Hot Shade

by Tamara Lush

  She recalled how his parents had been away one weekend. Back then, Luca still lived with his parents. He’d invited her over and made dinner. They made love in the living room afterward on the sofa. He took her from behind, just as he liked.

  “I think I’ll keep you,” she’d said after they finished, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

  A week later he’d sent her a text breaking it off. That night she broke into his house and pleaded with him not to end their relationship.

  Annalisa rolled over and plucked a razor blade from the nightstand. Stretching the skin on her inner thigh taut with two fingers, she carved an inch-long shallow line with the razor. When the tiny blooms of blood came, they brought relief.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “You look unusually dressed up today. You got a job interview or something?”

  Skylar watched as Matt, one of the photographers at The Palmira Post, eyed her little black dress. If someone at the paper looked nicer than usual, it was assumed by everyone that they were searching for a job and their departure was imminent. But she only wanted to appear extra professional for today’s interview with Federico.

  Oh, and sure. She also wanted to look good for Luca. She had on a simple wrap dress, the one thing in her closet that made her always feel confident and beautiful. It showed off just enough cleavage. Too much, James had said when she bought it, but screw him.

  Patent leather nude heels were on her feet and she hoped they looked serious and conservative while making her legs look long. Her thick hair was straight thanks to a marathon blow-dry session, and it hung down past her shoulders, although it was about to frizz due to the stupid humidity.

  “Whatever, Matt. I’m glad you wore your finest cargo shorts and polo shirt to take photos of Florida’s best-known attorney.”

  “Hey, he’s a man of the people, right? He’ll like me. I’m a man of the people, too,” Matt joked in his rich North Carolina accent. He and Skylar were in Federico’s driveway, about to walk up to the door. They had arrived in separate vehicles.

  “Damn, this is a nice place,” Matt said in a low voice as they stood on the doorstep. “I guess we should’ve become lawyers.”

  The home was a luxurious, two-story Florida beach mansion fit for a multimillionaire. The salmon-colored stucco and red barrel-tiled roof looked like lots of Mediterranean-inspired homes on Palmira. Squat palm trees lined a circular driveway, and a fountain with intertwined dolphin statues spurted water into a pool framed by a wide patch of tropical landscaping. It was the type of place everyone up north dreamed about.

  Skylar rummaged around in her red leather handbag, making sure she had extra pens and paper. A nervous feeling invaded her stomach. She wasn’t concerned about the interview, though. She was anxious over seeing Luca.

  She rang the bell. The door opened, and Skylar beamed.

  Luca.

  “Ciao,” he said. He was barefoot and wearing faded jeans and a slightly tight white T-shirt. Somehow he appeared rumpled yet put together, as if he had crawled out of bed and donned an expensive yet casual outfit for a fashion shoot. The look was both lazy and lusty, and she imagined unbuttoning his jeans and sinking to her knees.

  She inhaled with a start, desire coursing through her. These surges of lust needed to stop.

  “Hi,” she managed to say. “This is Matt, the paper’s photographer.”

  The two men shook hands, and Luca stepped aside to let them enter. Already Skylar noticed how he couldn’t stop looking at her, how the corners of his eyes crinkled into a smile whenever their glances met. She reminded herself to be professional and concentrate on her article and the man she’d come to profile. Like she’d been taught during school and her internship.

  Luca led her and Matt through an empty, high-ceilinged foyer. Skylar noticed a grand, curving staircase leading to the second floor, but they walked down a long hallway that flowed into the kitchen, a large and gleaming space with stainless steel appliances and black marble countertops. Skylar spotted an expensive-looking espresso machine and a blender that she coveted for smoothies but couldn’t afford on a reporter’s salary because it was four hundred fifty dollars.

  Federico was sitting and reading The Post at a table nestled into a breakfast nook near a large picture window. He stood and extended his hand.

  “Skylar, it’s great to see you.”

  “You too, Mr. Rossi. This is Matt Reese, our photographer. Thank you for letting us profile you. I think Matt has another assignment, so if the two of you would like maybe you should get the photo out of the way first.”

