by Nina Milne
Her brown eyes narrowed. ‘That still doesn’t explain why you want to use me as the photographer.’
‘Because it’s your idea and I like the vision you created. You’re looking for work—so why not?’
‘So it is nothing to do with...?’ Heat touched her cheeks but she held his gaze as she gestured towards the dance floor. Closed her eyes, then reopened them. ‘Whatever happened out there.’
‘What happened out there was due to a mutual attraction. The click factor, if you will. But that now needs to be clicked off. I would never mix business and pleasure, would never offer anyone a job because I expect some sort of sexual quid pro quo.’ The idea caused his lips to press together in distaste. ‘If we decide to go ahead with a professional relationship, that is exactly what it would be.’
Emily shook her head; her brown eyes held his, searched them. ‘So there is no ulterior motive? Is this some sort of pity thing? Because I explained my situation to you. Or did Ava put you up to this?’
‘No one put me up to anything.’ Yet the question reminded him anew of how close Emily and Ava were and he knew he needed to be wary of that. Especially when it came to Jodi. But that didn’t change the fact he wanted Emily for this job. Instinct told him she’d bring the skills he needed, plus now he had this idea he wanted to run with it and, as she herself had said, she was ‘ready and available’. And, of course, there was her name, always assuming she’d agree that he could use it.
‘It still doesn’t make sense. How can you offer me a job without seeing my work? You may hate it.’
It was a fair point. Instinct and convenience were all very well, but... ‘You’re right. So let’s meet tomorrow. Bring your portfolio and we can discuss it. No strings, no commitment. If I decide you aren’t suitable for the job or if you decide it’s not for you, then we can both walk away. No hard feelings.’
Her fingers drummed on the table and he could see the trouble in her eyes, then she scanned the room and turned to him. ‘OK. When and where?’
‘Brunch meeting? At Zelda’s? It’s a bit off the beaten track. I’ll ask for a private table.’
‘I’ll be there.’
* * *
The following day Emily approached the agreed upon venue; anticipation vied with anxiety and she glanced down with trepidation at the portfolio she carried. This whole idea was surreal in the extreme; in fact, the more she thought about it, the more her instincts told her this was a bad, bad idea. Too far out of her comfort zone. She wanted a job that she would find easy, preferably working with people she was familiar with.
But what choice did she have? Her networking last night had been an unmitigated disaster.
Phrases filtered back to her. From the indirect ‘So sorry, daahling, but I’ve just put a new team together.’ To the more direct, ‘Sorry, Em, but if you will take eighteen months off to play wifey then you can’t expect to waltz back in.’
Incipient panic threatened yet again and before it could take hold she pushed the door of the restaurant open and entered, scanned the occupants and spotted Luca at a large corner table. Holy Moly. Against all odds the man was even hotter in smart casual than he was in a tux. Shower-damp jet-black hair showed a hint of unruly curl, his shirt sleeves rolled up to show tanned muscular forearms that she had a sudden urge to photograph for posterity. Forced herself not to do just that.
He looked up and smiled and she blinked, wishing he didn’t have this unsettling effect on her. She didn’t like it, didn’t want it; it made her feel uncomfortable that she could be so aware of a man. The very idea had seemed impossible a few months ago and somehow it still felt wrong. A near betrayal that she could feel something as primal as desire when for so long all she had felt was the raw ache of grief for her baby, the dull layer of misery blanketing her from all other emotion.
Not now. All too often the slightest thing could trigger a wave of misery, a surge of panic. But somehow she had to suppress it. Forcing a smile to her face, she walked towards Luca as he rose to greet her, saw those silver-grey eyes scan her face. ‘Hey.’
‘Hey.’
As she sat he pushed the menu towards her, and she looked down, glad of something to do, to distract from the wave of sadness that was about to wash over her. A part of her wanted to succumb, to allow herself to drown in it, to float in the waves and think of all she had lost, all that her baby would never have.
‘Are you OK, Emily?’ The concern in his deep Italian-tinged voice was palpable and jolted her to the present.
