Paolo’s sense of humor annoyed most of his employees, for the simple reason that he turned it on and off, like a water faucet. Those who knew him or believed they did left him alone until spoken to. Paolo’s ability to focus on a problem was so intense, he was often found at his desk staring into space. The uncanny look in his eyes bewildered those who happened to witness it. He played chess in his mind, moving the game pieces quietly. He manipulated business solutions, at times using his gift for his advantage.
Rebecca, his trusted long-time secretary, entered his office and placed a document on his desk.
“Paolo, here is the deed to the Gold Building. Do you want me to put it in the safe or will you take care of it?”
Paolo picked up the document. “I’ll take care of it. We’ve come a long way since we moved in here eight years ago.”
“You sure have, Paolo.”
Opposite Paolo’s desk was a collection of photographs of world leaders and corporate magnates shaking hands with Paolo, each autographed with a thank-you. He disliked them. Paolo never wanted to bring attention to himself. In the center of the 8x10 photos stood a 24x24-inch photo of him and his friends at Warren’s pig roast, an annual event he never missed. The image, in contrast to those around it, showed true love and friendship.
As Rebecca exited the office, she straightened the other photo that Paolo held dear to his heart—the picture of him with the Italian prime minister. “Oh, I almost forgot…the prime minister left a message on your voicemail. He said he would call you back.”
“Did he say what time?”
“Should be within the next fifteen minutes. And don’t forget about your meeting with Mrs. Hill.”
“Very well, put him through when he calls. Oh, Rebecca?”
“Yes?”
“Have I told you how much I enjoy that you are my assistant?”
“Yes, Mr. DeLaurentis, many times,” she chuckled.
“Thank you, Rebecca. Now go back to work.”
He looked at the pictures. How did I ever do this?
“Excuse me, boss?” Rebecca said through the intercom.
He hated when she called him boss. “Yes?” he said, drawing out the word.
“Your pictures of Amalfi, Messina, and Ottati are here.”
He stood up. “They are,” he exclaimed. “Well, bring them in, woman.” Happiness resonated in his voice. Rebecca carried the three wood-framed pictures into his office and placed them against the wall. Paolo was awestruck at the beauty of the towns and villages of his grandparents’ native Italy. He longed to live in the ancient country of his ancestors. He had the resources and enough money to do so, but his wife Victoria hampered him. The only time he got to Italy was for business, rarely for pleasure. Paolo stood admiring the pictures.
“Rebecca, there is my passion—to be back in Italy again.”
“When are you returning?”
“Soon, I hope.”
She left him as he gazed at the pictures.
Paolo walked back to his desk. He decided to hang the pictures in the client area. They would provide excellent topics of discussion.
Prior to accepting a new client, Paolo had Mike Quinn do background checks. Akin to an FBI investigation, no stone was left unturned. Paolo wanted to know every facet and fact about any new customer. He refused to waste his time as he had seven years earlier with Point Media. Bill was right—Mike was better than the technology.
Paolo sat in his tall leather ergonomic chair and continued to read the biography of Sydney Hill’s husband, Peter. The report listed Peter’s exploits in detail. Peter grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. An only child, he enjoyed the finer things in life. He attended Choate, one of the most elite private high schools in the world, then Cornell, where he majored in Economics. Peter, the definition of a spoiled brat, received anything he asked for, including a new Corvette when he was sixteen. His vacations were spent with his mother, on the Vineyard in the summer and in the Bahamas or Aspen in the winter. Occasionally, his father accompanied them. When the old man was present, it was all business, no time for the family. Peter saw his father on the weekends during the summer. By the time he reached the age of fourteen, he had begun to loathe his parents. His mother, taking out her anger on him, became an alcoholic. She died of liver disease when he was a junior at Cornell.
Peter’s life became centered solely on his own selfish needs. This was his way of dealing with the pain that laid waste his heart. The years of rejection, the death of his mother, and the absence of his father unconsciously strengthened his resolve to destroy his life. Peter became a train wreck of pain and misery.
