Читать книгу Christmas At The Tycoon's Command - Jennifer Hayward - Страница 10
ОглавлениеCHLOE WAS STILL fuming over her encounter with Nico the next morning as she woke up to brilliant sunshine in her cozy townhouse on the Upper East Side. It was almost as if last night’s monsoon had never happened. Everything looking sparkly and brand-new on a crisp fall day that was perfection in Manhattan.
A grimace twisted her mouth. Now if only she could say the same for her combative showdown with Nico.
She slid out of bed, threw on a robe and made herself some coffee in an attempt to regain her equilibrium. Java in hand, she wandered to the French doors that looked out over the street and drank in the sleepy little neighborhood she now called home.
A splendor of gold and rust, the vivid splash of color from the changing leaves of the stately old trees was the perfect contrast to the cream stuccoed townhouses that lined the street. She and Mireille had fallen in love with the neighborhood one Sunday afternoon on a walk through the village. Her father had bought them each a townhouse side by side, Chloe’s in anticipation of her return home to New York to take her place at Evolution, Mireille, while she studied public relations at school.
We know you’re too independent to come home and live with us, her father had teased. But we want you close.
A wave of bitter loneliness settled over her. She wrapped her arms around herself, coffee cup cradled against her chest. Usually she managed to keep the hollow emptiness at bay—burying herself in her lab until she crawled into bed at night. But this morning it seemed to throb from the inside out, scraping her raw.
She missed her parents. So desperately much she had no idea how to even verbalize it. How to release the emotion that had been stuck inside her so long lest it swamp her so completely when she did, she would never emerge whole. Because her parents had been her glue, her innocence, the force that had shielded her from the world. And now that they were gone, she didn’t know how to restore the status quo. Didn’t know how to reset herself. Didn’t know how to feel anymore.
She was scared to feel.
Her mother had been her best friend. A bright, vivid star that bathed you in its warmth—their shared passion bonding them from their earliest days. Her father, the wisest, smartest man she’d ever known, with a heart so big it had seemed limitless. He would be furious if he saw her like this, because Nico was right—she had been hiding, from the world and from herself.
She hugged her arms tighter around her chest as she watched the neighborhood stir to life. She needed to move on. Nico had also been right in that. Paris was no longer her life. New York was now. Assuming the role her mother had groomed her for, even if the thought of doing so without her was one she couldn’t even contemplate.
Jagged glass lined her throat. Baby steps, she told herself, swallowing hard. She could do this. She just needed to take baby steps. And guard against her feelings for Nico while she did it because her instinctive response to him last night had revealed too much.
She wasn’t a teenager anymore in the throes of a wicked crush, overwhelmed by a sexual attraction she’d had no hope of fighting. The connection she and Nico had shared hadn’t been special as she’d thought it had been. He’d killed any romantic illusions she’d had about him dead the night he’d slept with another woman and made it clear they were over.
That she still found him compelling was an indication of her weakness when it came to him, one she needed to stamp out dead now that she was back in New York.
Because like it or not, he was her boss. The man who could green-light or kill her dream. Either she could keep fighting that fact, fighting him as she had been for the past six months, or she could prove him wrong. And since launching Vivre in time for Christmas, preserving her legacy, was all that mattered, her decision was clear.
Her first step was to dust herself off after her disastrous performance last night and make her first day back in New York a success.
A determined fire lighting her blood, she dressed in her most stylish cherry-colored suit, walked to work amid the crisp autumn glory and spent the morning meeting with Giorgio about Vivre.
She was excited to discover the splashy Christmas launch in Times Square she had planned was doable, but the tight deadlines to complete the advertising campaign made her head spin. It meant she would have to have her celebrities secured within the next week, their advertising spots filmed shortly thereafter, which might actually be impossible given how slow those things worked.
But it was doable. She focused on that as she spent the rest of the day nailing down the details Nico had requested so he would have nothing to question when she presented him with the revised plan. Then she took Mireille out for dinner at Tempesta Di Fuoco, Stefan Bianco’s hot spot in Chelsea, as she turned her attention to her most pressing issue.
