by Pamela Yaye
“No thanks, I’m good. Don’t bother.”
“I should have known you worked in the fashion industry,” he said, his gaze sliding down her physique. “You’re stunning, and you have a great sense of style, not to mention a unique, eye-catching look.”
Zoe didn’t respond, searched the streets once again for a taxicab. Romeo was buttering her up, trying to sweet-talk her because he felt guilty about the accident, but it wasn’t going to work. Immune to his charms, she gave him her back.
Undeterred, Romeo stepped forward, moved in so close, Zoe could smell his minty-fresh breath. Her mind went blank and her senses spun. They were standing side by side now, shoulder to shoulder, and for the second time in minutes, Zoe inhaled sharply.
“You speak Italian very well,” Romeo said, his tone filled with awe. “How did you learn the language?”
Doesn’t he have somewhere to be? His office? A meeting? On his private jet with a bevy of supermodels? Zoe told herself to be nice and forced a smile on her lips. “I took Italian in high school and throughout university, so I had a good handle on the language before I moved to Milan.”
Annoyed that her favorite pair of sunglasses had been destroyed in the accident, she shielded her eyes from the sun with her hands. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue, the breeze was warm, and a delicious scent wafted out of the bakery, eliciting groans from her stomach. Zoe thought of going inside the shop to grab a bite to eat, but decided against it. She was pressed for time, and she feared Romeo Morretti would follow her inside if she did. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with him in a cozy, intimate setting. He made her jittery, and there was no telling what would happen if he touched her again.
“I feel horrible about the accident, and I want to make it up to you.”
Zoe didn’t answer, hoping that if she stayed quiet, he’d take the hint and go away.
“I’d like to take you out for dinner tonight at Dolce Vita Milan,” he said.
His broad smile revealed straight, blinding white teeth and dimples in each cheek. He was a pretty boy who was used to getting his way, and although he wasn’t her type, Zoe had to admit that Romeo was one fine-looking man. A handful, too, according to her favorite blog. Every week, there was a story about him hooking up with an Italian actress or model. Zoe didn’t doubt it. He had a devilish expression on his face, as if he was cooking up mischief, and Zoe suspected this was his MO—flash a wink and a smile, then pour on the charm. She made up her mind not to be his next victim. Dubbed Diavolo Sexy by the local press, which meant sexy devil in Italian, Romeo could have any woman he wanted, and Zoe didn’t doubt that he had.
“Put your number in my phone,” he instructed, taking his cell out of his back pocket and offering it to her. “I’ll call you this afternoon so we can hook up.”
Zoe narrowed her eyes. Hook up? After five minutes of conversation? Boy, bye!
Disgust must have shown on her face, because Romeo wore an apologetic smile and brushed his fingertips against her forearm.
“What is it, bellissima? You look upset. Did I say something wrong?”
Beautiful? Overcome by his close proximity, Zoe dodged his sexy, steely stare. Romeo thinks I’m beautiful? Goose bumps flooded her skin. Feeling out of sorts, as if a shy, flustered teenager had suddenly inhabited her body, her mouth dried and her heart beat in triple time. “You don’t have to buy me dinner. It was an accident, and since the police said I’m to blame, you don’t owe me anything.”
“I’d still like to take you out tonight. I love being in the presence of smart, accomplished women. I think we’ll have a great time together at Dolce Vita Milan.”
Swallowing hard, Zoe fingered the gold pendant at her neck. “Thanks, but no thanks,” she said, still convinced he was up to something. “We’re strangers, and—”
“That’s why I want us to have dinner. We’ll have a nice meal, a bottle of your favorite wine, and get to know each other better. Doesn’t that sound like fun, Zoe?”
Romeo licked his lips with such finesse her skin tingled. It was a struggle, but Zoe maintained her composure, didn’t wither under the intensity of his dark, smoldering gaze.
“I can’t. I have a work function to attend.”
