Читать книгу The Italian's Deal for I Do - Jennifer Hayward - Страница 10

CHAPTER THREE

ROCCO STOOD ON the tarmac of Milan’s Linate Airport, Christian Markos at his side. The last of the Columbia Four to depart following Giovanni’s funeral, Christian was headed to Hong Kong and a deal that couldn’t wait. As always, when Rocco parted from his closest friends, there was an empty feeling in his heart. They had become so tight during those four years at Columbia. Watched one another grow into manhood and cemented their friendships as they took on the world.

Together they were an impenetrable force, greater than the sum of their parts. It was always difficult to return to their respective corners of the world, but they did so with the knowledge they would see one another soon—their four-times-a-year meet-ups a ritual none of them missed.

Christian wrapped an arm around him. “I may have a weekend off midmonth. Why don’t we take your boat out? Catch up properly?”

Rocco smiled. “I’ll believe it when we’re drinking Peroni on the deck, fratello. Some big deal will come up and you’ll be gone again.”

Christian gave him an indignant look. “That last one was a megamerger. Out of my hands.”

“And the brunette that came along with it?”

“Opposing pain in my behind,” Christian grumbled. “Who was the blonde today by the way? Looked like a heated conversation.”

It had been. Olivia Fitzgerald showing up at his grandfather’s funeral had been an event he hadn’t anticipated. Despite his objections, she’d insisted on staying. Not something he’d been willing to risk a scene over, particularly when his father had just made his own notable appearance, reeking of alcohol.

He looked at Christian. “Olivia Fitzgerald. She was not invited. I had an issue with it.”

His friend lifted a brow. “Olivia Fitzgerald the model? I thought she was in hiding.”

“She is, here in Milan. She knew Giovanni and wanted to pay her respects.”

Christian looked curious. “What is your issue with her?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Everything is complicated with you.” His friend shrugged. “You should sign her. The board would be kissing your feet.”

“She doesn’t want to be in the limelight.” Why, he still didn’t know.

An amused smile twisted the Greek’s lips. “One of my senior deal makers had that photo of her nude on the beach in his office. I had to make him take it down. It’s a little distracting when you’re trying to crunch numbers.”

“No doubt.” Rocco knew exactly the shot his friend was talking about. The beach scene of Olivia kneeling in the surf, hands strategically covering herself, had graced the cover of an annual swimsuit magazine, then made the rounds as a wildly popular screensaver.

The engines of Christian’s jet started to whir. “I’m so sorry about Giovanni,” he said to Rocco. “I know how much he meant to you. And I’m sorry you had to deal with your father today. That can’t have been easy.”

“It was inevitable.” The fact that Christian and Zayed had had to remove his father from the proceedings—not so much.

He frowned. “I’m sorry you had to bear witness to that.”

“It’s not your cross to bear,” his friend said quietly. “You take the weight of the world on your shoulders sometimes, Rocco. There’s only so much of a burden a man can carry.”

Rocco nodded. Except he’d been carrying the burden of his family for so long he didn’t know how it could be any different.

“Go,” he told Christian, clapping him on the back. “My boat and a case of Peroni are waiting when you come back.”

His friend nodded and strode toward the plane. Rocco watched while he boarded the jet, the crew closed up the doors and the pilot taxied off to join the lineup of planes waiting to take off.

Even with everything he had on his plate, he couldn’t get that night with Olivia out of his head. What she’d told him about Giovanni. Whether there was the slightest bit of truth in any of it. It sat in his brain and festered. Added to his confusion over his grandfather’s decisions, the changes he’d seen in Giovanni of late. Had he been capable of cheating on his beloved Rosa? Sure, Giovanni had admired women for the pure aesthetic of them. He was a designer. But unfaithful?

He’d thought it had just been age softening his grandfather lately, the mellowing of his acerbic, grandiose personality. Had it instead been the influence of a woman? Olivia Fitzgerald?

