Italian Mavericks: A Deal With The Italian. Дженнифер ХейвордЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      FASHION PHOTOGRAPHERS WEREN’T known to be the most subtle of breeds. The ones Olivia had worked with in the past had ranged from sophisticated persuaders, like her former lover Guillermo, to the completely indifferent, to full-out beasts who yelled at you and told you you had half the talent the last model had.

      In this regard, Alessandra was a breed apart. She was incredibly patient, encouraging and had an amazing eye for the composition of a great shot. Unfortunately for the talented young photographer, Olivia hadn’t given her anything to work with over the morning, and they both knew it. She was stiff, awkward and without her usual grace, struggling to find her groove.

      Close to lunchtime, Alessandra finally pulled her camera over her head and set it on a table. “Let’s take a break,” she suggested. “We’ll start again in fifteen.”

      Come back when you’re able to give me something to work with. Alessandra didn’t say it, but her eyes did. Olivia’s shoulders sagged. The shot Alessandra wanted for the fall/winter catalog was one of her leaning on a fence in a fabulous crepe dress, reeking of dreamy impatience as she waited for her lover to pick her up.

      The mood just wouldn’t come. Maybe because the last kiss she and Rocco had shared was that almost one in the New York apartment when she’d nearly made a fool out of herself over him. Again.

      Not inspirational.

      “I’m assuming my brother has something to do with the shadows under your eyes,” Alessandra guessed mischievously. “For any number of reasons.”

      True, but not when it came to the wild romps in the sack Alessandra was undoubtedly referring to. Rocco’s outrageous suggestion they get married had kept her awake until the early hours of the morning.

      She frowned. “Is he always such a browbeating autocrat?”

      Alessandra laughed. “A well-meaning one, yes. He gets what he wants.”

      “He wants us to get married in six weeks.”

      “Six weeks?” Alessandra looked horrified. “Why so soon?”

      “The board is asking us to speed up our wedding. They want to see Rocco married before they put their full confidence behind him.”

      Rocco’s sister pursed her lips. “I guess it makes sense given Giovanni didn’t leave him a controlling stake in Mondelli. Rocco’s bachelor behavior has always antagonized the board, but without a controlling stake, they can dictate what they like and tie his hands.” Her gaze turned sympathetic. “Not that you should have to speed up your wedding because of it.”

      Olivia’s mouth dropped open. “Mondelli is your family’s business. How could Giovanni not have left Rocco a controlling stake?”

      “Giovanni put Renzo Rialto, the chairman of the board, in charge of the controlling ten percent of Mondelli to give Rocco some time to find his feet without him. My brother is brilliant and responsible for building Mondelli into a global powerhouse, but Giovanni was always there to keep him in check.”

      Olivia rocked back on her heels. It all made sense now. Why Rocco hadn’t told the board to go to hell with its demands. Because he couldn’t.

      She shook the haze out of her head. “I think I’ll get that air.”

      * * *

      Rocco told himself he wasn’t checking up on Olivia, but he knew he was. She’d been so tight-lipped and unapproachable this morning, he actually wondered if she was going to refuse to marry him. And since that couldn’t happen, since Mondelli’s fall/winter Vivo campaign for which Alessandra was shooting today was worth ten million dollars, here he was at her shoot when he should be going over the monthly numbers with the CFO.

      Alessandra gave him a warm hug. “Couldn’t stay away?”

      “You could put it that way. How is she doing?”

      “She’s been a bit of a stiff mess.” She frowned up at him. “That isn’t the same woman I shot two years ago, Rocco. What happened to her?”

      He lifted a shoulder. “She won’t talk about it. To anyone. I have tried, believe me.”

      “Can you go talk to her? Nothing we’ve taken this morning is going to work. If this continues, it’s going to be a total waste of a day.”

      He nodded and made his way out onto the terrace, where Olivia was standing at the railing staring down at the courtyard below. She looked like an exotic bird perched for flight.

      The guilt inside him ratcheted a layer deeper. Per l’amor di Dio. He did not need to be walking around with a living, breathing case of remorse. They were both getting what they needed out of this.

      He joined her at the railing. Surprise wrote its way across her beautiful face. “I thought you had a packed day.”

      “I wanted to check on you. You seemed off this morning.”

      She turned to face him, blue eyes flashing. “You are railroading me into marrying you. You are asking me to stand in front of a priest and lie about my feelings for you. Forgive me if I think this is taking things a bit far.”

      He inclined his head. “I agree that part isn’t easy. But it’s necessary.”

      “Necessary for you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You are right about my dream, Rocco. I want it badly. Badly enough to marry you. With one condition.”

      He lifted a brow.

      “I want my own line. My own signature line at Mondelli. I want to control my destiny.”

      He frowned. “Mario has to okay those decisions.”

      “Then get him to. Or find yourself another fiancée.”

      He studied her for a long moment. Read her determination. “All right,” he said quietly. “I’m sure we can come to some agreement. Anything else bothering you?”

      Her mouth twisted wryly. “Alessandra told you I was a disaster.”

      “Not a disaster. Just not yourself.”

      She turned and looked out at the rooftops. “I’m afraid I’ve lost my touch. That I don’t have it anymore. It used to come so easily to me, and this morning was...a disaster.”

      “Olivia.” He slid a hand around her waist and turned her to him. “Whatever happened to you a year ago, whatever it is you won’t talk about, is ancient history. Go in there and be the model you are. I guarantee you will be jaw-dropping.”

      Her brilliant blue eyes darkened into a deep, azure blue. “What if I can’t?” she asked huskily. “What if I can’t get it back and you’ve wasted five million dollars on me?”

      He shook his head. “You don’t lose that kind of talent. What you’re fighting is in your head.”

      Doubt flickered in her eyes, her gaze dropping away from his. He slid his fingers under her chin and made her look up at him. “You know I’m right.”

      “What would you know about it?” she asked tartly. “You’ve probably never had an unsure day in your life.”

      “That’s where you’re wrong, cara. When I was young, when I first took over as CEO of Mondelli, I thought I had it all figured out. I spearheaded this big deal, overrode Giovanni’s protests that it wasn’t right for the company and brought us close to bankruptcy.”

      Her eyes widened. “And you