‘I’m fine.’
‘If this place is not to your liking, we can go somewhere else.’
‘No. It’s not that.’ The restaurant was lovely, vibrant and busy with the hum of people having a weekend brunch. Friends catching up. Families out on a Sunday.
The kind of place she’d always loved but now somehow seemed wrong, seemed designed to show her what she couldn’t have. The sight of every baby, every happy family an emphasis of what she’d lost before she even had it. Did a career even matter compared to the precious life she’d lost? Because deep down she knew it was her own fault. She should have taken more care, not been so blithely confident. She shouldn’t have let Howard bully her into hiding her pregnancy, shouldn’t have been so intent on trying to make him happy, shouldn’t have attended parties, dressed to the nines, in high heels to try and disguise her pregnancy. The sense that she’d somehow jinxed her pregnancy was irrational but unshakeable.
‘Emily?’ Luca’s voice recalled her to the present, reminded her to get a grip. Her career might no longer feel relevant but she needed a job. And she would not let her own personal situation impact on her professionalism any more. If she did this job she would give it her best, however tarnished that might be. ‘This is perfect. Truly. I’ll have the pancakes. With bacon and maple syrup.’
‘Good choice.’
A waitress came and took their order and soon reappeared with their drinks.
Emily sipped the foam of her cappuccino and said, ‘So...how would you like to do this?’
‘Would you like to show me your portfolio first?’
‘Sure.’ The idea of displaying her work filled her with a sudden sharp surge of dread, and frustration filled her. What was wrong with her? Two years ago she’d been an up-and-coming fashion photographer. The stuff in her portfolio was excellent and she knew it. Or at least she had known it once, before Howard’s ongoing critiques had dulled the gloss of her pictures, distorted the way she saw her work. Picking up the slim folder, she handed it across the table, tried not to let her gaze linger on the strong shape of his hand, the deft, competent grip of his fingers. Photographer’s eye, she told herself. Or an overreaction due to nerves. ‘I’ve brought a small printed portfolio and I’ll show you a digital gallery as well.’
As he opened the leather-bound binder, she couldn’t watch, almost didn’t want to see his reaction, busied herself with booting up her netbook.
Finally she knew she couldn’t stare at the screen any more so she looked up and across at him. Saw the binder still open, though his gaze was now on her.
‘Obviously, as I said, I am a fashion photographer, so my portfolio mostly consists of examples of fashion photography. I did include a couple of still-life pictures I did for a National Trust campaign. But I do think you should consider taking on someone with more experience of commercial photography.’
What? What are you doing, Emily? Talking yourself out of the job? Pressing her lips together, she focused on not talking. At all.
‘I appreciate your honesty and I get it’s a risk but it’s one I’m willing to take.’ And again Emily wondered what was going on, why he was so set on employing her without even considering anyone else. She was sure it wasn’t anything to do with the latent smoulder of attraction that had sparked the previous night; she’d believed his assertion that he would never mix business and pleasure. Yet instinct, finely honed instinct, s
till warned her there was something else. Some reason he wanted to move so fast.
‘Why? Why would you take that risk?’
‘Your photos show vibrancy and flair and originality. I love how you use shape and colour and background effect. Plus the two different pictures of Ava showcase how you can use the same model to portray completely different things.’
The sincerity in his voice was evident and relief swathed her; the job wasn’t a sinecure. He’d studied the pictures and grasped what she’d tried to do and he liked it. The knowledge sparked a small, unfamiliar surge of confidence. ‘Ava was a great model to work with.’
‘Yes. But the idea, the lighting, the captured image is down to you. In the perfume ad you have conveyed the essence of flowers and lightness in a way that’s difficult to explain—but it works.’
Emily frowned; she had been particularly proud of that photograph, yet it was one that Howard had targeted as frivolous and dismissed as cutesy. And she’d accepted that criticism as just, but now, as she looked at it again, her frown deepened.
‘I would like to know how you did it.’
