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Christmas At The Tycoon's Command
Jennifer Hayward


Billionaire boss’s festive seduction!Shy Chloe Russo is dreading her first Christmas running the family business. Working with Nico Di Fiore is the last straw! Once, Nico’s kisses promised Chloe every sensual delight, until he coldly rejected her. Now, he’s her very commanding, very arrogant boss!Control is paramount to Nico—after his father’s bankruptcy lost him everything, nothing will distract him from succeeding. He’s always kept a tight rein on his craving for Chloe, well-aware she alone has the power to disarm him. But now, unable to deny their connection, Nico is determined to reclaim control, and take Chloe as his own!







Billionaire boss’s festive seduction!

Shy Chloe Russo is dreading her first Christmas running the family business. Working with Nico Di Fiore is the last straw! Once, Nico’s kisses promised Chloe every sensual delight, until he coldly rejected her. Now he’s her very commanding, very arrogant boss!

Control is paramount to Nico—after his father’s bankruptcy lost him everything, nothing will distract him from succeeding. He’s always kept a tight rein on his craving for Chloe, well aware she alone has the power to disarm him. But now, unable to deny their connection, Nico is determined to reclaim control and take Chloe as his own!


“Come over here, then,” Nico murmured, the hard lines of his face pure challenge. “If you’re so sure of what you want.”

He expected the invitation to frighten Chloe off. She could tell from the look on his face. And for a moment it did, freezing all coherent thought. She sucked in a breath, delivered necessary oxygen to her brain. She knew in that moment this was the only opening she was ever going to get with Nico. She either seized it or wondered what if? forever.

She shrugged her shoulders and let the towel fall to the chair. Got to her feet and walked over to him.

He didn’t resist, but he didn’t move to meet the kiss either. She found his lips with hers. Hard, betraying none of that inherent sensuality that was so much a part of him. She thought for a terrifying instant he was going to reject her. Then a soft curse escaped him, his arms clamped around her waist and he lifted her astride him, his hands cupping her bottom in his palms. She had just enough time to take a deep breath before he took her mouth in a hard, demanding kiss that slammed into her senses.

Demanded everything.

As if it would make her run. As if he wanted her to run.

Instead, it made her skin burn.


The Powerful Di Fiore Tycoons (#ud318f1af-d7de-511b-b487-771682a23ce3)

Ruthless in the boardroom

and masters in the bedroom!

Nico, Lazzero and Santo Di Fiore

saw their lives crumble when their father bankrupted

the family and their mother abandoned them.

Since then these three brothers have worked tirelessly

to rise to the top of their game and become

powerful tycoons envied the world over.

Having lost everything once,

they now have everything they could ever desire…

except the women they can’t resist!

Read Nico and Chloe’s festive story in

Christmas at the Tycoon’s Command

Available now

And don’t miss Lazzero and Santo’s stories

Coming soon!


Christmas at the Tycoon’s Command

Jennifer Hayward






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


JENNIFER HAYWARD has been a fan of romance since filching her sister’s novels to escape her teenage angst. Her career in journalism and PR, including years of working alongside powerful, charismatic CEOs and travelling the world, has provided perfect fodder for the fast-paced, sexy stories she likes to write—always with a touch of humour. A native of Canada’s East Coast, Jennifer lives in Toronto with her Viking husband and young Viking-in-training.

Books by Jennifer Hayward

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

A Debt Paid in the Marriage Bed

The Magnate’s Manifesto

Changing Constantinou’s Game

The Secret Billionaires

Salazar’s One-Night Heir

The Billionaire’s Legacy

A Deal for the Di Sione Ring

Kingdoms & Crowns

Carrying the King’s Pride

Claiming the Royal Innocent

Marrying Her Royal Enemy

The Tenacious Tycoons

Tempted by Her Billionaire Boss

Reunited for the Billionaire’s Legacy

Society Weddings

The Italian’s Deal for I Do

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.


For my editor, Nic.

I couldn’t have written this without

your guidance and inspiration.

You are amazing and I look forward to

working on many great books together.


Contents

Cover (#ufcd48530-c218-5aa6-b69a-a9bac8fb4179)

Back Cover Text (#u4ae8ac3f-d26a-5654-b82b-1c4bdd0799e1)

Introduction (#u41b5f856-2565-5d10-9017-2403e271190b)

The Powerful Di Fiore Tycoons (#u81be0fc0-ce4d-5e42-a52c-65b598989dcf)

Title Page (#u05635272-bc6a-5358-9777-4227cc26548c)

About the Author (#u7ee7c0a4-7738-54fd-b96d-ec001f7d13a0)

Dedication (#uc6e6a95c-119d-5045-bada-b2aa590e8781)

CHAPTER ONE (#u25c41498-2536-5d1a-a7d1-b6268d799ee3)

CHAPTER TWO (#u4d100c24-2a0b-5af9-8f7a-3a36db089d9b)

CHAPTER THREE (#u494f2cbc-6669-5c19-a7f1-bf815703e091)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ud318f1af-d7de-511b-b487-771682a23ce3)

SHE WAS NOT losing this one.