Celebrities were her sister’s world. Socially connected in a way Chloe had never been with her sparkling, extroverted personality and undeniable beauty that mirrored their mother’s icy blonde looks, there were few people Mireille didn’t know in Manhattan.
Her sister refused to talk business until they had exotic martinis sitting in front of them. “All right,” she said, sitting back with her drink in hand. “Tell me about the campaign.”
Chloe cradled her glass between her fingers. “It’s about an authentic beauty, as you know. About expressing your true colors. But we’re approaching it from a different point of view with each perfume. One, for example, is about moving past your physical limitations. Another about incorporating a difficult past as part of what makes you unique. Irreplaceable.”
“I love it,” said Mireille, looking intrigued. “It’s brilliant. Give me your list.”
Chloe took a deep breath. “Number one. Carrie Taylor.” The supermodel had made it big as a plus-size model and was gracing the cover of every magazine on the newsstands.
Mireille cocked a brow. “You aren’t reaching high, are you?”
“I told you I was. Second is Lashaunta.” A pop singer who had recently had a string of chart-topping records, she had forged a successful career despite a prominent scar on her face. Or perhaps because of it, as it gave her such a distinctive look.
“Next?”
“Desdemona Parker.” A world-class athlete, she’d made it to the top of her sport despite the inherited disease that had nearly ended her career. “And finally,” Chloe concluded, “Eddie Carello for our men’s fragrance.”
Mireille blinked. “You’re kidding.”
“He’s a survivor,” Chloe said quietly. “He grew up in the projects. He perfectly embodies the spirit of Soar.”
Mireille let out a husky laugh. “I can see why Nico cut you down to size. He’s not wrong about the brand taking a hit. It isn’t going to be an easy sell. Do you have backups?”
Chloe listed them. “But I need my A list. It’s Nico’s nonnegotiable.”
Her sister pursed her lips. “I can help with Lashaunta and Carrie. You’re out of luck with Desdemona and Eddie, however. Eddie is near untouchable, he’s too hot right now. Desdemona, I have no connections to, and neither does anyone in our PR department. We’re not big in sports.”
Chloe’s face fell.
“Lazzero, however,” her sister mused, “might be able to help. I read in the paper this morning Eddie is attending the launch party for Blaze, Lazzero’s new running shoe, at Di Fiore’s tomorrow night. Desdemona has an endorsement deal with Supersonic. She might be there, too.”
Chloe chewed on her lip. Her father had been godfather to all the Di Fiore brothers when his good friend Leone had died, including Nico’s middle brother, Lazzero, and youngest, Santo. But only Nico had ended up at Evolution after her father had taken him on as his protégé. Lazzero and Santo had put themselves through school on sports scholarships, going on to found one of the hottest sportswear companies on the planet in Supersonic, with an investment from Martino to help them along.
Chloe’s lashes lowered. “I wanted to do this by myself. To prove to Nico I can.”
“Lazzero is not cheating. Lazzero is being resourceful.”
Chloe tapped her fingernails on the table. “Do you think he’d let us attend the party?”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Mireille picked up her phone and made the call.
“Lazzero, darling,” she purred. “I need you.”
Whatever was said on the other end of the phone made her laugh. “I do so call you just to chat. But right now, Chloe and I need a favor. We need an invite to your party tomorrow night to chat up Eddie Carello and Desdemona Parker for an influencer deal.”
Mireille frowned at Lazzero’s response. “Oh, she isn’t? That’s too bad. Eddie is, though, right?”
Chloe’s stomach dropped. No Desdemona.
Mireille nodded at whatever Lazzero said in response. “It won’t be me, I have plans. It will be Chloe. And I will pass the message on. You are, as usual, a doll.”
Chloe eyed her as she signed off. “What did he say?”
“Desdemona is out of town, but he’s emailing me and her agent and making the introduction. As for the party, it’s a yes. He’ll leave your name at the door.” A wicked smile curved her sister’s lips. “He said to wear a short dress. Eddie likes legs.”
* * *
And so that was how Chloe found herself the following night passing her credentials to the big lug in a dark suit at the door of Di Fiore’s, the upscale bar in midtown Manhattan Lazzero and Santo ran as part of their sports conglomerate.
