by Pamela Yaye
You don’t need luck, Romeo thought, his gaze trailing her through the room. You’re likable and gregarious. He watched Zoe and several of her female colleagues saunter through the lounge, chatting and laughing with guests, and hoped she’d be back soon. Romeo wanted to dance with her, liked the idea of being alone with her, holding her in his arms, even if it was only for a couple minutes—“Zoe likes assertive, take-charge guys, so quit playing it safe.”
The sound of Aurora’s voice broke into his thoughts. Cranking his head to the right, he noticed the fashion designer staring at him and pretended he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t play coy. You want her. Just admit it.”
“Is it that obvious?” he asked with a sheepish smile.
“Yes, but don’t feel bad. Zoe’s a magnet who attracts male attention wherever she goes.”
“You’re her boss and mentor, but it sounds like you’re also good friends.”
“We are. I was one of the first people Zoe met when she arrived in Milan, and we instantly hit it off,” she said, speaking with a broad smile on her face. “Despite our age difference, we have a lot in common and I value Zoe’s opinion. She’s wise beyond her years.”
Romeo soaked up every word that came out of the fashion designer’s mouth, committed every piece of information she shared to memory. “Does she have a boyfriend?” he asked, watching Zoe move around the lounge. She gave out hugs and kisses as if they were going out of style, but he enjoyed seeing her in action. Zoe was a force, so engaging and appealing she turned heads all around the room. “Is she dating anyone special right now?”
“No, but she has plenty of male admirers.”
“Figures. Beautiful women always do.”
“Zoe’s more than just a pretty face, though...”
Tell me something I don’t know—Romeo gripped his glass so hard the veins in his hands throbbed. What the hell? There were lots of celebrities in the restaurant, but Romeo was shocked to see the goalkeeper for his favorite football team talking to Zoe. Or rather, flirting with her. The footballer was whispering in her ear, as if they were a couple sharing a private joke. Loved worldwide, the athlete had championship medals and more fans than Beckham. What does he want with Zoe? Is that the kind of guy she likes? Athletes with tattoos and piercings?
“She’s talented and smart. We’ll miss her dearly if she leaves.”
His ears perked up. “She’s leaving? When? Why? Where is she going?”
Glancing around, Aurora shielded her mouth with her hand and spoke in a quiet tone of voice. “Zoe’s here on a work visa, and if I can’t find new investors by the end of the year, I’ll have to close Casa Di Moda for good. She’ll have to leave Milan immediately.”
“How many investors do you need?”
“As many as I can get, but...”
Romeo didn’t hear a word Aurora said. His eyes tracked Zoe around the room. He saw the goalkeeper take the bubbly PR director in his arms and dance cheek to cheek with her. She was smiling and laughing. Romeo didn’t like it one bit. Wanted to break up their cozy slow dance. His eyes narrowed. The footballer was stroking her shoulders and hips, but Romeo forced himself to stay put. Not to react. He wasn’t the jealous type and never chased women down, but Zoe made him act out of character. He wanted to protect her, to take care of her, and hated seeing her with another man. They’d known each other for less than twenty-four hours, so why was he acting like a jealous ex? Why did he want to rip her out of the goalkeeper’s arms and hustle her back into his sports car?
“Romeo, if you ever need advice about how to woo Zoe, just give me a ring.”
Aurora reached into her purse, took out a business card and stuffed it into his pocket.
“Call anytime. I’m just a phone call away.”
“Thank you, Aurora. That’s very kind of you.”
Davide joined the conversation, echoing his wife’s sentiments, and Romeo nodded politely. They needed investors and wanted to talk shop. But getting Zoe away from the touchy-feely goalkeeper was his focus, not saving a fashion house from financial ruin. Though he did like the idea of doing something nice for Zoe since she wouldn’t accept his check, and considered investing on her behalf.
Wearing a wry smile, Romeo shook his head. He still couldn’t believe she’d ripped up his check and thrown it in his face. He was used to women asking him for money and expensive gifts, not returning them. He respected Zoe for being a person of integrity and character. Not to mention fine as hell. She was a stunner, and like Cristal and Cuban cigars, impossible to resist.
