Return of the Italian Tycoon

by Jennifer Faye

  “Yeah!”

  The parents made their way up to her, shaking her hand and thanking her. She wanted to tell them that she hadn’t done this, that it had been Angelo, but every time she opened her mouth to explain someone else thanked her.

  And then her parents stepped in front of her. Her mother’s eyes were misty as she smiled at her and her father looked at her. “You’ve done us proud.”

  They drew together into a group hug—something she’d grown up doing. No matter how old she got, some things didn’t change.

  Kayla pulled back. “But what are you two doing here?”

  “Honey—” her mother dabbed at her eyes “—you don’t think that we’d miss this after the invitation you sent.”

  Invitation? That she had sent? Something told her that Angelo had orchestrated this, too. Suddenly she wasn’t so upset with him. For him to listen to her and give her this chance to show her parents what she’d accomplished while in New York touched her deeply. She wished he was around so that she could apologize for overreacting in the limo. More than that, she wanted to thank him.

  The lights dimmed and one of the security guards approached her. They guided her through the barrier, around the stage and up a set of steps. When she stepped on the stage, she was awed by the number of people in the audience. She wondered if Angelo was out there somewhere or if he’d given up and gone home. The thought of him giving up on her left her deeply saddened.

  Oh, boy. This wasn’t good. She couldn’t think about Angelo. Not here. Not now. She had to keep it together for all of the excited faces in the audience who were counting on her to pull this off. She’d made it this far—just a little longer.

  And then as if perfectly timed, pink-and-silver balloons fell from the ceiling, scattering across the stage. What in the world?

  The head of the outreach program stood at the microphone. Mr. Wilson was an older gentleman who’d already raised his family. Now he and his wife spent their time helping the children enrolled in the program.

  “Kayla, join me.” He turned to the audience. “Everyone, please give the mastermind behind this amazing event a round of applause.”

  The clapping and cheers were unbelievable. And it would have been so much better if Angelo was standing next to her—after all, he’d been the one to save the fund-raiser. Not her.

  As she peered at the countless smiling faces, her gaze connected with Angelo’s. Her heart picked up its pace. What was he still doing here?

  When quiet settled over the crowd, Mr. Wilson continued. “Kayla, would you like to say something?”

  Though her insides quivered with nerves, she moved up to the microphone. Back at her apartment, she’d planned out what to say, but now standing here in front of thousands of people, including Angelo, the words totally escaped her.

  She swallowed hard and relied on her gut. “I want to say a huge thank-you to everyone who helped with this event. Those people who helped with the planning and the organizing, please stand.” Afraid to start naming names and forgetting someone, she stuck with generalities. “This was most definitely a group effort, and what a fabulous group. So please give them a round of applause.”

  She handed the microphone back to Mr. Wilson before she herself started clapping. Her gaze moved back to the last place she’d seen Angelo, but he was no longer there. She searched the immediate area but saw no sign of him. Her heart sank.

  And then a familiar voice came across the speaker system. “Kayla, I know I say everything wrong when it comes to you. But I want you to know that I think you are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

  Just then Angelo stepped on the stage and approached her. Her heart pounded in her chest. He stopped in front of her.

  “What are you doing?” Heat flamed in her cheeks.

  “Kayla, you’ve opened my eyes and my heart to the way life can be if I let down my guard.” He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “I couldn’t imagine doing that with anyone but you.”

  Kayla’s eyes grew misty. It was a good thing that Angelo was holding her hand or she might have fallen over, because everything from her neck down felt like gelatin.

  He handed the microphone back to Mr. Wilson as the band started to play. “Can I have this dance?”

  He wanted to dance right here? Right now? In front of everyone?

  Surely this all had to be a dream. If so, what did it matter if she accepted? She nodded and he pulled her into his arms as the band played a romantic ballad.

  Angelo stared deeply into her eyes. “I never thought it was possible for me to feel this way, but I love you.”

  A tear of joy splashed on her cheek, a trait she inherited from her mother. “I love you, too.”

  “Does that mean I can rip up your resignation?”

  “You still want me?”

  “Always and forever.”

  EPILOGUE

  Three months later...

  “DO YOU HAVE time for a new account?”

  Kayla turned from her computer monitor to face Angelo. Was he serious? It was hard to tell as he was smiling at her. Ever since the charity concert, Angelo had been a different man in the office. He’d let his guard down and put on a friendly face, but one thing that hadn’t changed was that he still expected perfection—or as close to it as anyone could get with their work.

  “I don’t know. Since we succeeded with the royal pitch, we’ve been flooded with new accounts. It really put Amatucci & Associates heads and shoulders above the competition.”

  “Yes, it did. And I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  She knew that praise from Angelo didn’t come willy-nilly. He truly had to mean it or he wouldn’t say anything. “Thank you. But you were the driving force behind it.”