Clad in the very short, rose-gold dress Mireille had lent her and surrounded by the trendy crowd, Chloe felt hopelessly out of place.
“You can come this way,” said the lug, plucking Chloe out of the lineup and ushering her through a side door and into the party that was already in full swing. There he handed her over to a hostess who led her through a crush of people to where Lazzero held court at the bar. He was supremely sophisticated all in black. Chloe had always found his hawk-like profile and dark eyes highly intimidating. Unlike Nico, who had intrigued her from the very beginning with his quiet, serious demeanor—as if the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulders.
Lazzero, however, made an effort to put her at ease, handing her a glass of wine and chatting idly with her about what she and Mireille were up to. Having not had time to eat, Chloe felt the wine go straight to her head, making the crowd seem much less unapproachable.
After a few minutes, Lazzero nodded toward the end of the bar. “Eddie at three o’clock.”
Her pulse gave a flutter as she turned to find the famous bad-boy actor lounging his lean, rangy, jean-clad body against the bar while a group of rather exquisite women attempted to capture his attention. Her stomach fell. How was she supposed to compete with that?
She turned back to Lazzero. Ran a self-conscious hand over her hair. She wasn’t going to get another opportunity like this. She just had to do it. “Do I look okay?”
His dark eyes glittered with amusement. “Affirmative. Ten minutes, Chloe. That’s all you’ve got. I have a rule at my parties—no one hassles you. It makes them want to come back.”
She moistened her lips. “Got it.”
He eyed her. “Are you sure you want to do this? He’s a bit of a piece of work.”
“Yes.”
He pressed another glass of wine into her hand. “Go.”
Chloe took a sip of the wine, sucked in a deep breath and started walking, forcing herself to trace a straight line toward the actor before she chickened out. The girls around him looked down their noses at her as she approached. Used to this treatment when she was with Mireille, Chloe ignored them, walked right up to Eddie and stuck out her hand. “Eddie, I’m Chloe Russo. My family and I own Evolution. I’d like to talk to you about a fragrance I’ve developed with you in mind.”
The actor swept his gaze over her dismissively, before he got to her legs, where he lingered. “Who did you say you are?” he queried absentmindedly.
Chloe repeated her spiel, refusing to give in to the knots tying themselves in her stomach.
Eddie lifted his slumberous dark gaze to hers. Flicked the girl off the stool beside him. “Have a seat.”
* * *
Nico pointed his car home, a brutally hard day of meetings behind him. A beer and the hot tub at his penthouse beckoned, but so did a phone call with his brothers at the end of the day. Old habits died hard, and checking in with Lazzero and Santo to make sure their world was upright was one of them.
It had been that way ever since their father’s company had imploded when Nico was a teenager, his father and his marriage along with it, leaving Nico as the last line of defense between his family and the street when his mother had walked out. When life as you’d known it had dissolved once beneath your feet, you made sure it never happened again.
He punched Lazzero’s cell into his hands-free. It rang five times before his brother picked up, the sound of music pulsing in the background.
“Sorry.” The music faded as Lazzero moved to a quieter spot. “It’s our Blaze launch tonight.”
Nico rubbed a palm against his temple. “Mi dispiace. I just walked out of my last meeting minutes ago.”
“No worries.” An amused note flavored his brother’s lazy drawl. “You didn’t tell me you were sending your little bird my way.”
“My little bird?”
“Chloe. She’s here chatting up Eddie Carello for some sponsorship deal.”
Nico blinked at the bright headlights of an oncoming car. “Chloe is there chatting up Eddie Carello?”
“And doing a pretty good job of it I might say. Must be the dress. I told her he likes legs.”
Nico brought his back teeth together. “Shut it down, Lazzero. You know better than that. She’s no match for him.”
More of that patented male amusement in his brother’s voice. “She looks like a match for him to me. She has his undivided attention at the moment.”
“Lazzero,” Nico growled. “Shut it down.”
“Gotta go,” his brother apologized. “A client just arrived. You should drop by.”
Nico swore a blue streak, yanked the steering wheel around and did an overtly illegal U-turn. Approaching celebrities was the PR department’s job. He was already feeling guilty about the board meeting and the necessarily harsh lesson he’d administered to Chloe. She was so vulnerable despite that sharp mouth of hers. But it had seemed to do the trick of jolting her out of that frozen state she’d been in, and for that, he’d considered it a success.
