Christmas At The Tycoon's Command. Дженнифер Хейворд
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his brother apologized. “A client just arrived. You should drop by.”
Nico swore a blue streak, yanked the steering wheel around and did an overtly illegal U-turn. Approaching celebrities was the PR department’s job. He was already feeling guilty about the board meeting and the necessarily harsh lesson he’d administered to Chloe. She was so vulnerable despite that sharp mouth of hers. But it had seemed to do the trick of jolting her out of that frozen state she’d been in, and for that, he’d considered it a success.
She did, however, need to be treated with kid gloves at the moment. She was the key to Evolution’s success. She had to believe she could take her mother’s place. But the question mark with Chloe had always been her confidence. Her belief in herself.
It didn’t seem to be lacking, however, as Nico strode into Di Fiore’s to find Lazzero romancing a tall blonde at the bar and Chloe doing the same with the most notorious womanizer in Hollywood.
Her dark hair shone loose around her lovely face, the champagne-colored dress she wore as she sat perched on the high stool highlighting every dip and curve of her slim, perfect figure. Her legs—and there was a lot of them—were a jaw-dropping, toned work of art. They made his mouth go dry.
And that was before he got to those gorgeous eyes of hers—dark rippling pools framed by the longest, most luxurious lashes he’d ever seen. Eyes that had once made him lose his common sense. He thought maybe she’d put about ten coats of mascara on.
Carello had one hand on his jean-clad thigh, the other around his drink, talking in an animated fashion while Chloe listened, her clear, bright laughter cutting through the din of the crowd. Nico’s mouth tightened as the actor slid his arm to the back of her stool and moved in closer.
Resisting the urge to walk over there and pluck her off the stool, he lifted his hand and signaled the bartender instead. The young hipster called out a greeting to him and slid his favorite dark ale across the bar.
“You thought that was a good idea?” he growled as Lazzero lost the blonde and ambled over.
His brother hiked a shoulder. “I’m not her babysitter. You are. How you found yourself in that role is beyond me.”
“You know full well how I did. Martino made it impossible to say no.”
Lazzero took a sip of his beer. Eyed him. “When are you going to tell her about his cancer? It would make your life easier, you know.”
It would. But Martino had made him promise not to tell his girls about the rare form of cancer that would have eventually claimed his life. He’d asked Nico to take care of them instead by taking his place at the helm of the company and ensuring it prospered. Telling Chloe now would only add to the emotional upheaval she was going through. And quite frankly, he needed her head on the job.
He threw back a swig of his beer. Wiped his mouth. “I have no idea why Martino even thought this was a good idea.”
“Maybe because you did such a good job with Santo and me,” Lazzero goaded. “We are such model citizens.”
“I am questioning that right now.” Nico slid his attention back to Carello. Watched him put a palm on Chloe’s bare thigh. She didn’t flinch, throwing her hair back over her shoulder and laughing at whatever he said.
Heat seared his belly. “How much has she had to drink?”
“Enough to boost her confidence.” Lazzero leaned a hip against the bar. Slid an assessing gaze over him. “Tough day?”
“Evolution’s stock is in the toilet, we desperately need a hit product and Giorgio has been executing an internal smear campaign against me. It’s been a joy.”
Lazzero’s mouth curled. “He is a nuisance. He’s not a serious threat.”
But he was distracting him at a time he couldn’t afford to be distracted. When Evolution was teetering on the edge of a defining moment. And that, he couldn’t have.
A tall, lanky male with razed blond hair pushed through the crowd to the bar, leaning over to say something to Eddie. The actor gave Chloe a regretful look, then said something that made her face fall, then brighten as Carello took something out of his wallet and slid it onto the bar.
Nico’s fingers tightened around his beer bottle as the actor bent and pressed a kiss to each of Chloe’s cheeks, staining her skin with two twin spots of pink. Then he and his entourage headed off through the crowd.
* * *
A surge of triumph filled Chloe as she sat holding Eddie Carello’s agent’s business card, his parting words ringing in her ears. Call my agent. Give him the details. Tell him I gave this the green light if he’s good with it.
She shook her head bemusedly. Slid off the bar stool, a half-finished glass of champagne in her hand. The world rocked ever so slightly beneath her feet. She’d never had much of a head for alcohol, but Eddie had insisted on that glass of champagne, and OMG, he’d just said yes. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined he would.
Untouchable, my foot.
She turned and headed for Lazzero to thank him. Pulled up short. Nico was standing beside his brother at the bar, the jacket of his dark suit discarded, a drink in his hand.
Her pulse went haywire. Why did that happen every time? And why did he look so good in a shirt and tie? The tie loosened, his hair ruffled, he looked younger, like he had when they’d first met. Devastating.
But that Nico didn’t exist, she reminded herself, heart thumping against her chest like a bass drum. And she’d do well to remember it.
She straightened her shoulders and walked the length of the bar to where the two men stood. Lazzero waved off her thanks and melted into the crowd to greet someone. Nico set that penetrating gray gaze of his on her.
“I told you to secure him. Meaning use the PR department. Not take on Hollywood yourself.”
She lifted a shoulder. “The PR department didn’t have access to him. Mireille said he was untouchable. So we asked Lazzero for help.”
He leaned back against the bar, his free hand crossed in the crook of his folded elbow. “What did he say?”
A victorious smile played at the corners of her mouth. It might have been her best moment ever. “He said yes.”
His eyes widened. “He did?”
“Yes. But,” she qualified, “it’s contingent on his agent’s approval.”
Nico’s gaze warmed with a glimmer of something that might have been admiration. “I’m impressed. How did you convince him?”
“I explained the campaign to him. Why he was the inspiration for Soar. He was flattered—said he liked the idea of having a fragrance created for him. It turns out,” she concluded thoughtfully, “that men are true to their biology. They like to have their egos stroked. It’s their Achilles’ heel.”
A hint of a smile played at his mouth. “That may be true,” he acknowledged. “But Carello is not to be played with. His reputation precedes him. Get his agent to sign off, then leave him the hell alone.”
“I know that.” Irritation burrowed a bumpy red path beneath her skin. “That’s why I told him I had a boyfriend. Honestly, Nico, do you think I’m a total neophyte?”
“Sometimes I do, yes.”
She made a sound at the back of her throat. “Well, you can go home now. The show’s over. Your babysitting duties are officially done for the night.”
He nodded toward her glass. “Finish that and I’ll drive you home.”
Oh, no. She was not having him shepherd her home like some stray sheep who’d wandered into the wrong field. She had conquered tonight, and she was leaving under her own steam. Because, truthfully, all she wanted was a hot shower and her bed now that the world had blissfully right-sided