Romeo felt his eyes bulge out of his head and a cold chill stab his flesh. When it rains, it pours, he thought, shaking his head. Damn. What is Lizabeth doing here? Who invited her? Had she discovered his whereabouts by perusing his social media pages? The more Romeo thought about it, the more he was convinced that Lizabeth had come to the after-party to make trouble.
Hours earlier, he’d asked Zoe to take a picture with him, and she’d declined.
“You don’t strike me as the selfie type,” she’d said, a what-are-you-up-to expression on her face. “So why do you want to take one with me?”
“Because I want to commemorate our first date.” Grinning, he’d draped an arm around her waist and held her close to his side. “One day you’re going to thank me.”
Using his cell, he’d snapped the photograph and uploaded it to his FaceChat account, with the caption, “Zoe Smith, the Gold Standard of Beauty.” Within minutes, hundreds of people had commented on his post, including several of Lizabeth’s friends. Is that why she was at the party? To find out who Zoe was? He wouldn’t put it past her. When they were dating, she used to snoop through his things and would cause a scene whenever he spoke to someone of the opposite sex. Lizabeth had been the one to call off their engagement, but she was bent on making his life miserable. He feared her sole purpose in coming to the party was to embarrass him.
Lizabeth waved, but Romeo ignored her. Her sheer dress had a plunging neckline and high slits and left nothing to the imagination. It was a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen, and Romeo didn’t want to be around when disaster struck. Because of Lizabeth’s obsession with being famous, he was endless fodder for gossip columns, and Romeo was sick of it. In the modeling world, Lizabeth had quite the reputation, and he regretted ever helping her launch her career.
Romeo exited the lounge and strode through the restaurant. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zoe dancing with her colleagues and sighed in relief. The goalkeeper was at the bar, flirting with the female bartenders, and Romeo hoped the star athlete stayed there—and far away from Zoe—for the rest of the night. Impressed by her knowledge of Italian history, world events and pop culture, Romeo wanted to know more about her. He hoped he could convince her to join him for a drink at his favorite bar when the after-party ended.
Also hoping to avoid his ex, Romeo entered the men’s room and used the facilities. He washed his hands and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Faint circles lined his eyes, but he looked handsome in his Armani suit and navy tie, like a man who had everything. But it was a facade. The only people he could truly trust were his family, and he had very few real friends.
Exiting the bathroom, Romeo checked his cell phone for missed calls, and noticed he had a new text message from his brother. With three university degrees, and an implausibly high IQ, it was no surprise to anyone in the Morretti family that Enrique’s media company, Icon Productions, had made the Forbes list for the fifth consecutive year.
Romeo read the message, and a frown wrinkled his brow. Enrique wanted to meet up tonight for drinks at Hollywood nightclub. He decided he would speak to Zoe before he responded to his brother’s message. Happily engaged to his live-in fiancée, Enrique spent all of his free time with the talented art director. Romeo was lucky if he saw him once
a month.
“What did you think of my interview in Celebrity Patella yesterday?”
Romeo kept his eyes on his cell phone, didn’t bother to look at his ex and her minions. “I don’t have the time to read tabloids. I have clients to meet, deals to close and millions to make.”
“Whatever. Just have my money by Monday or the deal’s off.”
Confused, he glanced up from his cell. “There is no deal.”
“Of course there is. Giuseppe called this morning and made me one hell of an offer.” A smirk curled her lips. “He said if I scrap my tell-all book and sign a confidentiality agreement, you’ll give me five million dollars cash.”
Romeo cursed under his breath. He was angry that his publicist had struck a deal with Lizabeth behind his back, but wore a blank expression on his face. Didn’t react when she gloated about the seven-figure deal. Romeo didn’t want to hear any more. He’d heard enough. He wanted to return to the bar to hang out with Zoe, not argue with his ex-fiancée about money, but he couldn’t resist setting her straight. “I’m not giving you another dime. Not today. Not ever.”