Chloe Russo fixed her gaze on the bright yellow taxi that had appeared like an apparition from heaven in the ferociously snarled First Avenue traffic, its lit number her only chance at salvation in the monsoon that had descended over Manhattan.

Shielding her eyes from the driving rain, she stepped a foot deeper into the layers of honking, snarling traffic and jammed her hand high in the air. The driver of a Bentley sounded his horn furiously as he swerved to avoid her, but Chloe, heart pounding, kept her eyes glued to the taxi driver’s face, willing him to stop.

The taxi slid to a halt in front of her in a cacophony of screeching horns and spraying water. Heart soaring, she waded through the giant puddle that stood between her and victory, flung the door of the taxi open and slid inside, reeling off Evolution’s Fifth Avenue address with a request to step on it that made the cabbie roll his eyes.

“Lady,” he muttered caustically, “have you looked outside?”

She’d been standing in it for half an hour, she wanted to scream. While thirty-five of his coworkers had passed her by—she knew because she’d counted every one of them. But picking a fight with the last remaining cab driver in Manhattan seemed unwise, given her present situation.

She was late for her first board meeting as the director of Evolution’s fragrance division. An inauspicious start.

Her teeth chattered amid a chill that seemed to reach bone-deep. She pushed off the hood of her raincoat and mopped her face with a tissue, thankful for her waterproof mascara. Let out a defeated sigh. She should have left earlier. Had forgotten taxis on a rainy day in Manhattan were akin to spotting a western lowland gorilla in the wild. But in truth, she’d been dreading today and everything about it.

Her cell phone vibrated in her bag. She rooted around to find it as a loud pop song joined the symphony of honking horns. Fingers curling around the sleek metal, she pulled it out and answered it before her grumpy driver deposited her back into the downpour.

“I just landed,” her sister, Mireille, announced. “How are you? How was your flight? Did you get settled in okay? It’s so amazing to have you back in New York.”

The verbal torrent pulled a smile from her lips. “Good, good and yes. Although it just took me half an hour to get a taxi. I’m soaked to the bone.”

“You’ve been living in Europe too long.” Her sister’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Of course, I’m really calling to see how your dinner with Nico went. I’ve been dying to know. Uncle Giorgio has himself all in a dither with this campaign of his to unseat him.”

Chloe bit her lip. Nico Di Fiore, the new CEO of Evolution, her family cosmetic company, was a loaded subject of late. Her late father’s godson, Nico had been appointed CEO upon her parents’ deaths last spring according to the terms of her father’s will, assuming a position that should have been her uncle Giorgio’s. He had also been appointed financial regent for Chloe and Mireille until they reached the age of thirty, an unexpected and unacceptable development that had been the last straw for Chloe, because it meant four years of him in her life.

“I didn’t have dinner with him.” Her offhand tone hid the apprehension dampening her palms. “I wanted to keep things professional. I suggested we meet tomorrow instead—on my first day back.”

Mireille drew in a breath. “You blew Nico off for dinner?”

“It wasn’t like that.” Except it had been exactly like that.

There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. “That really wasn’t wise, Chloe.”

“He summoned me to have dinner with him,” she came back defensively. Just like he’d summoned her home from Paris, where she’d been perfectly happy. “This is our company, not his. Isn’t it driving you crazy having him in charge?”

“It was what Father wanted.” Mireille sighed. “I know Evolution’s your baby—far more than it is mine. That Uncle Giorgio has you all wound up, but you need to face reality. Nico is leading the company. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but you’re going to have to come to terms with it.”

“There’s nothing going on between us.” Hadn’t been since Nico had broken her heart far too many years ago to remember now. And she had been attempting to do exactly that—to process this new reality that had seen Nico take over Evolution when her parents had been killed in a car crash in Tuscany six months ago, turning her life upside down in the process. But she couldn’t quite seem to get there.

Evolution’s stately, soaring, gold-tinted headquarters rose majestically in front of her as the taxi turned onto Fifth Avenue. A fist formed in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

“I have to go,” she murmured. “It’s the board meeting tonight.”

“Right.” A wealth of meaning in her sister’s tone. “Better you than me.” As a junior executive in Evolution’s PR department, Chloe’s younger sister was not a member of the board. “Promise me you won’t fight with him, Chloe.”

“That,” she said grimly, “is impossible. I love you and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She handed the taxi driver the fare as he pulled to a halt in front of the building. Slid out of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk, teeming with its usual wall-to-wall pedestrian traffic huddled under brightly colored umbrellas.