  Matt nodded and turned to the older man. “Mr. Rossi, I’d like to shoot you in front of the tropical plants out front. I might need a light meter, though, and it’s in my car. Want to come with me outside?”

  “That’s fine, Matt. Luca can take care of Skylar here in the kitchen.”

  Take care of? Skylar slid onto a seat in the breakfast nook and felt her face turning red. Had Luca mentioned their encounter to his uncle?

  Luca leaned near the sink, not speaking. It made her uncomfortable. He wasn’t smiling, just appraising her with those eyes. Today they looked more green than grey. Why was he staring at her? He was so seriously sexy that she almost couldn’t stand to be around him. She babbled and flashed him a big smile.

  “How’s your week? Have you reconsidered whether you’re going to give me the exclusive about being the savior at the plane crash?”

  Luca laughed. “You are very persistent.”

  She grinned.

  “Have you ever had an authentic Italian espresso?” He rolled the ‘r’, and its sound reverberated through Skylar’s body.

  “I’ve had lots of espresso. Every day. I usually have a shot of it in my iced coffee. The café near the paper makes a great iced red-eye.”

  Luca raised his eyebrows. “Iced espresso. Hmmm. That doesn’t sound authentically Italian to me. I’m going to make you the best coffee you’ve ever had.”

  His playful smile looked boyish and cute and made Skylar’s stomach flip-flop. She watched him move around the kitchen, taking out a small aluminum pot and a tin of java. It looked like he hadn’t shaved in days, and black stubble covered his chin and the skin around his mouth. She normally didn’t like men with facial hair, but somehow on Luca it looked primal and inspired an equally primitive desire in her. Would his stubble chafe her skin while kissing? He had been clean-shaven the first time they kissed, and she shivered when she recalled the feel of his skin on hers.

  He put a small silver coffeemaker on the stove then slid in across from her at the breakfast nook. His expression was serious.

  “Skylar, would you do me a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Could you not mention me in your article about my uncle? Would you do that for me?”

  She frowned. This was odd. Luca definitely had something to hide. “I wasn’t planning on mentioning you. The article’s not about you. But why are you so worried about being in the paper?”

  “I’m a really private person,” he said.

  Private? That was all? Weird.

  Skylar leaned forward. “Fine. I can do that.”

  Luca beamed and extended his hand to sweep a lock of hair away from her face, which made her heart pound. He twisted the strand of hair around his forefinger and said, “Grazie. Thank you. And your hair looks beautiful like that, all sleek. You also smell good.”

  Federico and Matt’s voices made Skylar sit up straight, and Luca uncurled her hair from his finger, pausing to stroke her cheek for a half second. She shot him a warning glance as a flash of heat ripped through her body.

  Matt appeared, standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen with several cameras hanging off his shoulders and neck while Federico took Luca’s place at the table.

  “So,” the older man said. “About this interview. I’m doing it on one condition. That you don’t put my address in the paper.”

  Skylar arched her eyebrows. Did both Luca and Federico have s
omething to hide? What a strange family—but handsome. Eyeing Federico, Skylar wondered what Luca’s parents looked like and if they, too, were genetically blessed.

  “Okay,” she agreed. “That won’t be necessary for the article. We don’t put addresses in the Palmira People profiles. But your address is public record under Florida’s open records law. Anyone can find you. Of course you’re aware of that.”

  “Of course, my dear. But, off the record…?”

  “Yes?”

  “This home isn’t in my name. It’s in the name of a corporate LLC. For tax and other business purposes.”

  Was that odd? Skylar didn’t know. She needed to ask her editor later.

  Federico gestured to Matt. “Please sit down. Surely you have time for an espresso. Luca makes coffee the old-fashioned way, in a Bialetti coffeepot. We have that nice automated espresso maker, and he uses something that’s sixty years old!”

  Luca grinned and took the pot off the stove.

  “He also doesn’t use a microwave. Can you believe this guy?” joked Federico.