She did, however, need to be treated with kid gloves at the moment. She was the key to Evolution’s success. She had to believe she could take her mother’s place. But the question mark with Chloe had always been her confidence. Her belief in herself.
It didn’t seem to be lacking, however, as Nico strode into Di Fiore’s to find Lazzero romancing a tall blonde at the bar and Chloe doing the same with the most notorious womanizer in Hollywood.
Her dark hair shone loose around her lovely face, the champagne-colored dress she wore as she sat perched on the high stool highlighting every dip and curve of her slim, perfect figure. Her legs—and there was a lot of them—were a jaw-dropping, toned work of art. They made his mouth go dry.
And that was before he got to those gorgeous eyes of hers—dark rippling pools framed by the longest, most luxurious lashes he’d ever seen. Eyes that had once made him lose his common sense. He thought maybe she’d put about ten coats of mascara on.
Carello had one hand on his jean-clad thigh, the other around his drink, talking in an animated fashion while Chloe listened, her clear, bright laughter cutting through the din of the crowd. Nico’s mouth tightened as the actor slid his arm to the back of her stool and moved in closer.
Resisting the urge to walk over there and pluck her off the stool, he lifted his hand and signaled the bartender instead. The young hipster called out a greeting to him and slid his favorite dark ale across the bar.
“You thought that was a good idea?” he growled as Lazzero lost the blonde and ambled over.
His brother hiked a shoulder. “I’m not her babysitter. You are. How you found yourself in that role is beyond me.”
“You know full well how I did. Martino made it impossible to say no.”
Lazzero took a sip of his beer. Eyed him. “When are you going to tell her about his cancer? It would make your life easier, you know.”
It would. But Martino had made him promise not to tell his girls about the rare form of cancer that would have eventually claimed his life. He’d asked Nico to take care of them instead by taking his place at the helm of the company and ensuring it prospered. Telling Chloe now would only add to the emotional upheaval she was going through. And quite frankly, he needed her head on the job.
He threw back a swig of his beer. Wiped his mouth. “I have no idea why Martino even thought this was a good idea.”
“Maybe because you did such a good job with Santo and me,” Lazzero goaded. “We are such model citizens.”
“I am questioning that right now.” Nico slid his attention back to Carello. Watched him put a palm on Chloe’s bare thigh. She didn’t flinch, throwing her hair back over her shoulder and laughing at whatever he said.
Heat seared his belly. “How much has she had to drink?”
“Enough to boost her confidence.” Lazzero leaned a hip against the bar. Slid an assessing gaze over him. “Tough day?”
“Evolution’s stock is in the toilet, we desperately need a hit product and Giorgio has been executing an internal smear campaign against me. It’s been a joy.”
Lazzero’s mouth curled. “He is a nuisance. He’s not a serious threat.”
But he was distracting him at a time he couldn’t afford to be distracted. When Evolution was teetering on the edge of a defining moment. And that, he couldn’t have.
A tall, lanky male with razed blond hair pushed through the crowd to the bar, leaning over to say something to Eddie. The actor gave Chloe a regretful look, then said something that made her face fall, then brighten as Carello took something out of his wallet and slid it onto the bar.
Nico’s fingers tightened around his beer bottle as the actor bent and pressed a kiss to each of Chloe’s cheeks, staining her skin with two twin spots of pink. Then he and his entourage headed off through the crowd.
* * *
A surge of triumph filled Chloe as she sat holding Eddie Carello’s agent’s business card, his parting words ringing in her ears. Call my agent. Give him the details. Tell him I gave this the green light if he’s good with it.
She shook her head bemusedly. Slid off the bar stool, a half-finished glass of champagne in her hand. The world rocked ever so slightly beneath her feet. She’d never had much of a head for alcohol, but Eddie had insisted on that glass of champagne, and OMG, he’d just said yes. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined he would.
Untouchable, my foot.
She turned and headed for Lazzero to thank him. Pulled up short. Nico was standing beside his brother at the bar, the jacket of his dark suit discarded, a drink in his hand.