A frozen feeling descended over her as she stood staring up at the giant gold letters that spelled out Evolution on the front of the building. Her parents—Martino and Juliette Russo—had spent two decades building Evolution into a legendary cosmetics brand. They had been the heart and soul of the company. Of her.

She hadn’t been in the building since she’d lost them, buried in work in the Paris lab. The thought of going in there now without them present seemed like the final admission they were gone, and she couldn’t quite seem to do it.

The crowd parted like a river around her as she stood there, heart in her mouth, feet glued to the concrete. A woman in a Gucci raincoat finally jolted her out of her suspended state, crankily advising her to “move on.” Her fingers clutched tight around her bag, she made her way through the glass doors, presented the security guard with her credentials and rode the elevator to the fiftieth floor, where Evolution’s executive offices overlooked Central Park.

A slim, blond-haired woman with trendy glasses pounced on her as she emerged into the elegant cream marble reception area. “Clara Jones, your new PA,” the blonde introduced herself, relieving Chloe of her dripping raincoat in the same breath. “You’re the last to arrive. Nico is—well, you know...” she said, giving Chloe a meaningful look. “He likes to start on time.”

Her heart crawled into her throat. “I couldn’t get a cab.”

“It is awful out there.”

Clara led Chloe down the hall toward the large, plush conference room with its expansive view of a wintry, lamp-lit Central Park. “Nico gave me your presentation. It’s ready to go.”

Now if only she was. Memories deluged her as she stood surveying the crowded, warmly lit room full of Evolution board members and directors enjoying a glass of wine and hors d’oeuvres before the meeting began. Of her father manning the seat at the head of the table that Nico now would as the chairman of the board. Of her mother swanning around, captivating the executives with her sparkling wit and charm.

Her stomach swam with nerves. She was a scientist. Her mother had been a self-made genius with a larger-than-life personality who’d created a multibillion-dollar empire out of a tiny bath products company she’d founded to serve her husband’s financial clientele. Chloe was far more comfortable in the lab creating beautiful things than presenting to a stiff-suited board like her mother had been. But this was her job now. A necessary evil.

Any nerves about her presentation, however, faded to the background as Nico spotted her. Clad in a sleek, dark gray Tom Ford suit, the white shirt and silver tie he wore beneath it making the most of his dark good looks and olive skin, he was faultlessly elegant. It was when she lifted her gaze to his that she realized just how much trouble she was in.

His lips set in a flat line, jaw locked, smoky gray gaze full of thunderclouds, he was furious. Fingers of ice crept up her spine as he murmured something to the board member he was speaking with, then set his tall, impressive frame into motion, eating up the distance between them. Clara took one look at his face, muttered something about checking the AV equipment and disappeared.

Chloe’s heart ricocheted in a hard drumbeat against her ribs as Nico came to a halt in front of her. She tipped her head back to look up at him, refusing to reveal how much he intimidated her. With his leonine dark head, cold, slate blue eyes and cheekbones at forty-five degrees, he couldn’t quite be called handsome in the traditional sense because he was far too hard for that.

His wide, full mouth made up for that lack of softness, however—lush and almost pouty when he wanted to seduce a response out of the person in question. Which was not now.

Her heart battered up against her chest in another wave of nerves at the dark fire in his eyes. At the realization that any hope she’d had that she’d developed an immunity to him after seven years in Europe had been utter self-delusion. That the man she’d once thought had been the one had hardened into a ruthless, sapphire-edged version of himself she couldn’t hope to know.

She might hate him, she did hate him for teaching her the cruel lesson he had, but he was still the most potently gorgeous male she’d ever encountered.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, forcing the words past a constricted throat. “I forgot it’s impossible to get a cab in Manhattan on a rainy day.”

His stormy gaze darkened. “We’ll discuss it afterward,” he said quietly, so quietly it sent her pulse skittering into a dead run. “Take ten minutes to say hello and we’ll start.”

She nodded. Forced herself through the round of small talk, latching gratefully on to her uncle Giorgio, Evolution’s flamboyant director of marketing, before Nico called the meeting to order.

An undeniably compelling speaker, he outlined the big picture as Evolution headed into its first Christmas season without its cofounders. Investor confidence was shaky, he observed candidly—the company’s stock price in trouble—with the world worried the loss of Juliette Russo, the creative force of the company, would strike a death knell for Evolution.

Chloe’s heart sank as he went on to detail the keys for a successful path forward. It wasn’t true that Evolution was a fading star. Her parents had built a company rich with talent. Vivre, the line of fragrances Chloe had spent three years developing with one of the most brilliant French perfumers, would be the hit Christmas product the company needed. But, she reminded herself, the world didn’t know that yet.