  “Oh, I’m with Luca, I don’t own a microwave,” Skylar remarked. Luca nodded and grinned while pushing buttons on the stove.

  “Sky’s a hippie girl,” interjected Matt. “She’s always trying to get everyone in the newsroom to eat kale and go to yoga.”

  Skylar rolled her eyes. Just because she was the daughter of a yoga teacher didn’t mean she was a hippie. Sure, she had been trying to eat healthier after gaining weight her senior year at school, but it was better than living off pizza like everyone else at the paper. Still, she wasn’t skinny. James had never let her forget that she would soon be—as he put it—a whale.

  Federico looked at her. “Where did you go to school, Skylar? Is this your first job?”

  “I went to Boston University. This is my first reporting job, but I interned at a paper in Boston. I had hoped to stay on there, but the newspaper business isn’t so great these days. I need to learn how to shoot better video and take photos. I’ve talked Matt into teaching me some multimedia skills.”

  Luca shot Matt a raised eyebrow and opened a cabinet.

  “She’s not a bad photographer,” Matt said. “But I’m guessing she won’t be on Palmira long enough to learn anything from me. She’s too good of a writer.”

  Luca slammed the cabinet shut, making Skylar jump from the noise. “Sorry,” he said, taking the coffeepot off the stove. He poured espresso in four small cups and brought them one by one to Federico, Matt and Skylar.

  “Sugar?” Federico asked.

  Skylar shook her head. Matt nodded, and Luca pulled a small silver bowl out of a cabinet. He handed Matt a small spoon and set it in front of him.

  “Y’all must be European,” Matt said, heaping sugar into his cup and stirring. “Only Europeans drink coffee this way, with tiny spoons and tiny cups. I’m partial to a 7-Eleven turbo brew in a big ol’ Styrofoam thing.”

  Skylar saw Luca wince. Matt gulped the coffee down and didn’t notice.

  “I gotta go. I’m supposed to take photos of a hundred-and-three-year-old man at a nursing home. He’s Palmira’s oldest resident. It’s been great meeting both of you. Sky, I’ll see you back in the newsroom.”

  Federico eased his trim body to standing with a grunt. “God, my knees. Old running injury. Matt, I’ll walk you to the door.”

  “Ciao,” Luca called to Matt.

  Skylar sipped her drink. “It’s delicious. It does taste different than the iced espresso. Less bitter. Maybe I’ll switch.”

  “You need to learn how to make it properly,” Luca warned.

  “Maybe you can teach me,” Skylar said, grinning more at the speed of her comeback than at him.

  Luca laughed. “Maybe I will. I’m impressed you’re drinking it like a real Italian, without sugar. Your photographer has less refined taste, no?”

  “That’s Matt. He’s funny. He’s a good ol’ boy from North Carolina.”

  “Well, he seems enamored with you, that’s for sure.”

  She smirked. What was that supposed to mean? Matt wasn’t interested in her. And what if he was?

  Federico came back, and she shifted in her seat. “So, Mr. Rossi, let’s start.”

  “Of course. Do you mind if Luca stays and listens? He can learn how a professional lawyer handles an interview.” The older man winked at her.

  “Absolutely, of course he can stay.” But Skylar didn’t look at Luca. She wasn’t sure she wanted him around because he was too much of a distraction. He stood a few feet away, leaning against the counter and staring. She had to mentally erase images of them kissing in the pool, her legs wrapped around the low V of muscles that dipped below the waistband of his shorts.

  She took her smartphone out of her bag so she could record her interview, and somehow, her pen had tangled in the pages of the notepad. When she pulled the pad out of her tote, the pen clattered to the floor. Luca bent to pick it up. He handed it to Skylar, and their eyes met. A zing of pure craving shot through her body.

  Federico chuckled.

  Skylar steadied her shaking hands with a deep breath and asked her first question. Federico responded at length, with a touch of superiority in his voice, and Skylar wondered if arrogance was a Rossi family trait. Five questions took an hour for him to answer, and her hand hurt from writing so much. Still, she was getting into the rhythm of the interview because Federico was detailed and interesting, with stories about big-money trials and his thoughts on the state’s medical marijuana debate. She almost forgot that Luca hovered nearby.

