by Aster, Avery
“You and I are getting off to a bad start,” Massimo acknowledged. “It is a pleasure to meet such an accomplished designer. Please accept my apology and stay for dinner.”
“Huh?”
“We will discuss Easton Essentials over a nice meal.” His playful fingers touched hers, and Lex became compelled to jump in her Jimmy Choo’s. But she didn’t.
You’re finger fucking my palm. You hot pig. But she stood her ground.
He flirted with her to stay the night.
She wasn’t blind and she never played stupid.
What other option spoke to her? Get naked and jump into the pool with Luigi’s girls? Three against one, she didn’t have a chance. But the prince didn’t pay them much mind.
No matter. Lex must keep this professional. She couldn’t backstroke to Sicily.
“Fine, I’ll return to the villa. See you this evening.” It was difficult to take her eyes off him as she dipped her head in parting, letting his grip go.
“And, Signorina Easton, please dress for dinner.” His mouth twisted into a grin as he sized her up. Dropping the lingering towel, he leapt headfirst into the water. Massimo did a perfect dive, no splash, not even a ripple.
But his plunge wasn’t what impressed Lex.
Chapter Two
Donkey Booty al Dente
Who does she think she is, showing up during my holiday demanding a meeting? Massimo’s curiosity for Lex didn’t end after the poolside introduction. He’d spent the day wondering, thinking, imagining—who the hell is she? Why hadn’t he met her at other social events in Paris or Tokyo? Or heard about Signorina Easton—the fashion industry’s best kept secret—earlier?
Nevertheless the Girasoli Garment Company canceled the shipment and with good reason. His business moved in another direction.
Slipping on his jacquard dinner jacket with the Tittoni family crest decorating the right pocket, he strode along the long hall. As he came down the winding staircase, the American stood in the foyer.
Bella, bella, bella. Lex is gorgeous.
His guest straightened her shoulders the second she noticed him. She wore light gray pants hugging her in the right places. Her outfit illustrated a sexy silhouette created from his factories’ textiles. A loose fitting top concealed her long torso accompanied by a sheer navy pashmina.
Did she try to hide her body?
Curious earlier, he’d researched Lex online and found zilch. Tons of media coverage on the brand, fans of the line and happy retailer quotes, but nothing on the designer, he found that odd. He wanted to hear more about her.
“This is what you do with the fabrics we ship you?” He sighed. “I thought I told you to dress for dinner.” He looked down at her slacks, wanting to see her legs bare skinned.
“These pants are a bestseller. People love them as they make your waist and backside look smaller.” She smiled with pride, turning around to show him her buns.
“Grazie for the demonstration—very nice,” he complimented, and noted she had a nice ass. Massimo let his mind run for a second, imagining pulling down her slacks and spreading her legs apart. He’d much rather eat her for dinner versus the typical fish his chef prepared.
“Yes, and if this is inappropriate for dinner at your palace, I apologize. I didn’t pack with this intention, Your Majesty.” Her tone sounded triumphant, glad to have an excuse to defy him. Defiance looked good on her—confident.
The prince motioned her through the varnished double doors and to a long dining table, where he pulled out a heavy chair for her. Smelling kiwi from her wavy blonde hair when he leaned in to push her seat to the table’s edge, Massimo inhaled twice. Dolce.
Kiwi aromas reminded Massimo how much he loved the sweet woman scent. A lady’s locks fisted in his hands and sleeping on his pillow was what his bed had been missing.
She giggled when he scooted her chair in.
He was amazed she acted unfamiliar with a man’s courtesies. By her beauty, he’d concluded Lex kept many lovers in New York who spoiled her. Massimo hoped she wasn’t spoiled rotten.
He sat across from her facing the servant’s entrance and his guest. He wanted to see Lex, watch her and study her. She fascinated him. Using the miniature silver bell near his place setting, he rang for service.
“We are ready,” he commanded to Clara, a short, stout maid who’d been with his family since his birth.