Nico called her up last in the parade of directors presenting their holiday season highlights, after the head of the skincare division had made a big splash with his luxurious, all-natural skincare line. She suspected Nico did it on purpose.

She rose on legs the consistency of jelly, smoothed the pencil skirt of her still-damp suit and moved to the front of the room. Hands clammy, mouth full of sawdust, she clicked the remote to begin the presentation. Focusing on her passion for her work, she began. Too fast and clunky in her delivery at first, she gradually relaxed as she explained her vision for Vivre and the aspirational campaign that would accompany it. It will, she told those assembled, redefine how beauty is framed in a world that badly needs inspiration.

Instead of salivating over her exciting launch plan that featured celebrities who would spread the inspirational message, the board members peppered her with questions.

“Isn’t the perfume market oversaturated?”

“Your mother could have sold this, but can you?”

“What about all the workplaces that are going scent-free?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to focus on the all-natural products that are dominating the market?”

She took a deep breath and answered the questions the best she could. She had been working with her mother in the lab ever since she was a little girl, she told them. She knew where the magic was. She already had her own signature fragrances to back her up. And the celebrity endorsement she had planned for the Vivre campaign would help her create the buzz she needed.

When she ran out of answers and needed big-picture help, she looked to Nico because she didn’t have that backup in her head. But instead of coming to her rescue, he sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, and focused that glittering gray gaze of his on her.

Her stomach swooped. He was punishing her. The bastard. She looked at the director of the skincare division, who stared blankly back at her, clearly not about to help either and diminish his own product line. A trickle of perspiration ran down her back.

Finally, her uncle stepped in with a passionate rebuttal, reminding the board of the founding tenants Evolution was built on—luxury perfumes like Vivre that had taken the world by storm. But by then, her credibility was in tatters.

Answering the final question, she sat down red-faced.

* * *

Nico held on to his temper by the threads it had been hanging from all evening as the last board member disappeared toward the elevators and home.

“My office,” he murmured in Chloe’s ear. “Now.”

Head tossed back, she stalked out of the room in front of him and down the hall toward his office. It would be difficult, he surmised, eyeing her curvaceous backside, for her to find it when she had no idea where it was.

She came to a sliding halt in front of the sophisticated lounge that was a new addition to the executive floor, her gaze moving over the photos of the company’s cofounders gracing the walls.

“What happened to my father’s office?” she demanded, spinning on her heel, dark eyes flashing. “Or couldn’t you even leave that alone?”

“I didn’t think it was appropriate for me to assume it,” he murmured, directing her down the hall toward his office with a hand at her back. Something in him hadn’t been able to simply wipe his mentor from existence by redecorating a space that had always been quintessentially Martino’s. But he didn’t feel the need to explain his actions to Chloe at this particular moment. He was barely resisting the urge to strangle her for the ever-present recalcitrance that had pushed him one step too far this time.

He closed the door to his office with a decisive click. Strode to the window and counted to ten because that was what Chloe did to him. Pushed buttons he didn’t even know he had. Elicited emotions he had always had to exert the most extreme self-control to silence. Because Chloe was the chink in his armor. The one weakness he couldn’t seem to kick. And wanting her had always been a swift trip to hell.

“You were punishing me, weren’t you?” Her voice drifted over his shoulder, trembling with rage.

He turned around and leaned against the sill. Studied the fury on her beautiful face. The way her delicate features had settled into an intriguing beauty that was impossible to ignore. The arms she had crossed over her firm, high breasts, the feet defiantly planted apart in her haute couture Parisian suit.

She was a study in rebellion. It was insane the fire that rose up inside him, the desire to crush those lush lips into submission under his own, to shock her out of the self-protective state she’d descended into since her parents’ passing. To unearth some sign the passionate Chloe he knew still existed.

But having her had never been an option for him. He had conditioned it out of himself a long time ago because he’d had to. Just like he’d eliminated every other undesirable need he’d had in a life that had never had any room for self-indulgence.

He pointed at the chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”

She crossed her arms tighter over her chest. “I’d prefer to stand.”

“Bene.” He took a seat on the corner of his desk, eyes on her. “I hung you out to dry in there because you needed to learn a lesson.”

“That you are the king of the castle,” she challenged, eyes flashing.

“Yes,” he said evenly. “I am. And the sooner you realize it, the easier this is going to be on both of us. It was your father’s wish, Chloe, that I run this company. And while I don’t intend for one minute to deny you your place at the center of it—in fact, my intention is the opposite—you need to get that particular fact straight in your head.”

Her mouth curled. “Giorgio should be the head of this company, not you.”

“That’s why your father made me second in command a year ago?” he rebutted coolly. “Think rationally.”

She flicked a wrist at him, ebony eyes snapping with heat. “Because you somehow brainwashed him into it. How else would his will have been so perfectly in order when he died? Because it was your master plan, of course.”