Her face fell, and she stumbled over her words. “B-B-But, Giuseppe promised me—”
“I don’t give a damn what Giuseppe said. There is no deal. And the next time you lie about me or my family, I’ll sue you and your modeling agency.”
Lizabeth bit her bottom lip. “You wouldn’t.”
“Think I’m bluffing? Try me.”
Romeo returned her stare. Lizabeth was trying to take advantage of him, trying to bully him into giving her millions of dollars, but he wasn’t going to let her win. After they broke up, she’d threatened to sue him, arguing she deserved to be financially compensated for the years they’d lived together at his palatial villa in Tuscany. Thankfully the judge had tossed out her case. At his sister’s urging, he’d agreed to let Lizabeth keep the sports cars he’d bought her, and the ten-carat diamond ring he’d proposed with on her birthday.
“How can you treat me like this after everything we’ve been through? After everything I’ve done for you?” Lizabeth asked, shouting her words.
“You did me a favor calling off our engagement. I only wish you’d done it sooner...”
Romeo’s gaze landed on Zoe, and he broke off speaking. Spotting the PR director moving through the lounge, he lost his train of thought. Couldn’t focus on anything but the scintillating beauty.
“I called off our engagement because you cared more about your family and your stupid company than you did about me,” Lizabeth complained. “What did you expect me to do? Sit around and wait for you to finally come to your senses?”
Romeo tuned her out, instead focusing his attention on Zoe. Tired of arguing with his ex, he marched through the lobby, determined to reach her before someone else whisked her away. “Zoe, where are you going?”
Her smile was so radiant and bright, his anger abated and a grin curved his mouth.
Taking her hand in his own, he gave it a light squeeze. “You’re not going anywhere, Ms. Smith. You still owe me a dance.”
“It’s late, Romeo, and I’m beat. Maybe next time, okay?”
He didn’t want her to leave and tried to persuade her to stay. “I’ll drive you home.”
Zoe yawned. “No, thanks. Lorenz lives near me, and we want to discuss work on the drive home.”
She released his hand, and disappointment coursed through his body.
“I have to go,” she said, raising her cell phone in the air. “Lorenz just texted me. He’s waiting out front—he’s anxious to leave.”
Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Lizabeth headed his way and narrowed his eyes. There was no way in hell he was letting his ex anywhere near Zoe, and shielded the PR director with his body. Lizabeth was toxic, and he couldn’t stand to be around her.
“Gold standard of beauty my ass.” Cocking her head to the right, she glared at Zoe like a schoolyard bully looking for trouble. “You’re pretty, but you’re no Tyra Banks.”
“Good, because I’m Zoe Smith. I wouldn’t want to be anyone but me. I’m fabulous.”
Romeo smiled. Not because Zoe had put Lizabeth in her place, but because of how damn good she looked doing it. Her head was high, her shoulders were pinned back, and she reeked of confidence. Zoe was in control, had the upper hand, and Romeo was impressed with how she carried herself. He stared at her with open admiration.
“Lizabeth, I’m the PR director for Casa Di Moda and I’m always on the lookout for captivating personalities to work with us.” Zoe opened her purse, took out a glossy pink card and handed it to Lizabeth. “Call me.”
A grin crept across Lizabeth’s mouth as she read the information on the business card.
“I’d love to hire you for one of our upcoming fashion shows,” Zoe said with a bright smile. “So give me a ring.”
“We can talk now. Let’s have a cocktail.”
“I wish I could, but my ride is waiting for me outside.”
Lizabeth tossed her silky brown locks over her shoulders. “Then I’ll walk you to your car. You can tell me more about Casa Di Moda, because I’m totally intrigued.”
“Sounds good.” Zoe smiled and waved. “Bye, Romeo! Enjoy the rest of your night.”
Panic ballooned inside his chest. He had to do something. Had to stop Zoe from leaving with Lizabeth. He didn’t want his ex to poison Zoe’s mind toward him, and feared what would happen if the two women were alone.