‘The original plan was to have Ava sitting in a meadow of flowers with the sun shining down on her, but that seemed a little too clichéd. So I persuaded the director to give my idea a go. To be subtler.’ She’d kept it simple, Ava bathed in the light of a setting sun, wearing a floaty summery dress, a circlet of flowers in her hair and a daisy chain around her wrist. Looking almost ethereal.
As she spoke she remembered the person she had been then: a woman confident in herself and her ideas, happy to offer her thoughts and opinions. A woman who’d believed in herself. Where had that Emily gone? Right now she truly didn’t know. Somewhere along the way her faith in herself had seeped away—but as she studied the photo, listened to Luca’s words, she could feel a small trickle of pride.
He nodded. ‘It worked. Perfectly. And it encapsulates what I want for my campaign. Something that captures the essence of my chocolate and where it comes from. You somehow made the viewer want to smell like the perfume. I need you to make the viewer want to taste my chocolate. Can you do it?’
The questions preceded the arrival of their food and as the waiter busied himself with serving their pancakes and refilling the coffees it gave her time to think. As she did so her mind began to play with ideas, a familiar spark that she hadn’t felt for a long time. Brought on by having her work valued. By someone uninfluenced by Howard or by past association of any sort.
And so, once the waiter had left, she leant forward and said, ‘I don’t know if I can do it and that’s the truth. But I’d like to try.’ She picked up her knife and fork. ‘Let me see if I can come up with an idea.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
Emily took a mouthful of pancake as she considered. ‘I need more information.’ She glanced at him. ‘I know this may sound nuts but I need to know about Palazzo di Cioccolato, about your company ethos, about all your chocolate and, of course, as much as possible about this particular chocolate. When I did this ad I spoke to the perfumier who created it. I knew absolutely everything there was to know about that perfume. The circlet of flowers in Ava’s hair was made up of the flowers in the scent itself. But I also wore the perfume myself, spoke to people who wore it. Got my friends to wear it...’
There was a silence and she wondered if she’d blown it. ‘Sorry. There was no need for you to know any of that. Give me a few days and I’ll get back to you with an idea.’
‘No need to apologise. I like your enthusiasm.’ His voice was deep and there was something in his silver-grey eyes, a warmth that heated up her insides, a balm to her soul lacerated by Howard’s put-downs. ‘And it obviously gets results. So I am happy to provide you with as much company information as you need. How about I start with an overview? In terms of ethos I always try to use the best ingredients possible—no hidden rubbish. I want my product to be affordable, but I won’t compete with supersize mass-produced products. I know it is possible to buy a huge bar of chocolate for a low cost. I’d prefer people to choose to spend the same amount for a smaller bar because it’s worth it. I see chocolate as something to be savoured, a luxury, a treat that is worth looking forward to, spending time on.’
His words held a depth and a tone that seemed to epitomise the chocolate itself, and Emily was sucked in by the words, and his sheer charisma, the delicious sexiness of a man speaking of chocolate with such appreciation. She cleared her throat. ‘Sounds good. What about the new range?’
‘I want this to be a little different, an experiment with fruit and spices. I want it to feel decadent and new. I’ve spent the past year tasting, mixing, thinking, tasting again, sourcing... I am hoping this will be a major player in the premium chocolate market.’
Decadent and new...the deep rumble of those words sent a sudden rush over her skin, the animation in his voice, the fact that he got so involved. Her gaze lingered on his hands as she pictured him intent over the recipe, stirring, tasting, and now her eyes moved to his lips and she pictured him tasting the chocolate. Jeez. Get a grip. Think.
‘That’s all great,’ she managed. ‘That gives me a real feel for what you represent.’
‘Good. So what do you think about the project? Are you interested?’
The questions seemed to take on too much meaning.
Her gaze kept returning to the lithe muscle of his forearm, the way his shirt glided over the breadth of his chest, the allure of his eyes, the jut of a nose that proclaimed both confidence and arrogance. But it was also his aura—there was something powerful and scary about his air of contained energy, the feeling that he was a man on a mission, a man who would carry out his agenda whatever that might be. A man who most likely didn’t suffer fools gladly, and a momentary doubt struck her. She questioned whether she had the strength to take that on, risk being assessed and found wanting. Again.