A low curl of heat unfurled inside him. “Watch it,” he said softly. “You’re starting to sound like your very bitter, very deluded uncle. Martino put me in control of Evolution in the event something happened to him and Juliette because he knew Giorgio would drive the company into the ground with his big spending ways. Your uncle has neither the business brain nor the common sense to run Evolution.”

“That’s a lie,” she breathed. “He is widely reputed to be one of the most brilliant marketers there is. And don’t forget,” she added, eyes darkening with old wounds, “I have firsthand knowledge of how ambitious you are, Nico. Success is the only thing that matters to you.”

“And that,” he said, emphasizing the word, “is the problem between us, Chloe. I am grieving, too. We are all grieving. And yet you are fixated on ancient history when it has no place here. You need to grow up and move on.”

Her eyes widened. “I am not bringing the personal into this.”

“Aren’t you?” He slid his gaze over her fire-soaked cheeks. “That’s why you’ve spent the last six months hiding away in Paris instead of taking your place in this company? So I finally had to order you back? Because there’s nothing personal here?”

A muscle pulled tight at the corner of her mouth. “You have such an overinflated ego. Vivre wasn’t ready.”

“So you said,” he responded quietly. “My contacts in the lab say it was ready six months ago. That you have been stalling, perfecting imperfections that don’t exist.” He fixed his gaze on hers. “Hide from the world or hide from me, Chloe, both of them are ending now.”

She glared at him. “I hate you.”

“I know.” He’d decided a long time ago that was preferable in this relationship of theirs.

She drew a visible breath that rippled through her slim body as she collected her composure. “Have you reviewed my launch plan, then? Since Vivre is so clearly ready?”

“Yes,” he murmured, picking it up off his desk. “This is what I think of it.”

Her eyes went as big as saucers as he tossed the sheaf of papers into the wastebasket. “What are you doing?”

“Putting it where it belongs.” He shook his head, his hands coming to rest on the edge of the desk. “You have no business case in that plan. All you have is fluffy, overinflated, feel-good market research that relies on your legacy to sell it. A fifty-million-dollar launch plan in which the linchpin for success turns on a celebrity endorsement program you don’t have a hope in hell of attaining.”

Her chin lifted. “That is a brilliant launch plan, Nico. I have a master’s degree, in case you had forgotten. Maybe I should have been more detailed with the numbers—and I can be because I was focusing on the big picture—but the consumer testing has been off the charts for Vivre. One of the most important French perfumers in the industry thinks it’s inspired—as brilliant as anything my mother has done. This is the product that is going to prove Evolution is back this Christmas, not some generic all-natural skincare line you couldn’t distinguish from any of its competitors.”

He surveyed her flushed, determined face. The passion that had been missing for months. “I am backing Emilio’s skincare line for the holiday push. I agree with the board.”

Her jaw slackened. “That’s insane. This company was built on our signature perfumes. People are looking for an inspirational campaign from us. That’s what we do—we inspire.”

“And you,” he pointed out, “delivered the product late. Even if I did approve the campaign, it’s the beginning of October. You’d never get it into market in time.”

She faltered for the first time. Because he was right and she knew it. He was not, however, oblivious to the fact that Chloe was a genius. That she had her mother’s touch. That the success of Evolution rested on her shoulders as Juliette, her mother, had known it would. But sinking fifty million dollars into an impossible-to-execute holiday campaign would be foolhardy when the company desperately needed a Christmas hit.

“Work with the sales and marketing team,” he said. “Show me the numbers. Lay the timeline out for me so I know it can work. And,” he qualified, “and this is a big but, the only way I’d ever green-light a launch plan like this is if you can supply the big-name celebrities you’ve earmarked up front. Which is very unlikely given the hit the brand has taken. So, consider a plan B.”

“There is no plan B,” she said flatly. “I chose those celebrities because of their personal history. Because they embody the spirit of the perfumes. I created them with them in mind. If I can talk to them, if they can experience the fragrances, understand the message I’m trying to tell, I know I can convince them to do it.”

He absorbed the energy that surrounded her. The unshakable belief in what she had created. And wondered if she realized the campaign was about her. About the battle she had always fought within herself to shine in the shadow of her charismatic mother and stunning sister.

“Prove me wrong, then,” he challenged. “Give me what I’m asking for. But know this, Chloe. Your flashy degree is worth nothing in the real world until you prove you know how to use it. I can help you do that. Your father asked me to provide that mentorship to you. But I have better things to do than babysit you if you’re not willing to learn.”

“Babysit?” The word dripped with scorn. “You’re not satisfied with ruling me financially? Now you need to master me professionally?”

