by Me, Tara Sue
“I can tell you now what makes him tick,” I said. “First and foremost, he’s a player. He likes easy women.”
“A player?” Zach asked, his tone insinuating my statement was almost the craziest thing he’d ever heard. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same guy?”
“I can’t imagine there are two men named Lucrezio Botticelli who happen to be famous fashion designers.”
“I’m sure you’re right, which means I’m not certain who or where you got your information, but it’s wrong.”
Zach spoke with a confidence that nearly made me question myself. Especially when I paired it with the knowledge that he was rarely wrong about these things. But the truth of it was, in this case, I was the one who was right. After all, I was speaking from experience.
If I needed proof, all I had to do was recall the short amount of time it took for him to invite me to his room the night before. Not that I minded in fact just the opposite. I wanted to go to his room, and had never been happier that he was a player, because I knew he’d make my time worthwhile. Had he not pissed me off by refusing to shut the hell up the multiple times I’d asked, I know the night would have been spectacular.
If I told Zach that I knew Luca personally, there was a possibility he’d remove me from the assignment. But it was hard to know with any certainty how he’d react or what he’d do. He could just as easily say my relationship would offer additional insights. Probably for the best to keep that information in my back pocket for the time being.
As I was thinking of the best way to reply, an idea came to mind. If I took this assignment, and from the looks of it, I really had little choice about the whole thing, I could paint Luca in any light I wanted. He might have lulled people into believing he was something he wasn’t, but I could make those same people believe anything I wanted them to about him.
“I guess I’ll be able to find out for certain, won’t I?” I said in response to his earlier statement about my information being wrong. I didn’t follow up that I didn’t get my information on Luca being a player from any person or any other type of source, but that it was based on personal experience. Hell, I’d only recently told Mia about him, I wasn’t about to go yelling it to the entire world. Nor was I about to tell him or anyone else who didn’t already know that I’d had a date with him the night before.
“Does that mean you’re going to take the assignment?” he asked.
“Do I have a choice?” I replied instead of giving a yes or no answer.
Zach frowned. “You always have a choice, Wren. I might be disappointed if you didn’t want to do it, because I think you’re the best writer I have for this story, but I’d reassign it to someone else if you were opposed for a particular reason.”
I translated that to mean I didn’t have to accept, but that if I didn’t, he’d more than likely give me crap assignments for the next year.
“So when does this whole deal start?” I asked.
Zach picked up a few sheets of paper from his desk, stacked them together in a pile, and handed them to me. “Here’s what the travel agency pulled together for you. It’s an itinerary, subject to change, of course, and the information we sent to Mr. Botticelli’s personal assistant, so she’d know what our plans were for the article and the travel situation. It doesn’t have your information listed yet because I wanted to talk to you before sending anything over to their office. Also, now that I’ve talked with you, and you’ve agreed to take the assignment, I’ll have the agency get the travel arrangements made.”
He paused for a second. Was he expecting me to read all the information right then and there? I glanced at the pile of papers because he still hadn’t answered my question. There were no dates whatsoever listed, at least on the top page. Thinking back to the night before and the time I’d spent with Luca, had he mentioned anything about when he’d be leaving Boston, and if he’d be going back to Italy when he left? I couldn’t remember that he had.
“As for when the assignment starts,” Zach said, finally getting around to what I’d asked in the first place. “Mr. Botticelli is leaving Boston and the US in two days. You need to go with him, so I’m afraid that doesn’t give you much time to pack or prepare. I hope that isn’t a problem for you? I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more time. Everything came down from upper management so quickly…”
He didn’t have to say anything else, because with those few words, I knew exactly why I’d been the one chosen for the assignment. I was single, with no significant other, no steady date, no children, no commitments to anything outside of work. Zach had just got out of his mouth it was a last minute request from the men upstairs.
And what do you do with a last minute assignment that involves a lot of travel?
You give it to Wren. She has nothing better to do, anyway.
I decided, standing there in front of Zach. I’d do the piece on Luca, but it would be the last thing I wrote. Life was too short to spend it doing something you just fell into. I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted to do, but I knew I’d spent enough time mourning a dream that would never happen. It was time to move on.
Chapter 11
Luca
I checked my watch again, wondering why I thought it’d been a good idea to agree to a local magazine’s request for one of their writers to travel with me and cover my relocation to the States. Then I remembered. Oh right, the request had come through the morning after Wren left. I’d had a hangover from hell, thanks to the copious amount of alcohol I’d downed the night before in my unsuccessful attempt to numb the pain of Wren walking away from me.
Actually, the more I thought about it, I wasn’t sure I’d agreed necessarily, but rather my reply had been, “Sure, why the hell not?”
Sober and no longer hungover, I was pissed at the situation. Not that I had anyone to blame other than myself. I was the one who drank too much and therefore brought on the hangover. It was me who insisted on answering my phone instead of allowing Carmella to handle everything. One positive thing about the flight back to Italy was that Carmella wouldn’t be on board. I’d asked her to remain in Boston to work on the administrative tasks that needed completing.
