Dreaming Of... Italy: Daring to Trust the Boss / Reunited with Her Italian Ex / The Forbidden Prince. SUSAN MEIER
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his napkin to the table. “You have a point.”
Her mother shook her head. “It’s just that Tucker Engle is so young.”
“Yes, he is young, but he’s a very smart guy. Before you found out how old he was even you told me I could learn from him.”
She reached across the worn table of the pizza place and caught her mother’s hand. “Don’t trust him, Mom. Trust me. I need to get out in the world to prove I’ve recovered.”
Twenty minutes later, she was walking home to pack.
The next day she brought her single piece of luggage and a toiletries case to work. Tucker had meetings out of the office all day in preparation for being away, so he had left the limo for her and told her he would meet her at the airstrip.
Traffic kept her on the road until almost seven, filling her with panic. But when she saw the long, sleek jet that stood at the ready, she forgot all about being late and gaped at it in awe. Tucker Engle owned that glossy little jet. For all she knew he also owned the airstrip.
He was a former foster kid who at thirty or so now owned a plane. Maybe an airstrip. It was phenomenal.
And she suddenly understood why she was so drawn to him. He’d done what she wanted to do. He hadn’t let his past hinder him. He’d gotten beyond it.
Technically, she might not be attracted to him as much as she admired him.
She thanked the driver who assured her he would see to her luggage, and casually headed for the plane.
A tall, blue-eyed pilot greeted her as she entered. “Good evening, Miss Prentiss.”
She smiled. “Good evening.”
“The flight is approximately seven hours. Accounting for the time difference, we’ll be arriving at Mr. Bartulocci’s private airstrip around 7:00 a.m. local time.”
“So, you’re basically telling me to sleep on the flight?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He motioned her toward the roomy six-seat cabin.
Tucker Engle sat at a compact workstation at the very back of the plane. Paperwork had been spread out on the table in front of his seat. Though he said good evening, he barely looked up from his work, confirming that he might be attracted to her but he wasn’t interested in her. Her parents had nothing to worry about.
She slid into one of the six butterscotch leather seats and buckled in. The pilots taxied to the runway and the plane took off smoothly.
She reclined her seat, preparing to fall asleep. But soft as it was, without a pillow or a blanket, she couldn’t quite get comfortable.
“There are blankets in a cupboard back there.”
She sat up and faced him. He angled his thumb toward the back of the plane. “And pillows.”
She unbuckled her seat belt and rose. “Thanks.”
She walked to the cupboard, but she didn’t open it. Her hand hovered over the door knob. “Would you like one?”
“No. I’m working.”
She nodded and returned to her seat with a pillow and a blanket. She turned off the light above her, reclined her seat and nestled into her covers.
She closed her eyes and took three long, calming breaths, but they didn’t help. She couldn’t imagine how someone went from being a foster kid to being a billionaire. She had had help from her parents, but still couldn’t live in New York City on her meager salary without roommates. Starting at the bottom, she had absolutely no idea how to climb the ladder from where she was now to where he was now.
And that’s what she wanted. To be somebody. So that when she went back to Starlight everybody would see she hadn’t needed to fake an attack to extort money from Cord Dawson. She had always had the talent and drive to be successful on her own.
She sat up, swiveled to face him. “So how does somebody go from being a foster child to owning all this?”
He didn’t even look up. “Perseverance.”
“There’s got to be more to it than that.”
“There isn’t.”
“It’s not like I wouldn’t understand. I’m pretty smart and I really want this. Plus, it’s not like anything you’d say would shock me. I had a friend who was a foster child. And I also had some really crappy things happen to me at university.”
* * *
He knew she had. He remembered she’d been sued for slander. Even though the kid had dropped the suit, she’d probably been terrified.
He twirled his pencil between his fingers. He shouldn’t talk. He should keep everything between them strictly professional, but she’d opened the door and curiosity about that “something” about her wouldn’t allow him to let the opportunity to ask her a few questions pass. If she wanted to know his secrets, first she’d share hers. “I know about the lawsuit filed against you three years ago.”
Her eyes widened. “You do?”
“Like Constanzo, I go the extra mile with people who are going to know my business.”
She said nothing, but her face had gone pasty white.
“I understand the kid dropped the suit, but it would still be very difficult to be nineteen and have somebody sue you.”
She nodded.
“So what happened?”
“Happened?”
“No twenty-year-old boy files a slander law suit without good reason. So whatever you said, it had to have been a doozy.”
Her chin lifted. “I told the truth.”
“Then it couldn’t have been slander.”
“I couldn’t prove what I said.”
“Oh.” He caught Olivia’s gaze. “But it was true?”
She nodded.
“Which was probably why he dropped the suit. He didn’t want to risk that you’d find a way to prove it.”
“Oh, he knew I couldn’t.”
Curiosity spiked again, and he nearly kept going, so intrigued about her that the work in front of him had lost its appeal. But he suddenly realized he was comfortable, talking about personal things—the kind of things he never talked about with anybody, especially not an employee.
He’d already decided he didn’t want to be attracted to her, so what was he doing getting to know her?
“Why don’t you try to sleep while I do some work? This trip to Italy is going to cost me a hundred other things if I don’t get my ducks in a row now. So no more talking.”
“Okay.”
She turned around and he forced his attention back to work. Work had made him who he was today. He didn’t need conversation. He didn’t need family. He needed only to be the best he could be.
* * *
Tucker Engle’s plane landed at Constanzo Bartulocci’s private airstrip in the Italian countryside. A driver waited by a white limo and they headed for Constanzo’s villa.
Vivi stared out the window in awe. A sea of green grass flowed to mountains. The sky was the bluest blue she’d ever seen, hovering over the grassy slopes like a benevolent blue god. “This is gorgeous.”
Pulling a document from his briefcase, Tucker said, “Italy’s a beautiful country.”
She almost asked if he always worked but she knew the answer to that. Of course, he did. Now that he’d told her he’d been a foster child, so many things about him made sense. Just as she saw success as a way to vindicate herself, he probably