  She got to her next question and paused. The paper’s feature editor wanted her to ask Federico his opinion of the best grouper sandwich on Palmira. It was a stupid question. She had something a little tougher in mind. In fact, she had an entire list of hard questions to ask. She didn’t expect Luca’s uncle to answer most of them, but she went on a fishing expedition anyway. Sometimes the best articles came from asking the most random questions, she had discovered during her internship.

  “Mr. Rossi, do you think you’ll ever run for governor?”

  He laughed, a genuine belly laugh. “It’s funny you ask that, Skylar. I never say never. But, governor? Not right now. All I’ve ever wanted is to be Florida’s lawyer.”

  “Surely you have the money to launch a campaign. You have a net worth of one hundred million dollars by some estimates.”

  Federico looked amused. “I’m not hurting for money. But I’m not eager to throw cash away on politics, not yet. I don’t have the time. Maybe next year. I’m about to file a big class-action lawsuit this week.”

  “Really? Care to tell me about the case?”

  “Sure, why not. You’ll have the exclusive.” He leaned toward Skylar and, as she nodded, her heart sped up at the thought of being first on a good story.

  “We’re suing DogMunch, the dog food company, on behalf of hundreds of pet owners whose dogs died after eating their product. We’ve found that the company ignored complaints and evidence that the food had toxic substances probably slipped in from the factory in China. I can get you some Florida dog owners for interviews if you want. It’s a federal lawsuit, so this is a good national story.”

  Skylar beamed. Jill would love this, especially if they found a person with a warm, fuzzy photo of their now-dead pet. Jill loved animal stories that tugged at readers’ heartstrings because they got lots of website clicks.

  “Thank you,” she said. “And can you send me a copy of the lawsuit before it’s filed?”

  Federico slipped on a pair of reading glasses that hung around his neck and squinted at his phone. “What’s your e-mail?”

  Skylar told him, and he tapped. “Done.”

  “Yes, it’s those lawsuits I enjoy. Where I can stand up for the little guy. The regular person.”

  She arched an eyebrow. Federico had slipped into one of his TV commercials, it seemed.

  “That reminds me,” she said. “I have a few more questions. I’m not sure how these w
ill work into the story, but I did some research on you and was curious about some things.”

  “Of course. Fire away.”

  “Your advertising has been controversial. I’ve read where you spend $20 million on television ads alone each year. Is that true?”

  “It’s about right. More or less. What I put out in advertising I get back in clients and settlements.”

  Skylar nodded. “Is it true that you started your career by suing insurance companies that wouldn’t pay sinkhole claims?”

  “It’s true. I then branched out to other kinds of defense litigation, including personal injury.”

  “You have lots of outside business interests, is that correct?”

  Federico tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Skylar’s mouth turned dry, because she was building up to a bigger question.

  “Sure. I’m a rich man. I invest in a lot of things. What are you getting at?”

  “Through public records, I’ve discovered that you’re the part owner of a chain of check-cashing stores throughout the southeast. I’m wondering why you would invest in such a business.”

  Federico smirked. “Skylar. QuickChex is a legitimate business that complies with all local and state laws.”

  “Some think those businesses practice predatory lending. There’s often high fees and interest rates, and they take advantage of people who can’t get bank accounts because their credit is awful. Isn’t that the opposite of the image you portray as a lawyer of the people, of the working class?”

  “QuickChex provides a service. It complies with all local and state laws.”

  Skylar saw Federico’s jaw tense and the muscles near his ear bulge. She wasn’t sure how much of this part of the interview would get in the paper, but it was satisfying to uncover some details about a powerful man and ask him lots of questions.

  “Right. It’s legal. But is it ethical? Would you divest yourself of that business if you did run for governor?”

  “I would have to think about that. What time is it? I think I need to jump on a call. I really appreciate your interest in the class-action lawsuit.”