Rising Stars & It Started With… Collections. Кейт Хьюит
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minutes later, Faith was walking out of the salon and into the reception area where Renzo sat making notes on his tablet. When he looked up and saw her, a little thrill of pleasure shot through her at the shock on his face. He quickly masked it, however, and stood to greet her as if salon appointments were an ordinary part of his day.
“Fabuloso, Faith. You look lovely.”
Faith was feeling far too happy over her hair to harbor any resentment that he’d basically hauled her into a salon and told her to cut her hair. No, in fact, she was feeling grateful. For the first time, her hair was elegant and chic—but it still felt like her, not like someone else’s idea of her.
Her happy feelings began to ebb, however, when Renzo dragged her into a clothing store and arranged an impromptu fashion show in which she was to be the leading lady.
“No,” she said as a saleswoman stood patiently by and a group of others hauled clothing into a dressing area. “This is too much, Renzo. I can’t accept clothes from you.”
His expression was implacable. “Consider it a perk of the job, Faith. I require you to be stylish when you are at my side.”
“You never cared before.”
He didn’t look in the least bit apologetic. “We were in the States. Things were different there. Here, you will be traveling at my side quite frequently and I require you to look the part.”
“Look the part of what?” she demanded. “Your latest mistress?”
His gaze grew heated. “Would that be so bad?” he murmured so that no one else could hear.
“Yes,” she said automatically, though a part of her was saying no. Please, yes, now.
No.
“You will do this, Faith, or you will be on the next flight back to the United States. But think carefully on your answer,” he said silkily. “Because, should you choose to go, you will also be without a job.”
Fury rolled through her, followed by frustration and a sense that she was in over her head. “That’s blackmail.”
She wasn’t going to give up her job over a wardrobe, and he knew it. That would be a stupid move, no matter how she might wish to see the look of surprise on his face when she said no. A fresh tide of anger rose within her that he would force her into obeying his will.
She had a moment’s ugly thought of her father standing over her and telling her she would continue to go to school as before, no matter what people said or did to her, but no matter how angry it made her, she knew this wasn’t the same thing. Her father hadn’t cared that she would be emotionally scarred by the experience; Renzo was being stubborn over clothing. Not the same at all.
But Renzo was unrepentant. “It is indeed. Now, choose.”
Faith’s heart throbbed, and her ears were hot with embarrassment. She’d never been the sort of person to draw attention to herself with clothing, but were her clothes really that bad? The gray suit she wore was perfectly serviceable. The skirt hit right below her knees, the jacket hung to midhip, and her shirt was a daring pink. Her heels were black, low and comfortable.
“This isn’t necessary,” she said. “We could just go to a department store and spend a lot less money. I only need a few things off-the-rack—”
“Not a chance, cara. You represent me, and you will represent me the way I wish you to.”
In the end, there was no choice. Faith succumbed to the will of Renzo and the overwhelming force of the saleswomen, who dressed her in outfit after outfit until she actually started to look forward to the next combination they would present her. She’d always worn her suits because she felt comfortable and professional in them. They were off-the-rack, and they fit just fine, but she was redefining what the meaning of a good fit meant as she tried on clothes that seemed tailor-made for her.
The skirts were shorter, but not too much so—right above the knee instead of below it, and fitted to the curve of her hips rather than hanging straight down. The jackets were nipped in at the waist, rounded on the bottom, and cut to right below the waistband of the skirts. There were silky undergarments, belts, trousers, sweaters, dresses, shoes, handbags, scarves and jewelry that went with each outfit. The fabrics were natural, luxurious, rich.
Renzo bore it all with his usual cool efficiency, looking up from his tablet when she emerged each time. He didn’t say a word unless there was a disagreement, and he didn’t try to force her to choose anything she didn’t like. He gave his opinion when asked, and didn’t contradict her when she expressed a preference or a dislike of anything in particular.
It wasn’t much, but the fact he left her alone to make her choices made her feel somewhat better. It was as if he was telling her that he believed in her judgment, and she appreciated that more than she could say.
After what seemed like hours, the parade came to an end. Renzo said something in Italian, all the saleswomen melted away except for one, and Faith was left standing in the final outfit, a soft, pale green silk dress, belted at the waist, and a pair of sky-high designer heels in a rich cream color. She had to admit she loved the outfit, and hoped it was one they could buy. She felt sophisticated and pretty, like a princess instead of a secretary.
“We are finished here,” Renzo said, and she blinked at him.
“But I need to change back into my clothes—”
“Those are your clothes,” he told her. “The rest will be sent along.”
“The rest?”
“Everything you chose.”
“Everything?” If she’d had any idea, she would have been more careful. She’d liked so many things. So many expensive things. She shook her head. “It’s too much. I can never repay you.”
Renzo came over and put his hands on her shoulders. In the heels, she didn’t have to tilt her head back to look at his expression. His gaze slid down her body, to the buttons on her dress that came together just over her cleavage, and then met her eyes once more while her insides began to melt. “Mia bella, it gives me pleasure to do this for you. I have told you before to consider this as a part of your compensation for accompanying me. It is not easy to leave behind one’s friends and home, now is it?”
It was when you didn’t really have any friends, and the home didn’t belong to you, but Faith didn’t say that. “I feel like it’s too much,” she said.
“And I feel like it’s not enough. Which of us is right?”
“I’m pretty sure I am. My sense of what things cost is probably more realistic than yours.”
Renzo laughed even as he looped her arm in his. “You are a refreshing woman, Faith. You speak your mind without care for what I might think. I like it.”
“You have enough women feeding your ego,” she grumbled, and he laughed again.
They exited the shop and got into the waiting car. Faith turned her head to look out the window at the shops opposite, suddenly uncomfortable to be alone with him again. She didn’t know why she should be, but she was.
Not because she was afraid of him, but because she was afraid of herself, she realized. The entire time she’d been trying on clothes, she’d been thinking of how he would look at her when she walked out in each outfit. What would Renzo think? What would he do? Would he look at her like he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her again, the way he had in her apartment?
It was dangerous to think of him like that. Dangerous to think for even a moment that she wanted him to kiss her. There was nothing but heartbreak in allowing herself to think of a man like Renzo wanting her. She was his PA, not his girlfriend.
“I do understand the value of money, cara,” he said, his voice breaking the silence between them as the car rolled through the streets of Rome. “I was not born rich.”
She