Had he been in love with her? Did Olivia possess many of the same attributes as her mother, thus replacing the one woman he’d never been able to have? His stomach rearranged itself with a strange emotion he didn’t want to identify. After witnessing the genius Giovanni and Olivia had created together in those designs, it was clear they had a connection.

And why did he care? What was it to him if his grandfather had fallen for a woman a third of his age? If he’d allowed himself to be made a fool of? He had done his job ensuring Olivia Fitzgerald would no longer take advantage of his family.

Because you almost lost your head. Over a beautiful blonde who’d had more of a master plan in her head than he’d ever had.

An image of Olivia’s face when she’d walked into the church today flicked through his head. Fear she would be discovered even though she’d had a scarf over her head. Fear of him as she’d seen him. Stubborn defiance blazing in those amazing blue eyes as she’d stood her ground.

She’d also, he conceded, looked heartsick. Sad. And in his gut, he knew it was true emotion. He hadn’t had the heart to toss her out. She had left as quickly as she’d appeared, not staying for the reception. He knew she was still in the apartment; he’d had the building supervisor keep him advised of her presence. He suspected she was having difficulty finding another place, but it wasn’t his problem she’d lost her paycheck in Giovanni.

Christian’s jet disappeared into the clouds. Rocco turned and headed toward the terminal, but his friend’s words followed him. You should sign her. The board would be kissing your feet...

They would kiss his feet if he signed Olivia Fitzgerald. The worldwide press had been in a furor ever since her disappearance from modeling. She’d left on top, one of the most highly paid faces in the world. Everyone wanted her. Her disappearance had only added to the mystique.

He pushed his way through the terminal doors, strode through the tiny building and exited into the car park. There was only one problem with Christian’s rather brilliant plan. Olivia didn’t want to be found. Had wanted to escape her former life. And if it wasn’t because she’d been bankrupt, as he’d suggested, then why? Why abandon a three-million-dollar contract when she could have just worked her way out of it, then gone into the career she’d desired?

She’d looked so miserable, so dejected, as she’d left the church today. She had no hope of launching that line without Giovanni. Her dream was done. Unless she found herself another benefactor.

He paused, his hand on the handle of the Aventador’s door. Suddenly the path forward became clear. He had what Olivia needed as head of one of the most powerful design houses in the world. Olivia had what he needed if he could persuade her to come back to modeling for a year as the exclusive face of Mondelli. Her star power would turn Mondelli into a superstar brand, the couture house of the moment, the board would fall to its knees at such an acquisition and he would have control of his company again.

Adrenaline fueled his movements as he stepped into his car and brought it purring to life. Making Olivia an offer she couldn’t refuse was an undeniably alluring play. But there was something else his mind was manufacturing that would be the icing on the cake. The pièce de résistance. Olivia Fitzgerald as the face of Mondelli and the brand-new fiancée of the CEO of House of Mondelli. A perfect union from all angles. And the perfect way to convince the board he had House of Mondelli as his top priority.

All his problems solved in one tidy little package.

A smile curved his mouth. Renzo Rialto would wet himself. How much more could he want? Now all he had to do was persuade Olivia Fitzgerald his plan was in both their interests.

* * *

Olivia was packing a box of design materials when the knocking sounded hard and insistent on her front door. Thinking it might be Violetta coming to help, and frowning at her exuberance, she got to her feet, dusted off her hands and went to answer it. Any distraction to take her mind off her rather desperate situation was welcome at this point.

When she saw who was standing in the hallway, she amended that thought. Any distraction other than a fully resplendent Rocco Mondelli clad in the dark suit he’d worn to the funeral that morning. Despite her vow to hate him, her heart pitter-pattered in her chest as she took him in leaning against the doorjamb, impatience written across his olive-skinned face.

“You said I had a month.”

“You do.” He walked past her into the apartment. “You’ll find I’m a man of my word, Olivia. Have you had any luck yet finding another apartment?”

