on the ninth floor, where he requested a light meal for him and Olivia from his housekeeper, then he led the way up the stone staircase to the roof garden. He could tell from the wide-eyed wonder in her eyes Olivia loved it instantly.
“It’s hard to imagine this could exist up here.”
“Exactly why I bought it. The heaters I had built in keep it the perfect temperature year-round.” He opened his briefcase, pulled out her contract and tossed it on the soft-backed sofa near the pools. “Read through this while I get us a drink.”
She gave the contract a rueful look. “You were that sure of me?”
“A dream is a powerful thing,” he said simply. “So is desperation.”
She opened her mouth as if to say something, then shut it after a long moment. Bene. She was learning.
“What can I get you to drink?”
“A glass of wine, thank you.”
He pulled a bottle of rosé out of the wine fridge and tore off the foil.
“A toxicology screen?”
He had listed it as one of the up-front conditions. “Fairly standard, isn’t it?”
“For a model with a history of substance abuse.”
He worked the corkscrew into the bottle. “This is a five-million-dollar deal we’re negotiating, Olivia. When a formerly trustworthy top model starts showing up late for her shoots...reneges on obligations...blows off a three-million-dollar contract, there has to be a reason. I’m covering my investment.”
Her chin lifted at a defiant angle. “There was no substance abuse problem. Unless you call one dirty martini too many on the odd night out an issue.”
“Alcohol is a drug. If it interfered with your work, it was an issue.”
“It did not interfere with my work.”
“Then what did?” He poured two glasses of the rosé, put the bottle back in the fridge and carried the glasses over to her. “For all intents and purposes, you were a client’s dream until that last year. You did your work, you did it exceptionally well and you were conscientious. What happened to change all that? Why the out-of-control partying near the end?”
A stubborn look crossed her face. “Maybe I was getting my bad-girl genes out of my system. I am my mother’s daughter after all.”
“You were for the first part of your career, as well.” He handed her a glass and sat down beside her.
She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe the glow faded. Maybe it wasn’t enough to hold my attention anymore.”
And maybe she was lying through her teeth. A model didn’t just walk away from a three-million-dollar contract because she was bored. She fulfilled her obligations, left on good terms and used the contacts she had made to build her reputation as a designer.
It made no sense. It was a mystery he intended to unravel.
He pointed his glass at her. “Did you leave New York to get away from a man? Were there issues with a relationship?”
She gave him an even look. “There was only one relationship—a long-term one I had that ended on good terms before I left.”
“With Guillermo Villanueva...”
“Yes.”
One of the world’s most sought-after photographers, Venezuelan-born Guillermo Villanueva was known for his ability to put a twist, a different angle, on a face or a landscape that had been shot a thousand times. He was equally known for his swarthy good looks, which had models flocking eagerly to his shoots, putting their best foot forward as he reduced them to fluttery, feminine creatures that bent to his will.
Had Olivia been like that with him, too?
“How long was the relationship?” he asked to distract himself from a question that didn’t matter.
She gave him a pointed look. “Does this really have relevance here?”
“Sì, Olivia, it does. We’re about to be in the spotlight as a newly engaged couple. I need to know your personal history.”
She sighed. “Three years. We were together three years.”
He blinked. An eternity as far as he was concerned... For him, a two-month stint with a woman was an accomplishment. He wondered if Villanueva had been unfaithful to her. It wouldn’t be surprising given the opportunities the photographer would have had working with beautiful women day in, day out.
“Was Villanueva the reason for the partying?” he asked.
A glimmer of emotion flashed in her brilliant blue eyes. “Guillermo was the most steadying influence I had in my life.”
“Then why leave him?”
She was silent for a long moment, her gaze resting on the cascading pools of water. “I fell out of love with him,” she said finally. “I wasn’t with him for the right reasons.”
Her quiet, level voice held a poignancy that made him look at her hard. It was a pattern, it seemed, that she was with men for the wrong reasons. With Giovanni, it had been money, a mentor. With Villanueva? Maybe a mentor, also. A stepping-stone to bigger and better jobs?
His rancor stirred anew. He was suddenly very sorry for Guillermo Villanueva. He had likely never seen it coming, so blinded with the radiance that was Olivia. She, on the other hand, had been done with him, ready to take those last steps to stardom. And Villanueva had been left in the dust.
Rocco had seen it happen to his brilliant Sicilian friend Stefan with a woman he’d sacrificed everything for, only to find out she’d been more interested in his bank account than him. A more trusting man than the rest of the Columbia Four initially, Stefan had subsequently become ten times harder than all of them.
He grimaced, taking a healthy swallow of his wine. Love was like that. It was never equally distributed between two people. And the poor fool who didn’t recognize that got his heart torn out eventually.
“Finish reading the contract,” he instructed. “We have much to discuss.”
She picked it up and scanned it. He wasn’t expecting her to have issues with it. It was a straightforward, clean contract. Olivia’s face and body would be exclusive to the House of Mondelli for the next twelve months in a five-million-dollar endorsement deal, after which the second part of the contract, a design partnership agreement, would kick in.
After a few moments, she tossed the contract on the coffee table. “It’s fine. Minus the tox screen.”
“Olivia...”
“No.” Her voice was harsh. “You need to trust me. This is a two-way street.”
He trusted her as much as his rogue stallion on his best-behaved day. About a centimeter leeway on the reins... But he needed to get this deal done.
“Bene.”