“I understand. No problem. We can have dinner tomorrow night. Same time and place.”
Zoe shook her head. “I have plans with friends.”
“Cancel them.” Glancing around, he lowered his face to hers and spoke in a quiet voice. “We need to get our stories straight about the accident. I don’t want any surprises.”
His words didn’t register. “I don’t understand.”
“I think you do, but we can discuss the details tomorrow night at dinner.”
A taxicab stopped at the curb, and Zoe sighed in relief. “I have to go.”
“Not so fast.” Romeo put his hand on the passenger side door, thwarting her escape. “You still haven’t given me your cell number. How am I supposed to finalize our plans if I don’t know how to reach you?”
Zoe couldn’t believe his nerve. Who does he think he is? My man? The time for being nice was over. It was time to make herself crystal clear. “We’re not having dinner tomorrow night or any other night. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”
He looked shell-shocked, like a survivor stumbling off a shipwrecked boat. Zoe suspected a woman had never told him no before. Proud of herself for not falling victim to his charms, she gestured to the door and smiled her thanks when he reluctantly opened it.
“Zoe, please, reconsider meeting with me. I know we can work something out.”
“There’s nothing to reconsider.”
To her surprise, Romeo reached into his pocket, took out his wallet and handed the driver several dollar bills. Lowering his head through the open window, his cologne engulfing the compact car, he spoke to the driver in Italian.
His words made her heart smile. Take this beautiful woman anywhere she wants to go. Zoe couldn’t deny it, the man had a way with words. Romeo straightened to his full height, and watching him made her pulse race. He waved at her, but Zoe dropped her gaze to her lap. Since Zoe didn’t want to encourage Romeo’s advances, she told the taxi driver to step on it.
Chapter 3
On the outside, Casa Di Moda headquarters in the Milan city center was nothing special, but Zoe called the two-story property her second home. Housed in a brown brick building, with the name of the fashion house written on the windows in fine script, the decor was clean and simple.
Breezing through the front door, Zoe smiled and waved at her colleagues. The interior had bright colors, scrumptious chairs and couches, and vintage mirrors throughout the main floor. Oversize photographs of ad campaigns and fashion shows beautified the walls, and as Zoe entered the reception area, the tranquil atmosphere calmed her nerves. Despite the pain in her ankle, she moved with confidence.
The December program she’d created for Casa Di Moda was packed with creative holiday events, and Zoe was confident her boss would love it, especially the Men of Milan calendar. The idea had come to her days earlier after a loud, spirited conversation with her girlfriends on FaceChat, and Zoe couldn’t wait to pitch it at the morning staff meeting.
Reaching the conference room door, she smoothed her hands over her braids and the front of her dress. It had been one hell of a morning, but her day was about to get better. Excitement coursed through her veins. Cha-ching! Zoe had big plans for her bonus. After she paid her bills and bought her plane ticket to New York, she’d donate the rest of the money to her favorite charity. Last year, she’d organized a Christmas toy drive at the office, and it had been a success. This year, Zoe planned to do more.
For some strange reason, an image of Romeo Morretti popped into her mind, derailing her thoughts. She’d done nothing wrong, so why did she feel guilty about turning down his
dinner invitation? Zoe had a bad feeling about him, just knew that he was as cocky as the tabloids said he was, so why did she regret not giving him her cell phone number? Had she made a mistake? During the taxicab ride, she’d read several articles about him on her tablet, and each story was more shocking than the one before. Born into one of the richest families in the country, Romeo had been educated in the finest schools and lived a life most people could only dream of. He owned real estate properties, premier restaurants, spas and fitness centers. Eight years after opening his company, Morretti Finance and Investments, his personal net worth had tripled. Not that Zoe was impressed by his staggering wealth. The most interesting thing she’d read about the brilliant businessman had nothing to do with his flamboyant lifestyle and celebrity friends. Every year, he donated millions of dollars to charity and even fed the homeless. Maybe he’s more than just a bad-boy bachelor, she’d thought, staring at the images taken of him at local hospitals and orphanages. Maybe he has a heart.
