of his hotel and he raised one hand to stop her in mid-flow.
‘But what about the sex angle?’
‘Sex angle?’
‘Don’t be coy, Ms Wilson. Tell me I haven’t wasted the past twenty-five minutes listening to you try and gear me up to an advertising campaign shot through a soft-focus lens?’ He stood up, and suddenly the vantage point she had had standing over him was lost. ‘Surely you must know what the purpose of my hotel complex is going to be?’
‘I thought it might work better to highlight the stupendous surroundings and the organic nature of the buildings. In this day and age, people are very much aware of the charm of a boutique resort that is in total harmony with nature.’
She scrolled to a shot of one of the two-bedroomed villas set a short distance from the beach, just part of the package that had been emailed to her the week before by the contact she had cultivated at the resort. ‘Hence the fact that all the wood used to build your hotel is locally sourced from the Caribbean.’
She flicked down to another series of artfully shot photos of the Michelin-starred cuisine that would be on offer, but she was acutely conscious of Niccolo’s fabulous dark eyes resting lazily on her, with just the faintest hint of amusement.
‘I’ve also made something of the food and the fact that much of the produce is grown on the island, with some cultivated actually in the hotel compound, and that the yoga centre is genius.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen all the arty shots, but you’re not going to win the race by showing me pictures of sunsets and palm trees. I’m not planning on enticing poets to come to my resort, to spend their time staring off into the distance admiring the scenery and then writing sonnets about it.’ He raised both eyebrows sardonically and grinned. ‘So, once again...is this all you’ve got?’
THE ALLOTTED HALF-HOUR timespan, which under any other circumstances Niccolo would have rigidly adhered to, was galloping fast towards its end. With his bottle of water replenished, and protein bar only just managing to take the edge off his hunger pangs, he looked at Ellie, appreciating the slow crawl of colour tingeing her cheeks.
Maybe he would be lenient and extend the stay of execution because he liked the way those big, hazel eyes were staring at him, sheepishly, faltering, yet with just an interesting hint of defiance. Also, her pitch might be ridiculously fuzzy round the edges, but the other pitches he’d seen had been way too suggestive in comparison. It wouldn’t hurt to hear her out.
And she did have those big, hazel eyes.
This was the first time Niccolo had ever taken any interest in any of the advertising campaigns for his companies. Normally, that was left to the experts in his Sales and Marketing department.
This hotel, however, was quite separate from his business interests. This venture was solely funded from his own personal fortune. It was his baby and his alone. The excitement of running an empire was beginning to pall. Life was beginning to pall. He had kept his promise to his father. His duty to make sure his family was taken care of had been done, so what now? It sometimes felt as though duty was all he had been programmed to do. This hotel, and the subsequent chain of similar hotels he had in mind, had revived his jaded palate. Overseeing its development, with the select little team he had personally hand-picked, half of whom were having the time of their lives working in situ on the island, was proving to be just the tonic he needed.
And the woman sitting opposite him was having a similar effect. Very energizing.
‘Of course...’ Ellie broke a silence that had reached screaming point. ‘I do realise that your hotel will be catering for a young, singles market...’
‘Not necessarily young. In fact, I would say that young people will be in the minority. Most of them wouldn’t be able to afford the prices I’m asking. But you’ve got the single part right. Single people looking for love on a holiday of a lifetime. Exquisite location, exquisite scenery—it’s the ultimate place for a romantic connection to develop.
‘Except all I’m seeing here is the exquisite scenery. Anyone looking at what you’ve put together would think that you’re advertising somewhere for stars-in-their-eyes honeymooners. So, repeat, tell me what else you’ve got, because your competitors have all managed to hit the nail on the head with their offerings.’ They hadn’t, he thought, but you never showed your hand and lost the advantage. It wouldn’t hurt for her to think that the competition was galloping towards the finishing line.
‘I thought that it might be more tempting if guests weren’t made to feel that they were there to...to...make romantic connections.’
Niccolo’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You mean, delude them into thinking that they’re really there just for the blue skies and the turquoise sea—the peace and tranquillity? Ms Wilson, my guests will be actively seeking partners, and focusing on the scenery isn’t going to tempt them, it’s going to put them off.’
‘If you don’t like what I’ve done, Mr Rossi, then perhaps we shouldn’t waste one another’s time any longer.’ But to return empty-handed was going to hurt their business. Of course, it couldn’t be helped, but the agency, her career...those were the things that grounded her, that enabled her to put down roots. It represented all those steps on the ladder that would mean that she would never have to endure the insecurities she’d had to endure as a child. Her parents’ wanderings had been self-imposed but Ellie knew well enough that, even if you took that out of the equation, the only way anyone could be guaranteed that their house remained their castle was to have the wherewithal to pay the mortgage.
‘You’re not much of a trier, are you, Ms Wilson?’ Niccolo remarked dryly. ‘Giving up already? Aren’t you going to try to get me to see your point of view? I’m shocked that you can survive longer than two minutes in the cut-throat world of advertising where sex sells—and, the more explicit the sex, the higher the turnover of sales.’ Niccolo watched the stubborn tilt of her chin with interest. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never gone down the tawdry route of selling something stunningly dull and virtually unsaleable with the help of a few sexy images...?’
‘I haven’t, as it happens,’ Ellie returned stiffly. She looked at his devastatingly handsome face and thought that there was little chance he would ever be able to get where she was coming from, because when you oozed sex appeal like he did it was unlikely you could ever appreciate that it wasn’t just about the physical. ‘The accounts I have worked on have had great success on an approach based on nostalgia, whimsy and a reminder that the good things in life don’t necessarily have anything to do with sex.’
‘Ah. I’m getting the picture. You’re the “bread, cheese and milk” person. You leave the cars, perfume and alcohol to your more racy co-workers.’ He gazed at her thoughtfully and then stood up, waiting while she scrambled hastily to her feet.
‘You’ve already had more of my time than I’d banked on,’ he told her bluntly. ‘And you should have already done yourself out of a job by your charming but misdirected pitch. But here’s what I’m thinking, Ms Eleanor Wilson. Maybe it would be unwise to fall into the trap of the obvious appeal. Needless to say, your campaign is way too hazy for my venture, but on the other hand it’s not sleazy. There isn’t a single saucy image, and you’ve managed to show me an entire pitch in which no mention is made of the fact that everyone on the complex will be looking for a connection. Somewhere between the “sex sells” and the romantic sunsets