His mouth tightened. “That is exactly the kind of attitude I’m talking about. Every time I try to forge a working relationship between us, you shut me down. You’re mysteriously lost in the lab. You’re too busy to talk. That ends now.”

“I don’t do that,” she rejected. “I’ve been extremely busy.”

“Unfortunate for you tonight.” He rubbed a palm over his jaw. “Here’s how it’s going to work from here on out. I’ll give you the rest of the week to get settled in. To iron out your launch plan. You come back to me with the details and we decide how to move forward.

“Second, we’ll start having regular morning meetings beginning next week. I can teach you the business end of things and we can check in with each other as needed. That’s what your father did with me. And,” he added, pausing for emphasis, “you will attempt to listen rather than fight with me at every turn.”

A stony look back.

“Finally,” he concluded, “we will begin building your profile with the press. The PR department is going to schedule a training session for you.”

Her chin dipped. “I’m terrible with the media. I either clam up or say things I shouldn’t. Let Giorgio do it.”

“Giorgio is not the future of this company. You are. You’ll learn to do better.”

Resistance wrote itself in every line of her delicate body, her dark eyes shimmering with fire. “Are you done, then? With all your ground rules? Because I’m exhausted and I’d like to go home. The time difference is catching up with me.”

“One more,” he said softly, eyes on hers. “I am your boss, Chloe. Hate me all you want in private, but in public you will show me the respect I’m due.”


CHAPTER TWO (#ud318f1af-d7de-511b-b487-771682a23ce3)

CHLOE WAS STILL fuming over her encounter with Nico the next morning as she woke up to brilliant sunshine in her cozy townhouse on the Upper East Side. It was almost as if last night’s monsoon had never happened. Everything looking sparkly and brand-new on a crisp fall day that was perfection in Manhattan.

A grimace twisted her mouth. Now if only she could say the same for her combative showdown with Nico.

She slid out of bed, threw on a robe and made herself some coffee in an attempt to regain her equilibrium. Java in hand, she wandered to the French doors that looked out over the street and drank in the sleepy little neighborhood she now called home.

A splendor of gold and rust, the vivid splash of color from the changing leaves of the stately old trees was the perfect contrast to the cream stuccoed townhouses that lined the street. She and Mireille had fallen in love with the neighborhood one Sunday afternoon on a walk through the village. Her father had bought them each a townhouse side by side, Chloe’s in anticipation of her return home to New York to take her place at Evolution, Mireille, while she studied public relations at school.

We know you’re too independent to come home and live with us, her father had teased. But we want you close.

A wave of bitter loneliness settled over her. She wrapped her arms around herself, coffee cup cradled against her chest. Usually she managed to keep the hollow emptiness at bay—burying herself in her lab until she crawled into bed at night. But this morning it seemed to throb from the inside out, scraping her raw.

She missed her parents. So desperately much she had no idea how to even verbalize it. How to release the emotion that had been stuck inside her so long lest it swamp her so completely when she did, she would never emerge whole. Because her parents had been her glue, her innocence, the force that had shielded her from the world. And now that they were gone, she didn’t know how to restore the status quo. Didn’t know how to reset herself. Didn’t know how to feel anymore.

She was scared to feel.

Her mother had been her best friend. A bright, vivid star that bathed you in its warmth—their shared passion bonding them from their earliest days. Her father, the wisest, smartest man she’d ever known, with a heart so big it had seemed limitless. He would be furious if he saw her like this, because Nico was right—she had been hiding, from the world and from herself.

She hugged her arms tighter around her chest as she watched the neighborhood stir to life. She needed to move on. Nico had also been right in that. Paris was no longer her life. New York was now. Assuming the role her mother had groomed her for, even if the thought of doing so without her was one she couldn’t even contemplate.

Jagged glass lined her throat. Baby steps, she told herself, swallowing hard. She could do this. She just needed to take baby steps. And guard against her feelings for Nico while she did it because her instinctive response to him last night had revealed too much.

She wasn’t a teenager anymore in the throes of a wicked crush, overwhelmed by a sexual attraction she’d had no hope of fighting. The connection she and Nico had shared hadn’t been special as she’d thought it had been. He’d killed any romantic illusions she’d had about him dead the night he’d slept with another woman and made it clear they were over.

That she still found him compelling was an indication of her weakness when it came to him, one she needed to stamp out dead now that she was back in New York.

Because like it or not, he was her boss. The man who could green-light or kill her dream. Either she could keep fighting that fact, fighting him as she had been for the past six months, or she could prove him wrong. And since launching Vivre in time for Christmas, preserving her legacy, was all that mattered, her decision was clear.

Her first step was to dust herself off after her disastrous performance last night and make her first day back in New York a success.

A determined fire lighting her blood, she dressed in her most stylish cherry-colored suit, walked to work amid the crisp autumn glory and spent the morning meeting with Giorgio about Vivre.