I arrived at the private airstrip early. Though I was ready, no one else appeared to be. It didn’t take long for me to determine that because my mood was so foul, I had no business being in anyone’s company. I acknowledged as much and confined myself to the back of the plane where I could wait alone and hopefully no one would bother me. I didn’t care about being polite or welcoming whatever poor sod got roped into covering me. From the way it sounded, we’d have plenty of bonding time during the next few days.
It wasn’t normal for me to be in such a horrible disposition. I chalked it up to the bad way I’d handled my second chance with Wren, and how I’d pretty much ensured she’d never want to see me again. She hadn’t merely walked out of my life this time, I’d all but shoved her out the door by not abiding by her wishes.
My plan to hide away in the back of the plane worked beautifully because other than one of the flight attendants, Brigitta, who stopped by only long enough to ensure I was ready for takeoff, no one came near me. I assumed word of my less than pleasant disposition had spread. Though I heard chatter from the front of the plane, I remained alone in my self imposed isolation.
I’d known the isolation wouldn’t last long. Not since Brigitta was working. I’d traveled more in the past four months than I had in the four years prior. When you travel that frequently, you get to know people.
Brigitta worked for the company I contracted with for private flights. We’d often chat whenever time allowed during a flight. She was from England and as we spoke and got to know each other, I’d learned she had an impressive background. I’d asked her what it was about her current job she liked, because I couldn’t see her working as a flight attendant for the span of her career.
She’d laughed and said each flight with client was an educational experience. I didn’t push, but I had a feelin
g there was more below the surface she wasn’t ready to reveal to anyone just yet.
As expected, Brigitta made her way back to my section of the plane about twenty minutes after we took off. She sat down in the captain’s chair beside me with a smile and a nod.
“Word from the flight crew is you’re in somewhat of a mood,” she said.
“That certainly explains why you’re back here,” I replied, knowing I could get away with teasing her.
She rolled her eyes. “I thought you’d at least come and introduce yourself to your new charge, the journalist.”
“If I am in somewhat of a mood,” I said. “Then it’s probably for the best that I don’t meet them right this minute. I’m sure I’ll feel more like myself after I decompress for a bit. I’ll go introduce myself in an hour or so.”
Brigitta stood up. “I’ll let you rest then. Do you need anything?”
“If you could see to it that I’m not disturbed, I’d appreciate it.”
She nodded and left.
I kept to myself in the back of the plane for most of the flight, and most of it, I’d spent asleep. I’d never functioned well traveling internationally, and this trip hadn’t been any different. Unfortunately, my calendar for the week ahead promised little recuperation time. Nearly every day held multiple meetings requiring my attendance.
The most important thing I could do was to stay sober. An action I told myself wouldn’t be hard to accomplish since Wren would be on the other side of the world. Though I’d been known to overindulge, albeit most of those times were years ago, the only times I’d ever been drunk off my ass were because of Wren.
I awoke and discovered there were another two hours before we landed. Feeling more rested and in a much better mood, I drank some water and freshened up in the bathroom. Then, deciding there was no better time than the present, and finding no reason to delay the inevitable, I made my way toward the front of the plane.
May, the woman helping in Carmella’s absence, lounged on a love seat with papers scattered a table in front of her. For her sake, I hoped the plane didn’t hit any pockets of turbulence or else it would not be a good day for her.
Two junior assistants, Richard and Wayne, sat on the love seat opposite May’s. They both had laptops out and headphones on.
All three of them appeared to be busy, and I didn’t want to interrupt. Besides, they weren’t my focus for the moment. Brigitta stood nearby, ready to offer assistance if needed. She glanced up, her eyes questioning if I needed anything. I gave my head a quick shake. In front of the pair of love seats were two rows of captain's chairs, much like the ones in the back where I’d sequestered myself.
Only one seat was occupied. A woman, based on the long hair the color I’d heard described as dirty blond before. As one who spent much of his life dealing and working with color, I’d always thought of dirty blond as an absolutely horrid way to describe someone’s hair. It made it sound unkempt and, well, dirty. Ash blond wasn’t much of an improvement to my mind. Golden blond, honey blond, even bronzed or umber blonde sounded better.
Whatever color you wanted to call it, the woman with the brownish blond hair was asleep based on the way her head leaned to one side. I probably should have shoved my foul mood aside earlier when she boarded and introduced myself. Now I just felt like the ass I knew I was.
“She hasn’t been out for very long,” Brigitta said, as if that gave me permission to wake her up.
“That’s okay,” I said. “Let her rest. I’ll sit up here.” And try to think of an appropriate way to apologize, I added in my head.
I decided against taking a seat in the same section she was sitting in and instead sat across the aisle from where she slept. From the corner of my eye, I saw Brigitta turn to answer a question from May.
I tried to think about the week before me and everything I had to take care of, but my gaze kept returning to the sleeping woman across the aisle from me. The more I looked at the back of her head, the more it seemed familiar. But I didn’t see how that was possible. It wasn’t as if I spent a lot of time looking at the back of people’s heads, after all.