Zoe shook her head to clear her mind. It didn’t matter what she thought. She didn’t have time to daydream about a man she’d never see again. She was late, and since every second counted, she gripped the door handle, turned it and peeked inside the conference room.
The blinds were drawn, allowing sunlight to fill the room, and decorative vases overflowing with peach and orange roses sweetened the air. Decorated in white with floor-to-ceiling windows, leather armchairs and contemporary art, the conference room was spacious and attractive. Fruit and pastry trays were on the table, and Zoe’s mouth watered in anticipation.
Sighing in relief, Zoe eased open the door. Thankfully, Aurora had her back to the door and was furiously writing notes on the Smart Board. Her husband, Davide, was staring down at his iPad. With his clean-cut looks and salt-and-pepper hair, the executive vice president often joked about feeling old. But he had a youthful air, and everyone on staff loved him.
“Come here,” Jiovanni mouthed. “I saved you a seat. Hurry up.”
Hoping to go unnoticed, Zoe tiptoed across the room. The moment she sat down in the empty chair beside Jiovanni, Aurora called her name.
“Zoe, how nice of you to join us,” she said, glancing over shoulder. “I hope my weekly staff meeting isn’t interrupting your very busy schedule.”
Her cheeks warmed and her stomach churned. Embarrassed that her boss was taking her to task in front of her colleagues, Zoe wore an apologetic smile. “Sorry I’m late Aurora, but I was in a—”
The designer spun around, startling her, and Zoe broke off speaking.
“Save it for someone who cares. We have work to do, and lots of it.”
Feeling her mouth drop open, she stared at her boss with wide eyes. Aurora never raised her voice, let alone yelled at her, so Zoe was shocked by her tone. The designer wasn’t just her boss, she was also a good friend, and her stinging retort hurt her feelings.
Aurora fussed with her multicolored scarf. Petite, with a brown pixie cut, olive skin and a slender frame, she had perfect posture and impeccable manners. “Zoe, I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Sniffing, she dabbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “The last few weeks have been a nightmare...”
Her voice faltered, and she couldn’t finish her thought.
Zoe straightened in her chair, tried to make sense of what was going on with her boss. Was Aurora having a mental breakdown? she wondered, scrutinizing the designer’s appearance. Dark lines rimmed her eyes, but her black A-line dress complemented her shape, and the leopard-print heels she wore elongated her legs. Were the late nights, and early mornings, finally getting to her? Was she so overwhelmed with stress and fatigue she couldn’t function?
Rising from his leather chair at the head of the table, Davide stood behind his wife and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Casa Di Moda is in trouble, and we need your help.”
“What are you saying?” a graphic designer asked. “Is the company broke?”
Davide spoke in a solemn tone of voice. “No, but if we don’t turn things around in the next three months, we’ll have no choice but to file for bankruptcy.”
The room was so quiet, Zoe could hear her heart beating inside her chest. Was this a joke? A trick? She wondered if the powerhouse couple were pulling her leg, and studied their faces for clues. They looked serious, sounded serious, too, but Casa Di Moda couldn’t be in financial trouble. The line was popular; celebrities wore their designs to award shows, movie premieres and industry events. They’d recently landed a multiyear contract with an international film company to design costumes.
“That’s impossible,” Jiovanni argued, his short black curls flopping around his face. “We signed several deals this year, and high-end boutiques in Montreal, Dubai and Paris are chomping at the bit to carry our gowns as well.”
Jiovanni had a fun-loving personality, an outrageous sense of humor and an infectious laugh. He loved fine wine, Italian rap music, and had a different woman on his arm every week. He liked to joke about marrying her one day, but he was the big brother Zoe never had, and she’d never ruin their friendship by getting involved romantically with him.