She nodded and approached with a crystal water pitcher.
“Did your other guests go home?” Lex asked. Doe eyed, she presented surprise at being alone with him.
Massimo wished. He’d love to have this palace to himself with Lex. “No, they are here for the entire holiday.” He tried not to make his apathy known. “The ladies are with my business manager, Luigi. They are dining on the mezzanine level.”
“How many dining rooms does this palace have?” Her taupe eyebrows arched.
“Four.” He motioned around them. “I selected the smallest for us tonight in hopes we could get to know one another better—in private.”
“Oh.” Lex squirmed in her seat.
Massimo wondered if she was uncomfortable with becoming familiar.
Clara set a breadbasket between them. “Buon appetito.” Steam rose from beneath the tucked white napkin.
“Is your villa to your liking?”
“It’s beautiful.” She adjusted her chair. The pashmina slipped down her back, granting him a full cleavage view.
Bella. Nice ass and nice tits. Massimo admired her bare shoulders and full breasts. He noted her skin resembled fresh milk. He wanted to take each breast and cup them in his hands, sucking on one then the other. Then there was her face. Crystal green eyes sparkled as emeralds and the golden hair color, without doubt not from a bottle. He’d take her up to his room and show her how his holiday was meant to be spent if her inclinations were on par with his.
“Do you lift weights?”
“Ehh.” At once she pulled up the wrap. “I do. I also run,” she replied, sipping on her water. He could feel her restless leg jiggling under the table. Any discussion veering off the topic to obtaining the fabrics was going to test her patience.
“This week, you will enjoy using our palestra,” he hinted.
“Your gym?”
“We could lift together. A workout with you would be fun.” He’d push her muscles to the extreme. He pictured her glistening, hair wet, breathing heavy from a workout, ready for him to release her. Let’s get physical, bella.
Lex rested the glass near her plate and licked her lips. “Thank you for the invitation. But I’d rather work out alone or not work out at all. I wouldn’t be comfortable intruding on your gym time. I’m sure your poolside Polly’s would be happy to take my place.”
Ouch. American girls often judged his lifestyle. When he felt more under control, he spoke. “House of Tittoni ladies,” he lowered his voice, “do not work out. Not the way you do. They are Mediterranean. Women from these parts do not do cardio and by and large do not lift weights.”
“Uh huh!” She rapped her knuckles on the table, throwing him from his euphoric trance. “Shall we get down to business?”
Bah. If business talk was what she wanted, she’d get an earful. Massimo thought she should’ve brought her notebook to jot down the enterprise strategies he was going to unleash. He fought the urge to look her over with seduction and would take a serious approach to her. “Now, you are here to discuss my fabrics.”
“Yes, our fabrics.” Her face was proud. “Girasoli has been Easton’s supplier for two years. We buy from you twice a year, in the summer for the winter season and in the spring for the fall season.”
“Sì, and I appreciated your business.”
Lex shrugged in mock disapproval. “This is a fine way to show it. You know Girasoli remains the top factory in the world combining pearl latex and Italian silk together in a way which works with my patterns. It’s incomparable.”
“Grazie. But I cannot ship you the fabric,” he
grumbled. But other things he could do for her came to mind.
“Why not?”
Massimo sucked air through his teeth. How did she not already know? Girasoli sent certified letters. They replied to every email. The woman didn’t pay her bills. He was dumfounded by her audacity to show up at his private estate and act as his best customer. Lex Easton was indeed his worst customer. “You know already. All detailed in the letter I sent.”
“What letter? I never got it.”
“I checked. My records show someone at Easton, a Birdie, signed for it last week. The letter came by certified mail.”
She dropped her head in her hands and mumbled, “My mother.”
“Eh? Your madre works at Easton—with you?”
“Yes.”
“A famiglia owned and operated company is admirable.” Massimo became fascinated to see how the Easton’s were doing with their finances. She’d failed to pay her invoices.