  “How about we just settle for ‘you and I make a great team’?” He approached her and held out his hand to her.

  She placed her hand in his, all the while wondering what he was up to. He pulled her gently to her feet, and then his hands wrapped around her waist. What in the world was up with him? He never acted this way at the office—ever.

  “About this account—” he stared deep into her eyes, making her heart flutter “—if you decide to take it, it’ll be all yours.”

  The breath hitched in her throat. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? “It’ll be my first solo account?”

  He smiled and nodded. “I thought that might get your attention.”

  As much as she wanted to spread her wings, she also didn’t want to mess up. “Are you really sure that you want to give me so much responsibility?”

  “I’m quite confident that you’ll handle it perfectly. You are amazingly talented in so many ways.” His eyes lit up, letting her know that his thoughts had momentarily strayed to more intimate territory.

  She lightly swiped at his arm. “We aren’t supposed to talk about those things at the office. What if someone overheard?”

  “Then they’d know that I’m crazy about you.”

  She couldn’t hold back a smile as she shook her head in disbelief at this side of Angelo, which had been lurking just beneath the surface for so long. “Now tell me more about this account. I’m dying to hear all about it before I make up my mind.”

  “It’s a wedding.”

  “Are you serious?” He nodded and she rushed on. “I don’t know. Don’t you remember all of the headaches we had with the royal wedding? I couldn’t imagine having a nervous bride lurking over my shoulder. I don’t think I’d be good at mollifying a bridezilla.”

  “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. Look at how you handled me and opened my eyes to a thing or two.”

  “I know. Talk about a lot of hard work to get past your stiff, cold shell—”

  “Hey!” His mouth formed a frown, but his e
yes twinkled, letting her know that he was playing with her. “There’s no need to throw insults.”

  “I wasn’t. I was just stating the obvious.” She grinned at him, letting him know that she was playing, too. “We could take an office poll and see which boss they like best—pre-Italy Mr. Amatucci or post-Italy?”

  “I think we’ll pass on that idea. Besides, you’re going to be too busy for such things now that you have this very special account.”

  “Special, huh? How special are we talking?”

  Angelo reached into his pocket and pulled out a box. He dropped down to one knee. “Kayla, I love you. Will you be my bride?”

  With tears of joy in her eyes, she nodded vigorously. “Yes. Yes, I will. I love you, too.”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from HIS UNFORGETTABLE FIANCÉE by Teresa Carpenter.

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  His Unforgettable Fiancée

  by Teresa Carpenter

  CHAPTER ONE

  “G. DELANEY, YOU look beautiful tonight.” Chet Crowder slurred the compliment.

  Sheriff Grace Delaney glanced down at her khaki uniform, thought of her black cap of hair slicked back for convenience and her lack of makeup beyond a swipe of mascara and a touch of lip gloss, and figured if she needed any further evidence of Chet’s intoxication she had proof of it in that comment.

  “Is it midnight yet?” the eighty-year-old demanded. “I get a kiss at midnight.” The words barely left his mouth when he bent over and puked all over the slick concrete floor.

  “It’s against procedures to kiss the prisoners.” Grace cited policy as she nimbly avoided the deluge, stepping around the mess to escort him to the middle cell.

  “But it’s New Year’s Eve,” Chet protested with a burp. “You can make an ex-exception for New Year’s Eve.”

  He didn’t have to tell her it was New Year’s Eve. Not even eleven o’clock and they already had three D and Ds—drunk and disorderly. Business as usual for the holiday. But not much longer for her. In a little over an hour she’d be handing over her gun and shield, her interim assignment as sheriff at an end.

  “Rules are made for a reason,” she stated. Her father’s mantra, and thus the words she’d lived her life by. He’d been on her mind a lot tonight. “No exceptions.”

  “You’re a beautiful woman, G. Delaney.” Chet lumbered across the cell to the cot chained to the wall. “But no fun. That’s why I didn’t vote for you. Too serious, girl. Need to have a drink and lighten up some.”

  Grace’s shoulders went up and back in instinctive defense against the criticism. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard she needed to lighten up. She didn’t understand it any more now than she had before. Being sheriff was serious business. Laws were meant to be upheld.

  “Go to sleep, Chet. I’ll release you in the morning.” Well, someone would. She’d be on her way to San Francisco. With her term over and her dad gone she had nothing to stay here for—certainly not the pity job offered by her successor.

  Moving to the mop bucket she’d had maintenance leave at the ready, she rolled it over and cleaned up Chet’s mess. New Year’s was one of two big festive events that got the residents drinking in Woodpark, California, entry to the Redwoods. The other was the annual fair and rodeo at the Fourth of July. She’d been told last year had been tame because of a heavy snowfall, but they’d still had eight citizens sharing cell space.

  This year a crisp, clear night promised lots of revelry. Her successor set down the rules for the night. Depending on whether property damage was involved, D and Ds were allowed to sleep it off and be released in the morning. No need to book their guests.

