faced the windows and spoke softly. Though the words were no longer distinguishable, the steely edge of his voice was still obvious.
She looked at the paper on her desk, her gaze darting over it to find where she’d left off. She didn’t want to sit here with her hands idle. No, that definitely wouldn’t look good for her.
She was sending along some of Mr. Amatucci’s thoughts about the mock-up of an ad campaign for a new client—a very demanding client. The account was huge. It would go global—like most of the other accounts her boss personally handled. Each of his clients expected Mr. Amatucci’s world to revolve around them and their accounts. He took their calls, no matter the time—day or night. Through it all, he maintained his cool. To say Angelo was a workaholic was being modest.
As a result, he ran the most sought-after advertising agency in the country—if not the world. Stepping off the elevator, clients and staff were immediately greeted by local artists’ work and fresh flowers. The receptionist was bright and cheerful without being annoying. Appointments were kept timely. The quality of the work was exemplary. All of it culminated in Amatucci & Associates being so popular that they had to turn away business.
“Cosa! Nico, no!” Mr. Amatucci’s hand waved about as he talked.
Her boss’s agitated voice rose with each word uttered. Kayla’s fingers paused as her attention zeroed in on the man who never raised his voice—until now. He was practically yelling. But she could only make out bits and pieces. His words were a mix of English and Italian with a thick accent.
“Nico, are you sure?”
Had someone died? And who was Nico? She hadn’t heard Mr. Amatucci mention anyone with that name, but then again, this call was on his private line. It was highly doubtful that it had anything to do with business. And she knew exactly nothing about his personal life—sometimes she wondered if he even had one.
“Marianna can’t be pregnant!” The shouts spiraled off into Italian.
Pregnant? Was he the father? The questions came hard and fast. There was a little voice in the back of her mind that told her she should excuse herself and give him some privacy, but she was riveted to her chair. No one would ever believe that this smooth, icy-cool man was capable of such heated volatility. She blinked, making sure she hadn’t fallen asleep and was having some bizarre dream. But when her eyes opened, her boss was standing across the room with his hand slicing through the air as he spoke Italian.
The paramount question was: Who was Marianna?
* * *
Angelo Amatucci tightened his grip on the phone until his fingers hurt. This had to be some sort of nightmare and soon he’d wake up. Could it be he’d been working a bit too much lately? Perhaps he should listen to the hints from his business associates to take a break from the frantic pace. That would explain why just moments ago when he’d been examining Ms. Hill’s perfume—a scent he found quite inviting—that he’d been tempted to smooth his thumb along the silky skin of her wrist—
“Angelo, are you listening to me?” Tones of blatant concern laced Nico’s voice, demanding Angelo’s full attention. “What are we going to do?”
Nico was his younger brother by four years, and though their opinions differed on almost everything, the one area where they presented a unified front was their little sister, Marianna—who wasn’t so little anymore.
“There has to be another answer to this. You must have misunderstood. Marianna can’t be pregnant. She’s not even in a serious relationship.”
“I know what I heard.”
“Tell me again.”
“I wanted her to taste the wine from the vineyard. I think it’s the best we’ve ever produced. Just wait until you try some—”
“Nico, tell me about Marianna.”
“Yes, well, she has looked awfully pale and out of sorts since she returned home after her year of traveling. I thought she’d done too much partying—”
“Accidenti! She wasn’t supposed to waste the year partying.” Unable to stand still a moment longer, Angelo started to pace again. When his gaze met the wide-eyed stare of Ms. Hill, she glanced down at her desk. He made a point of turning his back to her and lowering his voice. “She was sent to Australia to work on the vineyards there and get more experience in order to help you. If I’d have known she planned for it to be a year of partying, I’d have sent for her. I could have put her to work at the office.”
Nico sighed. “Not everyone is like you, big brother. We aren’t all driven to spend every last moment of our lives working.”
“And you didn’t do anything about her being sick?”
“What was I supposed to do? I asked if she needed anything. She said no, that it was some sort of flu bug. What else was I supposed to do?”
Angelo’s hand waved around as he flew off in a string of Italian rants. Taking a calming breath, he stopped in front of the windows and stared blindly at the snow. “And it took her confessing she was pregnant for you to figure it out?”
“Like you would have figured it out sooner? What do either of us know about pregnant women...unless there’s something you haven’t told me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Angelo had no intention of getting married and having a family. Not now. Not ever.
“She didn’t have any choice but to come clean when I offered her some wine. She knew she couldn’t drink it. Hard to believe that you and I will be uncles this time next year.”
“Don’t tell me you’re happy about this development?”
“I’m not. But what do you want me to do?”
“Find out the father’s name for starters.”
“I tried. She’s being closemouthed. All she said was that she couldn’t drink the wine because she’s eight weeks pregnant. Then she started to cry and took off for her room.”
“Didn’t you follow? How could you have just let her get away without saying more?”
“How could I? I sure don’t see you here trying to deal with an emotional pregnant woman.”
How had things spun so totally out of control? Angelo’s entire body tensed. And more importantly, how did he fix them? How did he help his sister from so far away?
Angelo raked his fingers through his hair. “She has to tell you more. How are we supposed to help if we don’t even know which man is the father. She isn’t exactly the sort to stay in a relationship for long.”
“Trust me. I’ve tried repeatedly to get his name from her. Maybe she’ll tell you.”
That wasn’t a conversation Angelo wanted to have over the phone. It had to be in person. But he was in the middle of overseeing a number of important projects. Now was not the time for him to leave New York. But what choice did he have? This was his baby sister—the little girl he remembered so clearly running around with a smile on her face and her hair in braids.
But a lot of time had passed since he’d