Romeo stepped forward, but Lizabeth slid in front of him, blocking his view of Zoe. Dumbfounded, he watched Zoe leave the restaurant lounge with his ex-fiancée. Chatting a mile a minute, the women breezed through the door, oblivious to the wide-eyed expression on his face.
Raking a hand through his hair, Romeo cursed under his breath in Italian. He’d blown it with Zoe again. How was that possible? He was a Morretti. He never struck out with women, never failed to achieve his goal, regardless of what it was. But it had happened twice in one day.
Romeo fixed his tie and leveled a hand over his jacket. He had to redeem himself. Had to prove to Zoe that he was a good man. His confidence returned, and a grin crept across his lips. He’d seduce her, no doubt about it. Even if it meant pouring on the charm.
Chapter 8
The soccer ball sailed in the air at Parco Sempione and dropped onto the freshly cut grass, just inches away from where Romeo was standing. Moving quickly, he sprang into action. Dodging approaching defenders, he ran toward the net, bent on scoring another goal for his team. Filled with adrenaline, sweat coursing down his face, he carefully dribbled the soccer ball. Winded, Romeo scanned the field for Enrique, but he couldn’t find his brother anywhere.
His heart was beating out of control, roaring in his eardrums, but Romeo ran harder, faster. At his yearly physical last month, his doctors had warned him about overexerting himself, encouraging him to take up golf, but football was his first love, and that would never change.
Using fancy footwork, he raced up the field, twisting and turning to avoid the burly midfielder with the death stare. Romeo kicked the ball with supreme force. Holding his breath, he watched it fly through the goalie’s hands, hit the back of the net and fall to the ground.
Filled with pride, Romeo threw his hands in the air. Cheers erupted around him as his teammates celebrated his second goal of the game. Once a month, regardless of the temperature, Romeo and his friends played football at Parco Sempione. It was Milan’s version of Central Park, and there was so much to see and do he often spent the entire day there. Nature lovers were cycling, jogging, playing Frisbee and flying handmade kites. It was noisy and crowded, and children were running in every direction. Romeo couldn’t have asked for a better day.
“What a goal!” Enrique shouted, jumping onto his back. “You were amazing, bro!”
“Thanks, m
an. I learned from the best.”
Grinning, he plucked at the front of his blue Manchester United jersey. “You’re right. I did teach you everything I know about the game.”
“I was talking about Immanuel.”
A scowl curled his lips. “I should have known. You always liked him better.”
“That’s not true, but Sharpshooter looked out for me a lot when we were kids. I’m very grateful,” Romeo explained. His brother, Immanuel, was a security specialist, who provided protection to high-powered people. “I was a wimp. If not for Immanuel, bullies would have kicked my ass up and down the school yard every day.”
“And look at you now. You’re one of the most successful businessmen in the country, a bona fide ladies’ man and a hell of a football player, too.” Enrique ruffled Romeo’s dark brown hair. “Let’s go grab a cold one. You’ve earned it.”
Jogging across the field toward the picnic tables their teammates were eating at, Romeo heard laughter and the distant sound of a guitar. He saw couples kissing and cuddling under maple trees and college students playing coed rugby. A female with curly hair waved at him, but Romeo dodged her gaze. She was attractive, sure, but she had nothing on Zoe. The PR director was a knockout, desirable in every way. He needed to see her again. It had been five days since he’d gone for a private tour of Casa Di Moda, and although they texted each other every day, it wasn’t enough. Did Lizabeth fill her mind with lies? Is that why Zoe was keeping him at arm’s length?
His week had been a disaster. He’d had a heated argument with Giuseppe for making an unauthorized deal with Lizabeth behind his back; the local newspaper had done a write-up about his car accident; and yesterday he’d arrived at the office to find reporters camped outside Morretti Finance and Investments. They shouted his name, snapped pictures of him every time he left the building and filmed his every move. It was annoying, frustrating as hell for his staff and clients, but there was nothing Romeo could do about it. What had frustrated him more than anything was that he’d made zero progress with Zoe since the after-party at Milano Cocktail Bar.