“The film company backed out of the deal weeks ago, but we didn’t know how to tell you.” Davide wore a sad smile. “You worked hard on the presentation, and we didn’t want to disappoint you, especially after everything you’ve done over the years to help the line succeed.”
“How could this happen? We’ve given our blood, sweat and tears to this company for years, and now we have nothing to show for it,” grumbled the creative director.
“Casa Di Moda isn’t the only company feeling the pinch,” Aurora said. “People aren’t splurging on designer labels like they used to, and according to official figures, clothing, shoes and jewelry fell another eighteen percent over the last nine months.”
“Households are under increasing pressure as they wrestle with rising living costs,” Davide added. “There’s a lot of fear and uncertainty in the world right now. Consumers are being very conservative with their money, even the rich and famous.”
Staff members grumbled and complained, bombarding Aurora and Davide with questions and concerns. Zoe couldn’t speak. This couldn’t be happening. Not to Aurora and Davide. They had big hearts, and she admired their tireless work ethic. Married for over a decade, the couple had no children, but referred to Casa Di Moda as their baby and treated everyone at the company like family. It was hard to listen to her colleagues bash them, but every time Zoe tried to come to the couple’s defense, someone interrupted her.
“Everyone, please settle down. I’m still the boss, and I won’t tolerate this kind of behavior at my company. If you can’t be respectful, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
Silence fell across the room as Aurora spoke, but tension and anger polluted the air.
“It will be business as usual around here during the holidays, but Davide and I will be away from the office a fair bit, so we’ll need all of you to hold the fort while we’re aggressively seeking new investors who’ll help us take Casa Di Moda to the next level.”
An associate designer raised her hand. “Are you planning to file for bankruptcy in the new year? Should we be looking for other jobs?”
Aurora stared down at the beige carpet, as if the answer to the question were written there. “I don’t know,” she said in a quiet tone of voice.
“Let’s not dwell on the negative.” Davide wore a broad smile. “Tonight’s the premiere of Amore in Tuscany, and we expect to see all of you at Anteo spazioCinema. You can’t get in the theater without your VIP pass, so guard it with your life.”
For weeks, Zoe had been looking forward to the movie premiere, but Aurora and Davide’s announcement had soured her mood. Casa Di Moda collaborated with several European directors to design movie sets and costumes, and the success of the film could mean more business for the company. Since Zoe wanted to s
ee the fashion house succeed, she’d post about the event again on her social media pages once she got to her office.
“One last thing,” Aurora said, raising an index finger in the air. “If you have any ideas on how to help us turn things around and increase sales, please don’t hesitate to share them with us. Speak up. We want to hear from you.”
“I know a surefire way to boost sales and increase our popularity as well.”
Everyone in the room cranked their heads in Zoe’s direction but she wasn’t at all intimidated. She had this. Knew what she was talking about. Had the numbers to support her argument. And she was excited to share her knowledge with her colleagues.
“You do?” Interest sparked in Davide’s eyes.
“Well, don’t keep us in the dark.” Aurora spoke in a loud, animated voice. “What is it? What’s your brilliant idea for saving Casa Di Moda?”
“Create a plus-size line for curvy women.”
A scowl darkened Davide’s face, and the smile slid off Aurora’s thin pink lips.
“I don’t design clothes for big girls,” she spat. “And I never will.”
“Why not?” Zoe pressed, curious why her boss had shot down her idea. “According to published reports, the average woman in the United Kingdom is a size fourteen, and I think it’s high time we tap into that underserved and unappreciated market.”
“We will not. I style women from size zero to size eight, and that’s it.”
“But women don’t stop at size eight,” Zoe argued. “We come in all shapes and sizes. As a woman with curves, I know firsthand how stressful it is to find attractive designer clothes in Milan. And from what I hear on social media, it’s an issue all across Europe.”
Aurora inspected her French manicure. “That’s not my problem.”