Throughout her marriage with Howard she had tried so hard to win his praise for her work, had wanted so much to prove she had the talent to move into a different sphere of photography. To no avail—in the end she’d had to accept she simply wasn’t good enough, and somehow that had transcended so her belief in herself had been diminished. And now the pressure to succeed, to fulfil Luca’s unexpected belief in her, felt almost too much. Almost.
Because she would not give in, would not return to the despair of the past months, despite the temptation, the enticement of cocooning herself from the world because it made her feel closer to her baby.
Not happening, because the world had intruded in its reality, the ping of unpaid bills arriving in her inbox. She needed a job—the alternative would be to turn to her parents for help. The idea was unacceptable.
Perhaps they would help, but they hadn’t thought to offer. Had given her practically no emotional support throughout the past months. For her mother infidelity and divorce, smashed dreams and the failure of love were the norm. As for the miscarriage, for Marigold, a woman who had never wanted a family, she simply didn’t get it. She had tried—descended on the flat with expensive gifts, wine, chocolate and flowers—and in truth Emily had appreciated the gesture, accepted it was the best her mother could do. Her father had called her a couple of times, expressed his sympathy, the conversation full of encouragement about how he knew Emily would move on. ‘Other fish in the sea.’ ‘So many women have a miscarriage and go on to have many children.’ And Emily had concurred—knew that her father too was doing his best. But then, duty done, her parents had both gone back to their normal lives.
And that was the point: she was peripheral to their lives, and as such her independence was a matter of pride to her. She would never ask for anything, just accept what they could give.
So now, she met Luca’s gaze and nodded. ‘Yes. I’m interested.’
‘Excellent.’ He sipped his coffee, drummed his fingers on the table top. ‘I’ve got an idea.’
Emily glanced at him, wondered if she could deal with any more of Luca’s ideas, sensed that this one would be another humdinger. ‘What’s that?’ she asked as trepidation prickled her spine.
CHAPTER FOUR
LUCA DID ONE last quick recap of the pros and cons and then, ‘It’s a way for you to learn more about Palazzo di Cioccolato. Come back to Turin with me tomorrow and I’ll give you a tour of the factory and headquarters. I really like the way you immerse yourself in everything to do with the product and I think the best way to get a real feel for the business is to see it for yourself.’
Emily put her coffee cup down with a sudden thunk. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘Why not?’ Now he had a plan, he wanted to move fast, wanted to find his sister. Because whilst Jodi was a grown woman, and more than capable of looking after herself...he was her big brother and part of his job, his role in life, was to look after her. Ever since his father had walked out Luca had vowed, sworn to himself, that he would be the man of the family. And when, seven months after his dad had gone, Jodi had been born, a deep, deep protectiveness had come over him. A sense of responsibility so profound he could still remember the weight of the mantle he’d gladly accepted. So right now he couldn’t see any reason to wait. ‘My idea is we spend a couple of days in Italy and then head straight to Jalpura from there.’
Now Emily stared at him, her brown eyes wide, and he suspected she was evaluating his sanity levels. ‘Whoa. Hang on a minute. How exactly is this going to work?’ Emily raised her hands in a gesture that conveyed bafflement and he couldn’t help but note the fluid grace of her movements. His gaze lingered on the elegant shape of her fingers, the supple delicacy of her wrists. Focus, Luca. ‘Do you know how an ad campaign works?’
‘Of course, I do.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, maybe not the detail. I have an agency that usually deals with that.’
‘Well, I am not an expert, but I do know how to do a photo shoot. Usually I work with a production company. You need to do a massive amount of research, decide on the campaign and how it would work. We need to find a location, a model or more than one model. Once we find that we need to figure out clothing, we need a stylist, a make-up artist, someone to make the location look right, a lighting expert. I can’t just go to Jalpura and pluck a person out of thin air, hand them a bar of chocolate and take a photo.’