Her pulse went haywire. Why did that happen every time? And why did he look so good in a shirt and tie? The tie loosened, his hair ruffled, he looked younger, like he had when they’d first met. Devastating.
But that Nico didn’t exist, she reminded herself, heart thumping against her chest like a bass drum. And she’d do well to remember it.
She straightened her shoulders and walked the length of the bar to where the two men stood. Lazzero waved off her thanks and melted into the crowd to greet someone. Nico set that penetrating gray gaze of his on her.
“I told you to secure him. Meaning use the PR department. Not take on Hollywood yourself.”
She lifted a shoulder. “The PR department didn’t have access to him. Mireille said he was untouchable. So we asked Lazzero for help.”
He leaned back against the bar, his free hand crossed in the crook of his folded elbow. “What did he say?”
A victorious smile played at the corners of her mouth. It might have been her best moment ever. “He said yes.”
His eyes widened. “He did?”
“Yes. But,” she qualified, “it’s contingent on his agent’s approval.”
Nico’s gaze warmed with a glimmer of something that might have been admiration. “I’m impressed. How did you convince him?”
“I explained the campaign to him. Why he was the inspiration for Soar. He was flattered—said he liked the idea of having a fragrance created for him. It turns out,” she concluded thoughtfully, “that men are true to their biology. They like to have their egos stroked. It’s their Achilles’ heel.”
A hint of a smile played at his mouth. “That may be true,” he acknowledged. “But Carello is not to be played with. His reputation precedes him. Get his agent to sign off, then leave him the hell alone.”
“I know that.” Irritation burrowed a bumpy red path beneath her skin. “That’s why I told him I had a boyfriend. Honestly, Nico, do you think I’m a total neophyte?”
“Sometimes I do, yes.”
She made a sound at the back of her throat. “Well, you can go home now. The show’s over. Your babysitting duties are officially done for the night.”
He nodded toward her glass. “Finish that and I’ll drive you home.”
Oh, no. She was not having him shepherd her home like some stray sheep who’d wandered into the wrong field. She had conquered tonight, and she was leaving under her own steam. Because, truthfully, all she wanted was a hot shower and her bed now that the world had blissfully right-sided itself.
She lifted her chin. “I’m not ready to leave. It was so nice of Lazzero to invite me. It’s a great party. There’s dancing and everything. I think I’ll stay.”
He set his silvery gaze on hers. “Let’s go dance, then.”
Her heart tripped over itself. She knew how good it felt to be that close to all that muscle and masculinity. How exciting it was, because he’d subjected her to its full effects before he’d cast her aside and chosen another.
“I didn’t say I wanted to dance right now.” She held up her half-finished glass of champagne. “I still have this.”
“I think you’ve had enough.” He plucked the glass out of her fingers, captured her wrist in his hand and was leading her through the crowd toward the packed dance floor before she could voice an objection. She knew it for the bad idea it was before they’d even gotten there. Eddie had touched her bare thigh and hadn’t even caused a ripple. Nico’s fingers wrapped around her wrist were like a surge of electricity through her entire body. She felt it right to the tips of her toes.
But then they’d reached the mosaic-tiled dance floor with its elegant chandelier. With a smooth flick of his wrist, Nico tugged her to him. A little more pressure and she was firmly within the circle of his arms, shielded from the other dancers by his height and breadth.
One of her hands in his, the other resting on his waist, it wasn’t a close hold. But this was Nico. Every inch of her skin heated as it came into whisper-soft contact with his tall, powerful body. And then the scent of him kicked in, filling her head and electrifying her senses.
Smoky and elusive, it was pure, understated sensuality. Vetiver, the warm Indian grass known for its earthy, hedonistic appeal her mother had highlighted in Voluttuoso, her final fragrance. Chloe had always thought it was sexy. On Nico, with his overt virility and intensely masculine scent, it was knee weakening.
One dance. She kept her gaze riveted to the knot of his elegant silver tie. Unfortunately for her, the song was a jazzy, sexy tune, in keeping with the über-cool vibe of the party. A smooth, instinctive dancer, Nico was an excellent lead, guiding her steps easily in the small space they had carved out with a light pressure on her palm.