Funny. I’d assumed the reporter sent to shadow me would be a male. I’m not sure why I made that assumption, but whenever I envisioned someone following me around for the next few days, it was always a man I pictured.
It was the color, I finally decided, after looking at the back of the reporter's hair. It was the same as Wren’s. Satisfied there was nothing more than hair color striking me as familiar about the reporter, I settled in my seat, preparing to wait until the reporter woke up.
Chapter 12
Wren
Thank goodness Luca thought I was sleeping. I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to pretend I was napping, or even if I should continue the ruse. Maybe the best thing to do would be to confront Luca and demand he have the plane turn around and return to Boston. I didn’t care how much Zach tried to pressure me into taking this assignment, I’d have never in a million years agreed to it if I’d known Carmella was in any way currently associated with Luca.
We’d just boarded the plane and while we waited for the final preparations to be made, I’d listlessly scrolled to the bottom of the email detailing my travel arrangements. That’s when I spotted her name.
I knew Carmella from my last trip to Italy. She’d worked for him then and to say she didn’t care for me was putting it mildly. Carmella had disliked me from the moment she spied me having a drink with Luca on the day I arrived. At the time, I couldn’t understand her disdain, and assumed I’d done something wrong. But as Luca and I grew closer, and the days went on, I realized what her problem was. She wanted Luca for herself. I could have been anyone, and she’d have hated me.
I kept my head turned away from Luca as I went through my options. Unfortunately, getting the plane to turn around and return to Boston wasn’t plausible. Neither was flying back once we made it to our location. Now that I’d had over ten seconds to think about the situation, I realized that just seeing her name at the bottom of an email didn’t mean anything. Five years ago, she’d been his constant shadow whenever she could find him. Obviously, things had changed. At least the bitch wasn’t on the plane.
And when I said “bitch” it was with massive apologies to all female dogs.
I wasn’t sure if Luca knew who I was. Zach had never told me who his point person was, so while I knew someone on his team knew my name, I could only assume it wasn’t him.
And since I’d mentioned his name in my head, it was probably time to pretend like I was waking up. Better to let Luca realize who would follow him around sooner, rather than later. And it was already late enough. I’d been peeved when I realized he was staying in the back of the plane by himself. Then I’d heard mumbles about his mood and how it was a bad one.
I’d never been around Luca when he’d been in a foul mood. But from what I could tell by listening to the staff members traveling with them, it wasn’t a pleasant experience. When one guy noticed me eavesdropping, he was quick to add that it was a good thing it didn’t happen all that often.
I gave a half yawn and stretched a bit, not sure my performance was all that believable, but it was the best I could come up with on short notice. Acting was never one of my strengths. Most of the time, whatever I thought was plastered all over my face.
I shifted my seat back from being reclined to a more upright position. Only then did I very slowly look around the cabin, leaving the side where I assumed Luca sat for last. Whether I’d be met with resigned acceptance or complete disbelief, I wasn’t sure.
As he came into view, his jaw dropped and he looked like he’d seen a ghost. Complete disbelief it was. Honestly, if I’d wagered a bet of which of the two reactions it’d have been, resigned acceptance would have won my vote. I’d assumed he’d been made aware of who I was, and I caused his foul mood. That just goes to show you how consumed we all are about ourselves and how we assume everything has to do with us. Like I was the only t
hing in the world able to make Luca be in a foul mood. Surely that honor could be claimed by many people.
I lifted my lips in a slight grin. From all appearances, he was still trying to wrap his head around the fact I’d been the one assigned to him.
“Hello, Luca,” I said, because it became clear very quickly he wouldn’t talk first. “Small world, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer my question, instead he replied, “I thought they’d assign a guy to me.”
Not missing a beat, I quipped back, “Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me. Is that going to be an issue for you? Because I doubt we’d be able to make it back to Boston on the gas that’s left in the plane.”
“No,” he said, but I got the idea he was trying to convince himself more than he was replying to me. “I didn’t know you were a reporter. That wasn’t what I thought you’d be doing.”
“It’s not exactly what I thought I’d be doing, either. So I guess that makes two of us.”
I was pretty certain there’d be no need for me to explain why I was a reporter rather than the dancer I was sure he thought I’d be. He had seen the scars on my legs and probably knew with only one glance they were nowhere near as strong or muscular as they’d been five years ago.
“How long have you been a reporter?” he asked.
It was the exact question I’d wanted to avoid when I’d been in his hotel room not too long ago. Unlike that night, however, I had nowhere to go while stuck on a plane.
I matched his stare and refused to waver. “Going on five years.”
“You’re not a dancer?”
If there was a question I hated more, I wasn’t sure what it could be. Wasn’t it obvious I wasn’t a dancer? Part of me wanted to claim that of course I was a dancer. Once a dancer, always a dancer, and all that jazz. But the bigger part of me accepted that in order to be considered a dancer, one had to dance.