The report continued to describe his various indiscretions, including a one-night stand the night before his wedding to Sydney. After he graduated from Cornell, he cut off all ties with his father. Peter wanted no part of his father’s money or his life. In April of the following year, an article about his father’s financial and legal problems appeared in the Wall Street Journal. It portrayed his father as a dimwit. Peter had no pity for his father and reveled in his misery. Within six months, his father filed bankruptcy and committed suicide.
Paolo’s intercom buzzed. “Yes, Rebecca.”
“The prime minister is on the line, and your appointment with Sydney Hill is in one hour.”
“Thank you, Rebecca.” A moment later Paolo’s intercom beeped.
“Sergio, my friend. How are you?” Paolo asked with a smile.
The prime minister’s voice was somber. “Fine, Paolo, but I have some sad news.”
Paolo sat and listened as a wave of sadness crept into his heart.
“My father died, he had a heart attack this morning.”
Paolo, his eyes filled with tears, said, “I’m so sorry, Sergio. How is Isabella?”
“My mother is doing okay. She cries a lot. As you know, they have been together for a long time.” A crack in his voice, the prime minister paused, “I pray dad is finally at peace.”
“I think your father made his peace a long time ago,” Paolo said.
“I thought so, as well. My mother told me recently that the last couple of years the recurring nightmares of when he was a child had returned. I don’t think he ever got over the death of my grandparents. Then again, would any child?”
“You’re probably right, Sergio. I’ll never forget that day at your hotel those many years ago when he told me the story and how he forgave Mussolini in the Piazza Loreto. Forgiveness saved his soul and that lesson stays with me always. It’s easier to forgive than to hold a grudge.” There was a moment of silence. “Sergio, is there anything that I can do? I can get a flight out tonight and be in Rome tomorrow.”
“No, no, my friend, we are fine. If you can come to the funeral…?”
Paolo interrupted him. “Sergio, you’re a brother to me. My own death couldn’t keep me from attending the funeral. When is it?” Paolo’s voice cracked.
“A week from today.”
“I’ll be there; I’ll give your mother a call.”
“She would love to hear from you.”
“I’ll call her later. Ciao.”
“Ciao, Paolo.”
Paolo hung up the phone. He wept at the loss of his old friend. He sat back in his chair and gazed out over the New Haven Green. Tears slid down Paolo’s cheeks as he reminisced on the first time they met.
CHAPTER 20
The president and founder of Ottati Consultants Ltd. sat in the reception area of Sydney Hill Enterprises. Paolo was not the typical brash, egotistical CEO. This man was gentle and realistic; he pulled no punches. When he walked, heads turned—both men and women alike. He exuded an air of authority yet was unpretentious, kind, and thought-provoking. Wherever he went, he was recognized. It appeared everyone was attracted to him. There was something within him, a distinct quality that set him apart. His charismatic personality allowed him to speak with a genuine frankness. When Paolo communicated the truth and it was contrary to popular opinion, a cold shiver would trave
l down the recipient’s spine. His gift spoke for him.
Paolo heard the elevator doors open on the tenth floor of the high-rise office building. His potential client, Sydney Hill, walked into the plush oriental-carpeted waiting room, its built-in cherry bookcases and Louis XIV furniture giving the impression of a private library. The warm, comfortable environment radiated peace and tranquility.
She was anything but peaceful. Her twelve-year-old daughter, Lisa, walked closely behind her.
“It will be okay, Mom. Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying, it’s my allergies.”
“Oh.”
Paolo overheard the conversation. He knew differently. Lisa was the last child to leave Sydney’s womb. Her husband had demanded she tie her tubes immediately after the child’s birth. For Peter, the children and her business were taking up too much of her time. Torn between motherhood and career, she decided the time was right to sell her company.