  Relaxing her standards made the muscles between her shoulder blades ache. She glanced at the clock. Only one more hour to endure.

  She’d just tucked the rolling bucket back into the corner when patrol strolled in with a large man in blue jeans and a bloodstained white T-shirt.

  The man’s head hung forward, so his chestnut-brown hair covered his features. He seemed tall, as even with his head and shoulders slumped he topped Mark’s five-ten.

  “What do we have here?” she asked.

  “D and D. I found him walking on the road into town. He reeks of beer and has no identification on him. I brought him in to sleep it off. No hits on his prints. I ran them because he refused to give up his name. I figure we’ll get his story in the morning.”

  “And the blood?”

  “It was there when I picked him up. Must have been a brawl when he lost his wallet.”

  “Did you have medical look at him?”

  “Yeah, he has a bump on the head, a small scratch. Nothing serious.”

  “Why is he in cuffs?”

  “Didn’t like my questions. Did a little resisting.”

  She nodded. With the man’s size she wasn’t surprised Mark had taken the precaution. She pushed the door open on the first cell so the patrol officer could walk the prisoner inside. “Right this way, sir.”

  “I shouldn’t be here.” The man’s shoulders went back, his head lifted and he slowly turned to pin her with hard eyes. A dark scowl turned even features into a harsh mask. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “We frown on public intoxication in Woodpark.” Now that she saw his face he looked vaguely familiar. She’d probably met him around town somewhere.

  “I didn’t have a drink.” His expression shifted from displeasure to confusion and he repeated, “I didn’t have a drink.”

  “What’s your name, sir?”

  Instead of answering he went to the cot and sat, letting his head fall forward once again.

  “What’s his blood alcohol level?” Grace asked Mark, leading the way into the open office space.

  “I didn’t run it. He was staggering and smelled of beer. It’s already busy out there with the holiday and we’re just letting the D and Ds sleep it off. I didn’t think there was a need.” He clipped his cuffs back in place. “Do you need me for anything else? I should get back in the field.”

  “No.” Her shoulders tensed at the lack of procedure but it wasn’t her department anymore. “You go ahead.”

  “Hey, if I don’t see you again, good luck in San Francisco. You’ll do better in the city. We’re too low-tech here.”

  “Thank you.” She appreciated the good wishes—she did—but she couldn’t help noticing there were few expressions of regret that she was leaving. “Before you go, where are our mystery man’s effects?”

  “Property locker.” He canted his head. “But there’s not much—a jacket, chaps, a watch and a belt. If you’re hoping to find a clue to his identity, you’ll be disappointed.”

  “Probably.” She’d check it out anyway. Not much to do besides monitor patrols and babysit the inmates. The town had less than five thousand citizens. At double duty there were six men on patrol. As a petty officer in the navy she’d been responsible for directing and training three times that many.

  She missed the navy—the discipline, the control. She’d given it up to assist her father when he was diagnosed with prostate cancer. No regrets. Ev
en though she’d lost him after seven months. She’d thought she was honoring him when she accepted the town’s request to fulfill his remaining term as sheriff. Losing the recent election proved she’d failed to fill his shoes.

  She’d lived with her father’s exacting demands for thirty years. She didn’t need to have him here to know he’d be disappointed.

  Hopefully San Francisco would prove a better proposition for her. Or possibly Los Angeles or maybe San Diego. She knew she wanted someplace cosmopolitan. Thanks to the life insurance her father left her, she had half a million dollars to help her make her next life decision.

  After hearing from her patrols and checking on her prisoners, she decided to look into the mystery man’s property to see what she could find. She located the large plastic bag marked John Doe, the official designation for an unidentified individual, and brought it to her desk.

  The strong scent of leather wafted into the room when she opened the bag. She pulled out a jacket, extra large, and chaps, extra long. Both were of fine quality, hand-stitched. In a smaller bag was a watch. Grace went through the pockets in the jacket, found nothing.

  She pulled the chaps over, held them up in front of her and thought of the man in her cell, trying to picture him in this gear. Not difficult at all. Gave her a little thrill actually—a truth she’d keep between her and the mop bucket.

  Something didn’t measure up with John Doe. Broad-shouldered with a lean, muscular frame, his downtrodden mien didn’t fit with his physique. Or his protests of innocence, such as they were.

  She ran her hands over the chaps, looking for hidden pockets, trying not to think of the leather framing JD’s package. Of course she’d looked. She was trained to observe, after all. She found a matchbook from a tavern on the edge of town.

  The watch was the real surprise. The heft and materials were quality all the way; the display of mechanics and the movement of gears gave the timepiece a sophisticated appearance. She looked closer—did that say Cartier? It did. And yes, she found similar watches on their website. Her eyes popped wide at the price: seventy thousand and up. Gah. Her next search was of robbery reports.