“But it makes no difference to you.”
“Afraid not.” Massimo maintained his position.
“Incredible. I sent you my deposit two months ago. I thought the fabric would be coming.” Her fingers fluttered to her nape.
“Easton’s check was received,” he confirmed. “But it bounced. My accountant tried to process your American Express we have on file and it also—declined. I’m afraid the payment decline releases me from responsibility.” Massimo took the breadbasket and offered her a piece.
She refused.
Tearing the pastry apart with both hands, he waited for her answer as to Easton’s inability to make good.
“I didn’t know—you should’ve called and told me.”
Do not play your blame game with me, Signorina. His response was factual. “The Girasoli Garment Company is over one hundred years in business. We have a reputation built on good clients who pay on time. We are not responsible for balancing your finances.”
Unable to face him, she caught her breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know the check bounced. Birdie handles the bookkeeping.”
“It is—how do you say in English—water under the bridge now. Sì?”
“No, I don’t sì. I need those fabrics. There is no water under this bridge. I’ll have Birdie wire money into your account first thing tomorrow morning. Girasoli can move forward with the shipment.”
“We are past this. Girasoli is launching our own shapewear line. We—”
Interrupting Lex snapped, “What?” Stressed fingers pushed to her temples to retain the notion in her mind, framing her editorial worthy face into a kissable portrait.
“This will be our first consumer brand. We are shifting the private label focus and moving into producing our own fashions.”
“Ohhh god! You can’t be serious. How can you do this—to me?” Her perfect mouth rounded in shock and dismay as she muttered a few vulgarities.
“It’s business, nothing personale.” Maybe he could have something personal with her since they’d be ending their professional dealings. “Girasoli would view further distribution to Easton a conflict.”
“You—” Lex stopped as Clara entered with the salads.
“Sale fino?”
“No salt or seasonings, thank you.” Lex struggled to make eye contact with him.
“No, grazie,” he thanked Clara. Watching as Lex gripped her goblet, unsure if the water inside would end up on his face. He was ready, in case.
Her eye followed Clara as she left the room then she turned her attention back to Massimo. “You’re planning to compete with me!” Lex fumed.
My my my. “Last year, your sales skyrocketed from ten million dollars to sixty million in twelve months. When you failed to make the payment, it broke the contract’s terms, and we figured we may as well step up and create our own line.”
“You are serious. Ohhh Jesus.”
“I’m serious but not ruthless. I would not call it competition. We are expanding the category Easton occupies,” he coaxed, hoping he could offer her some peace.
“How so?”
“We are taking the shapewear and apparel and making it more obtainable. We will be selling the new collection to numerous retail channels in Europe, the Middle East, Asia, as well as in the United States.”
The sudden hurt in her eyes to his words troubled him. He knew this was not welcome news. But she would find another supplier and carry on. Entrepreneurs with her determination always did. He bit into a salted red beet and swallowed. The earthy taste soothed his sudden discomfort.
“But there’s a no compete clause in the contract,” she cried out. Shaking her head, not accepting the truth, she continued, “It states you can’t supply to a competing brand in contemporary, premier designer, active apparel, shapewear, or women’s sportswear.” She rattled off the categories as if she memorized the document.
He was impressed but wondered if she’d read the agreement’s fine print. “Girasoli is not delivering to a competing brand. We are equipping ourselves. And now with Easton’s payment default, the exit clause is accelerated.”
“What section? What are you talking about?” she asked. Her gem hued eyes narrowed into slits. She became sexy when mad and was getting sexier by the second.
“The termination paragraph states failure to pay will result in our agreement ending, which expires tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” The flittering lashes shadowed her rosy cheeks and flew up with a dramatic allure, one he didn’t expect.
“We assumed you are here, interrupting our holiday, due to the deadline.” Massimo gave her props for her timeliness.
She stared at him, her face blank as to the article he mentioned. “Wh-wha—” Lex stuttered.