It should have been simple to exercise the mind control her yoga instructor was always preaching. Instead, her thoughts flew back to that sultry Fourth of July night that changed everything.
Her in Nico’s arms...the illicit, forbidden passion that had burst into flames between them...how for the first time in her life, she’d felt truly, completely alive.
She lifted her gaze to his, searched for some indication that everything they’d shared hadn’t been the imaginings of her eighteen-year-old mind. That she’d meant something to him like she’d thought she had. But his cool gray gaze was focused on her with a calculating intensity that sent that irrational, naive hope plunging to the bottom of her heart.
“We started off on the wrong foot the other night,” he murmured. “We need to work as a team, Chloe, together, not apart, if we have any hope of preserving what your parents built. Full-out warfare is not going to work.”
She arched a brow at him. “Is that an apology?”
“If you like,” he said evenly. “Like it or not, we are in this together. We succeed or fail together. You decide which it is.”
Her lashes lowered. “I agree we need a better working relationship. But this is my company, Nico. You need to listen to me, too. You can’t just run roughshod over me with that insatiable need for control of yours. I know what’s going to make Evolution a success. There’s no doubt in my mind it’s Vivre.”
“Put the rest of the pieces of the plan in place and I might agree. And,” he said, inclining his head, “I promise to listen more. If you stop trying to bait me at every turn.”
Her mouth twisted. “A truce, then?”
A mocking glint filled his gaze. “A truce. We can celebrate by attending the Palm Beach fund-raiser together. It will present a very public united front.”
Her parents’ favorite fund-raiser. A glittering, star-studded musical event in Palm Beach every year in support of breast cancer—a disease her mother’s best friend had succumbed to. Her stomach did a nervous dip at the thought of attending it with Nico.
She tipped her head back to look up at him. “You mean you don’t have one of your hot dates lined up for it?”
Hot in the sense they never lasted with Nico. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him photographed with the same woman twice.
“I haven’t had a hot date in six months,” he drawled. “It will have to wait until Evolution isn’t in danger of falling through the cracks.”
A calculated insult intended to remind her of her irresponsibility and his immutable focus. “However will you survive?” she goaded, skin stinging.
“I will manage,” he murmured, eyes on hers. “Careful, Chloe, we’ve barely gotten this cease-fire of ours under way.”
She sank her teeth into her lip. At the erotic image that one word inserted into her head. It took very little of her imagination to wonder what he would look like in the shower satisfying that physical need, his beautiful body primed for release.
She closed her eyes. She hated him. This was insanity.
The song finished. She stepped hastily out of his arms, smoothing her dress down over her hips. Nico gave her a pointed look. “Ready to leave?”
The concrete set of his jaw said there was no point arguing. He wasn’t leaving her here. He would wait all night if he had to because this was Nico—relentless in everything he did. Patient like the most tenacious predator in achieving what he wanted.
“Yes,” she agreed with a helpless sigh.
He placed a palm to her back as they wound their way through the crowd to say good-night to Lazzero. The heat of it fizzled over her skin, warming her layers deep, a real-life chemical reaction she’d never been able to defuse.
It rendered her silent on the trip home, the warm, luxurious interior of the car wrapping her in a sleek, dark cocoon as they slipped through quiet streets. She was so tired as Nico walked her to her door, she stumbled with the key as she tried to push it into the lock.
His fingers brushed against hers as he collected the keys from her hand and unlocked the door. Little pinpricks of heat exploded across her skin, a surge of warmth staining her cheeks as she looked up at him to thank him. Found herself all caught up in his smoky gaze that suddenly seemed to have a charge in it that stalled the breath in her throat.
“Go inside and go to bed, Chloe,” he said huskily. “And lock the door.”
His intention ever since he’d walked into that bar tonight, she reminded herself, past her spinning head. To prevent her from slipping into Eddie Carello’s hands.
She slicked her tongue across suddenly dry lips. Cocked her chin at a defiant angle. “Mission accomplished. I’ll be in bed by midnight. But then again, you always get what you want, don’t you, Nico?”
His gray gaze was heavy-lidded as it focused on her mouth for an infinitesimal pause. “Not always,” he said quietly.
Then he disappeared into the night.