She was excited to discover the splashy Christmas launch in Times Square she had planned was doable, but the tight deadlines to complete the advertising campaign made her head spin. It meant she would have to have her celebrities secured within the next week, their advertising spots filmed shortly thereafter, which might actually be impossible given how slow those things worked.

But it was doable. She focused on that as she spent the rest of the day nailing down the details Nico had requested so he would have nothing to question when she presented him with the revised plan. Then she took Mireille out for dinner at Tempesta Di Fuoco, Stefan Bianco’s hot spot in Chelsea, as she turned her attention to her most pressing issue.

Celebrities were her sister’s world. Socially connected in a way Chloe had never been with her sparkling, extroverted personality and undeniable beauty that mirrored their mother’s icy blonde looks, there were few people Mireille didn’t know in Manhattan.

Her sister refused to talk business until they had exotic martinis sitting in front of them. “All right,” she said, sitting back with her drink in hand. “Tell me about the campaign.”

Chloe cradled her glass between her fingers. “It’s about an authentic beauty, as you know. About expressing your true colors. But we’re approaching it from a different point of view with each perfume. One, for example, is about moving past your physical limitations. Another about incorporating a difficult past as part of what makes you unique. Irreplaceable.”

“I love it,” said Mireille, looking intrigued. “It’s brilliant. Give me your list.”

Chloe took a deep breath. “Number one. Carrie Taylor.” The supermodel had made it big as a plus-size model and was gracing the cover of every magazine on the newsstands.

Mireille cocked a brow. “You aren’t reaching high, are you?”

“I told you I was. Second is Lashaunta.” A pop singer who had recently had a string of chart-topping records, she had forged a successful career despite a prominent scar on her face. Or perhaps because of it, as it gave her such a distinctive look.

“Next?”

“Desdemona Parker.” A world-class athlete, she’d made it to the top of her sport despite the inherited disease that had nearly ended her career. “And finally,” Chloe concluded, “Eddie Carello for our men’s fragrance.”

Mireille blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“He’s a survivor,” Chloe said quietly. “He grew up in the projects. He perfectly embodies the spirit of Soar.”

Mireille let out a husky laugh. “I can see why Nico cut you down to size. He’s not wrong about the brand taking a hit. It isn’t going to be an easy sell. Do you have backups?”

Chloe listed them. “But I need my A list. It’s Nico’s nonnegotiable.”

Her sister pursed her lips. “I can help with Lashaunta and Carrie. You’re out of luck with Desdemona and Eddie, however. Eddie is near untouchable, he’s too hot right now. Desdemona, I have no connections to, and neither does anyone in our PR department. We’re not big in sports.”

Chloe’s face fell.

“Lazzero, however,” her sister mused, “might be able to help. I read in the paper this morning Eddie is attending the launch party for Blaze, Lazzero’s new running shoe, at Di Fiore’s tomorrow night. Desdemona has an endorsement deal with Supersonic. She might be there, too.”

Chloe chewed on her lip. Her father had been godfather to all the Di Fiore brothers when his good friend Leone had died, including Nico’s middle brother, Lazzero, and youngest, Santo. But only Nico had ended up at Evolution after her father had taken him on as his protégé. Lazzero and Santo had put themselves through school on sports scholarships, going on to found one of the hottest sportswear companies on the planet in Supersonic, with an investment from Martino to help them along.

Chloe’s lashes lowered. “I wanted to do this by myself. To prove to Nico I can.”

“Lazzero is not cheating. Lazzero is being resourceful.”

Chloe tapped her fingernails on the table. “Do you think he’d let us attend the party?”

“There’s only one way to find out.” Mireille picked up her phone and made the call.

“Lazzero, darling,” she purred. “I need you.”

Whatever was said on the other end of the phone made her laugh. “I do so call you just to chat. But right now, Chloe and I need a favor. We need an invite to your party tomorrow night to chat up Eddie Carello and Desdemona Parker for an influencer deal.”

Mireille frowned at Lazzero’s response. “Oh, she isn’t? That’s too bad. Eddie is, though, right?”

Chloe’s stomach dropped. No Desdemona.

Mireille nodded at whatever Lazzero said in response. “It won’t be me, I have plans. It will be Chloe. And I will pass the message on. You are, as usual, a doll.”

Chloe eyed her as she signed off. “What did he say?”

“Desdemona is out of town, but he’s emailing me and her agent and making the introduction. As for the party, it’s a yes. He’ll leave your name at the door.” A wicked smile curved her sister’s lips. “He said to wear a short dress. Eddie likes legs.”

* * *

And so that was how Chloe found herself the following night passing her credentials to the big lug in a dark suit at the door of Di Fiore’s, the upscale bar in midtown Manhattan Lazzero and Santo ran as part of their sports conglomerate.