“Our exclusive agreement ran for twenty four months,” he warned. Massimo sipped his water, hating to see her strain. Poor bella.
Lex studied his lips as her eyes were in a daze, resting her view on his mouth.
Did she want him as he wanted her? Or maybe she would scream in frustration over her sharp tongue’s inability to construct a single sentence.
“Fuck this. I can’t believe you! Fuuuck.” Lex cursed, confirming there was no lustful daze but boiling rage imploded.
Bella, vulgarity does not suit you. Massimo thought back and revealed, “We did not know when you placed the order two years ago the textiles would become such a success. What you have done is commendable. Above all, considering how naïve you are to the business world.”
Redness spotted Lex’s neck as she huffed, “I’m not naïve. We have Brill, Inc., the number one fashion PR firm in the biz, working with us.” She dropped her salad fork.
He hoped she wouldn’t pick up her steak knife. “Lex—”
She interrupted, “Every fashion magazine editor in New York, London and Paris wears Easton Essentials, and they love my designs.” Her eyes met his, curling her pink lips to a devil’s grimace. She made a point. Easton’s platform built on publicity, not advertising—every sale came from client satisfaction. An Oz designer behind the fashion curtain, there were no reality TV stars or celebrity personalities pushing her brand. Girasoli Garment Company’s research on Easton proved as much. He wished they would’ve given him Lex’s bio in addition to the brand’s financial profile. Massimo knew nothing about her.
Massimo speculated she found a perverse pleasure in challenging him. He estimated she made her men lie on their backs while she rode them to ejaculation. He hoped in multiples. Massimo guessed she had a tight pussy, allowing her lovers to climax when she deemed fit and not a moment sooner. Lex’s pussy would suit her mouth.
“My press reviews will be outstanding also. There is room enough for both Easton and Girasoli in this marketplace.”
“I’ll sue you if I have to.” She glared at him with burning eyes and threatened, “Let’s go to court. Girasoli doesn’t stand a chance.”
He about choked. Massimo heard the word “sue” and realized he sat with an American.
The United States of America, otherwise known as the sue-happ
y nation, a place where legal action became a celebrated sport. No wonder she didn’t agree to a work out with him. She’d rather litigate.
Easton may smear Girasoli in the press. Lex could destroy his current business-to-business supplier company and any hopes for starting his consumer brand.
The last time Massimo and the judge saw eye to eye was a decade ago when his father had embezzled his savings and family inheritance. That was back when Massimo gave up his rights to become king. He’d much rather have the publicity focus on his lifestyle—creating fictitious rumors—versus his business affairs, which may run the truth for a change.
Easton would bring to the surface Tittoni’s legal skeletons he’d worked hard to bury.
“Mi scusi?” Massimo sighed. His flesh itched as he struggled not to kick the table. Don’t do this, bella.
She leaned forward, issuing him a smile. A glossy, near perfect, white beam—one which uttered something a Manhattanite would threaten. “You heard me!”
Chapter Three
Divine Secrets of a Fashionista
Stay calm. Do not flip the table. Dropping his chin, he extended Lex his full attention. “For what? Not sending fabric to a company which can no longer afford them?” This blonde girl became unbelievable. He’d be happy to give her the keys to his yacht. She could sail her sweet kiwi smelling self back to Sicily by herself, tonight.
“I don’t think you ever deposited Easton’s check or ran my credit card.”
Massimo tucked his hands into his pockets and corrected, “The certified letter included a returned check copy from our bank as well as a credit slip for the authorization’s decline. You have no grounds to sue—no grounds. Niente.”
“You’ve stolen my ideas and are now preventing me from doing business.”
Massimo defended, “My lawyers will tie you up in court. You will never get another fashion show off the ground, let alone an entire collection.” He did not care to play hardball, not with a woman. Preferring she’d back down, disappear, it would make life easier and benefit his company. He reached for the chilled Bellini pitcher from the bullion ice bucket and held it up to Lex’s flute.
