I didn’t know how to reply to his last comment.

  His eyes found mine and the barest smile curved his full lips. “Dominik,” he replied. “You can call me Nik.”