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.
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