A man of his word? He’d deliberately seduced and misled her in this very apartment. She gave him a cool look and shut the door. “As a matter of fact, no, but I thought I’d better start getting packed up before you send in the goons.”

“I won’t have to.” He waved a hand toward the kitchen. “This time I would like an espresso.”

She stared at him in amazement. “You were ready to toss me out of that funeral this morning and now I’m supposed to make you coffee?”

He returned her stare, nonplussed. “I have an offer I think you’d like to hear.”

Not in this decade.

His mouth curved. “Get me that coffee, Olivia.”

Deciding she wasn’t really in a position to argue because he could toss her out on her butt at this very moment, she walked past him to the kitchen, emptied the grinds from the espresso machine and did his bidding. He stood there, hands in his pockets, watching her.

“You were genuinely sad this morning.”

She pressed the start button, turned and leaned back against the counter. “I loved Giovanni. Of course I was.”

“So now it’s love,” he jibed. “Giovanni was madly in love with a woman and I hadn’t a clue. How remarkable.”

“You can walk right back out that door if this is the way this is going to go.”

“Nessuno, Liv, it isn’t.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the countertop. “I’m going to make you an offer that makes a whole lot of sense, you’re going to take it and we’re going to make the most of this difficult situation.”

“There’s nothing you could say that would convince me to have anything to do with you after what you did to me.”

“I think you’re wrong.” He waved his hand toward the living room and the packed boxes littering every open space. “You are never going to be able to afford an apartment in Milan that will allow you to do your design work on a barista’s salary. You’ve made it clear returning to your former life is not an option and you cannot rely on family and friends for help. So all you have left,” he concluded, touching his chest, “is me.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” she said pointedly, shoulders rising to her ears. “I will figure out a way.”

His gaze darkened to a forbidding ebony. “What if I said I would honor the commitment Giovanni made to you? But I would take it even further. I would move the development of your line in-house at Mondelli, offer you all the design and marketing support we have and bring it to market for the fall of next year.”

Her mouth dropped open. He would take the development of her line in-house? Why, when he clearly thought so little of her?

“Because you have something I want, Olivia.” He answered her unspoken question with a twist of his lips. “I need a face to carry the House of Mondelli through the next year. Bridget Thomas’s contract is up and I don’t care to renew it. I would offer you a five-million-dollar contract for the year. You coming back to modeling would generate a great deal of excitement for the brand, make people stand up and pay attention again.”

Her heart dropped. “I’m not modeling anymore. That part of my life is over.”

He nodded. “I understand you want to design, that that’s where your heart is. But surely one year, twelve months of your life, to secure your dream isn’t such a hardship.”

“No.” The word flew out of her mouth, harsh, vehement. “I will never model again.”

He pinned his gaze on her. “Why? What happened to make you give it all up?”

Her last appearance on a runway. Her best friend overdosing after walking that same runway months before... The memory of it slammed through her head, dark and terrifying. She reached back and gripped the counter, her fingertips pressing into the cold granite. She had completely lost it that night, her pressure-packed life finally eating her alive. And she was never going back.

She lifted her gaze to his. “It doesn’t matter why. I left and I’m not going back.”

“When the alternative is letting your dream die?” He stared at her, an incredulous look on his face. “If you debut a line with House of Mondelli you will instantly become a star of the design world. You won’t have to build a reputation, you will have one immediately. And from there, all you need to do is choose your path. You would never have to set foot on a runway again after the twelve months.”

She sank her palms into her temples and turned away. It was tempting, so tempting, to say yes. What he was saying was true. She’d thanked her lucky stars when Giovanni had taken her under his wing, because with his help she could succeed in a cutthroat industry that was almost impossible to break into. She could change her life and finally be happy. But return to modeling to make it happen? Acid inched its way up her throat. Not doable.

It would be the end of her this time.

She turned back to him, her features schooled into an expressionless mask. “I’m sorry. It’s just not possible.”