The thirty-nine-year-old woman was dressed in a black pantsuit; the V-neck jacket accentuated her curves. Her neck was adorned with a classic pearl necklace. Her striking greenish-blue eyes were so beautiful that even through her tears they captured Paolo’s soul.
She stood five feet four inches tall. Public opinion classified her as Hollywood gorgeous. Petite in size, proportioned by Mother Nature, her good looks grabbed the imagination of every man she met. Sydney’s beauty was intimidating. Her angelic face was surrounded by shoulder-length natural auburn hair streaked with hints of blonde. Eyeliner stained her face, the telltale sign she’d been crying for some time. Paolo was not at all surprised.
Sydney Hill walked through the lobby. Paolo stared as the beautiful woman walked past him. His mind ran away in a daydream of her. Her attractiveness aside, something inside him spoke to his soul. A warm sensation overcame him. Paolo noticed her backside. He made a mental note to tell his private investigator, Mike, his eyes should be examined. This woman is gorgeous. Sydney Hill is downright gorgeous. His breath taken away, he fell instantly in love.
“Good morning, Ellen,” she said to the receptionist as she entered the French doors into the office suite.
“Good morning, Sydney.” The receptionist looked up and then went back to work.
Sydney had amassed a small fortune with an innovative software concept. Many suitors over the years tried unsuccessfully to buy her business. She decided the time wasn’t right and instead invested her time and energy in the growth of her company. Sydney Hill made a name for herself as a tough negotiator and a no-nonsense executive. She spoke at various conventions and conferences; she became a spokesperson for Women in Corporate America. Sydney’s life journey would take abrupt curves and winding paths. The journey tested her resolve and awakened a hidden love deep within her.
She juggled her family and work, at first out of necessity, then practicality. Little did she know she would be so successful. She received no help from her husband, Peter. She’d been married for fifteen years to a man who needed her attention every waking minute of the day.
Motherhood is a funny conundrum. The nine-month gestation period forms an intrinsic bond between mother and child, a bond a man cannot have or even understand. This natural bond can sometimes get in the way between husband and wife.
The children are the mother’s sole reason for living. The children are first, the husband second. Often the man was last in the mother’s world. Not because she didn’t love him, it was simply the way it was. When the time finally came for the man to be first, it was often too late.
The hectic years of growing her business and being a mother put a wedge between her and Peter. The communication between husband and wife stopped. Peter buried his life in his work and extracurricular activities. Sydney gave her life to her children and her career. They both did what they had to do, their marriage long over.
CHAPTER 21
“HELLO, MR. DELAURENTIS, I’m Amanda, Mrs. Hill’s Assistant. Will you please follow me? Mrs. Hill will meet with you now.”
Paolo stood, grabbed his leather briefcase, and placed the Wall Street Journal on the coffee table. “Of course. Please call me Paolo.” He smiled at Amanda as he gazed intently in her eyes.
“Would you like a cup of coffee, Paolo?”
“Yes, please. Black, no sugar.”
They walked past the receptionist. He followed Amanda along the carpeted hallway. A bank of window offices were on his left, the usual corporate gray fabric cubicles were to his right. The atmosphere was pleasant; people seemed to be enjoying the work they were doing. Paolo felt the stares of Sydney Hill’s employees, the majority of whom were women.
He was dressed in a blue pinstriped Armani suit, a white shirt, and a power red tie. His cuffs were clasped with black pearl cufflinks and his black Italian leather tasseled shoes were shined to perfection. Paolo DeLaurentis walked the hallway with a confidence recognized by Sydney’s people.
As he entered the corridor, he acknowledged those nearby with a “Hello, how are you?” He looked deep in their eyes, identifying personality traits. What others would miss, he observed—their loyalty, concern, and passion. Amanda escorted him to Sydney’s office. The door open, she knocked on the molding.
“Syd, Mr. DeLaurentis is here.”
“Thank you, Amanda.”
She stood up and walked toward Paolo. “Mr. DeLaurentis, please come in.” They shook hands—her hand soft, gentle; his hand surrounded hers. It was more than a handshake, it was a connection of two people. Paolo’s heart jumped, he felt his face blush. He was speechless for the first time. He tried to speak, awed at the beauty of the woman who stood before him.
“Please, call me Paolo.”
“Okay.” She paused, “Paolo.” He released her hand. “Call me Syd.”
There was a momentary silence as the two gazed at each other. Sydney caught herself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Paolo. Please.” She pointed to two dark-blue leather chairs separated by a glass coffee table. She sat opposite Paolo as her secretary walked in and placed his coffee and her green tea before them.
“Thank you, Amanda,” he replied.
“Yes, thank you, Amanda,” Sydney said.
“Amanda has been with you for a while?”
“A long time, in fact, from the beginning.”
Paolo nodded, “Yes, from the beginning.”
Her office was modestly decorated—pictures of her children on the wallpapered walls, a blue oriental rug on the hardwood floor. Her desk faced the door, positioned in front of the six-foot-high windows that overlooked the city of Stamford. A Dell laptop was open and the standard black office phone was positioned neatly to the computer’s left. A stack of manila folders lay on the black, decorated blotter. Paolo scrutinized the surroundings. He absorbed everything. He tried to find commonality that would ensure a comfortable conversation and working atmosphere.
Paolo learned early in his career that without a mutual synergy of ideas, the business relationship would be doomed to failure. He studied the traits of human nature—how clients treated themselves and others. Paolo couldn’t tolerate the egotistical bastard, the arrogant owner or CEO who believed he or she was God’s gift to the world. When they called for help, he politely refused their lucrative offers. In order to be a client of Paolo’s, you had to follow his game plan—no agenda but his. If you accepted his terms, then and only then did he agree to the contract. Paolo had a one hundred percent success rate. He methodically removed the cancer from any organization he worked with. Paolo refused to be trapped in the plutocratic bullshit of the so-called who’s who in corporate America, even though he was the go-to person, the who of who’s. He kept his autonomy.
Sydney Hill, who sat before him—beautiful to his eyes, perplexing to his mind—excited him intellectually and physically. Subconsciously, he realized she was the girl in his dream, the one who took his heart. Yes, this is the woman I dream about.
A vase with a dozen long-stemmed yellow roses sat in the middle of a small conference
table. He knew the roses were not from her discontented husband, but said, “I love the roses, your husband must be quite the romantic.”
“No, they’re not from him. I love yellow roses,” she said.
“And the passion of red roses?”
“Definitely not, who has time for passion?” She avoided his gaze.
“Yes, passion has gone by the wayside,” he said reflectively. “So tell me, Sydney Hill, are you passionate about your business?”
“I love my business. The problem is, my company has grown to the point where I am overwhelmed. Our profits are smaller, and my children are getting older.” She paused, “I believe it’s time for a change.”
“Change?”
“Yes, change. Life is too much of a roller coaster for me right now. I need to stabilize, or as my nephew Blake says, chill. It’s time to chill.”
“I understand.” His penetrating eyes gazed deeply into her green eyes. “What can I do for you?”
“I want to sell my company, and ensure all my employees are protected and no employee terminated due to the buyout. Of course, I want to be able to get the maximum value for my company.”
“I understand. So what is it that you want from me?”
Sydney stared at him for a moment.
“Sydney?”
Embarrassed, “Oh, I’m sorry. I was thinking.”
And what were you thinking about, Sydney Hill?
She responded, “What I want is for you to analyze my company. Determine if the company is viable to sell and handle the negotiations between the buyer and myself.”
“I understand. How soon would you like this to happen?”
“As soon as possible, but I don’t want to do a fire sale,” she said with authority.
Messenger From God (The Last Eulogy Series Book 1) Page 9