Clad in the very short, rose-gold dress Mireille had lent her and surrounded by the trendy crowd, Chloe felt hopelessly out of place.

“You can come this way,” said the lug, plucking Chloe out of the lineup and ushering her through a side door and into the party that was already in full swing. There he handed her over to a hostess who led her through a crush of people to where Lazzero held court at the bar. He was supremely sophisticated all in black. Chloe had always found his hawk-like profile and dark eyes highly intimidating. Unlike Nico, who had intrigued her from the very beginning with his quiet, serious demeanor—as if the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulders.

Lazzero, however, made an effort to put her at ease, handing her a glass of wine and chatting idly with her about what she and Mireille were up to. Having not had time to eat, Chloe felt the wine go straight to her head, making the crowd seem much less unapproachable.

After a few minutes, Lazzero nodded toward the end of the bar. “Eddie at three o’clock.”

Her pulse gave a flutter as she turned to find the famous bad-boy actor lounging his lean, rangy, jean-clad body against the bar while a group of rather exquisite women attempted to capture his attention. Her stomach fell. How was she supposed to compete with that?

She turned back to Lazzero. Ran a self-conscious hand over her hair. She wasn’t going to get another opportunity like this. She just had to do it. “Do I look okay?”

His dark eyes glittered with amusement. “Affirmative. Ten minutes, Chloe. That’s all you’ve got. I have a rule at my parties—no one hassles you. It makes them want to come back.”

She moistened her lips. “Got it.”

He eyed her. “Are you sure you want to do this? He’s a bit of a piece of work.”

“Yes.”

He pressed another glass of wine into her hand. “Go.”

Chloe took a sip of the wine, sucked in a deep breath and started walking, forcing herself to trace a straight line toward the actor before she chickened out. The girls around him looked down their noses at her as she approached. Used to this treatment when she was with Mireille, Chloe ignored them, walked right up to Eddie and stuck out her hand. “Eddie, I’m Chloe Russo. My family and I own Evolution. I’d like to talk to you about a fragrance I’ve developed with you in mind.”

The actor swept his gaze over her dismissively, before he got to her legs, where he lingered. “Who did you say you are?” he queried absentmindedly.

Chloe repeated her spiel, refusing to give in to the knots tying themselves in her stomach.

Eddie lifted his slumberous dark gaze to hers. Flicked the girl off the stool beside him. “Have a seat.”

* * *

Nico pointed his car home, a brutally hard day of meetings behind him. A beer and the hot tub at his penthouse beckoned, but so did a phone call with his brothers at the end of the day. Old habits died hard, and checking in with Lazzero and Santo to make sure their world was upright was one of them.

It had been that way ever since their father’s company had imploded when Nico was a teenager, his father and his marriage along with it, leaving Nico as the last line of defense between his family and the street when his mother had walked out. When life as you’d known it had dissolved once beneath your feet, you made sure it never happened again.

He punched Lazzero’s cell into his hands-free. It rang five times before his brother picked up, the sound of music pulsing in the background.

“Sorry.” The music faded as Lazzero moved to a quieter spot. “It’s our Blaze launch tonight.”

Nico rubbed a palm against his temple. “Mi dispiace. I just walked out of my last meeting minutes ago.”

“No worries.” An amused note flavored his brother’s lazy drawl. “You didn’t tell me you were sending your little bird my way.”

“My little bird?”

“Chloe. She’s here chatting up Eddie Carello for some sponsorship deal.”

Nico blinked at the bright headlights of an oncoming car. “Chloe is there chatting up Eddie Carello?”

“And doing a pretty good job of it I might say. Must be the dress. I told her he likes legs.”

Nico brought his back teeth together. “Shut it down, Lazzero. You know better than that. She’s no match for him.”

More of that patented male amusement in his brother’s voice. “She looks like a match for him to me. She has his undivided attention at the moment.”

“Lazzero,” Nico growled. “Shut it down.”

“Gotta go,” his brother apologized. “A client just arrived. You should drop by.”

Nico swore a blue streak, yanked the steering wheel around and did an overtly illegal U-turn. Approaching celebrities was the PR department’s job. He was already feeling guilty about the board meeting and the necessarily harsh lesson he’d administered to Chloe. She was so vulnerable despite that sharp mouth of hers. But it had seemed to do the trick of jolting her out of that frozen state she’d been in, and for that, he’d considered it a success.

She did, however, need to be treated with kid gloves at the moment. She was the key to Evolution’s success. She had to believe she could take her mother’s place. But the question mark with Chloe had always been her confidence. Her belief in herself.

It didn’t seem to be lacking, however, as Nico strode into Di Fiore’s to find Lazzero romancing a tall blonde at the bar and Chloe doing the same with the most notorious womanizer in Hollywood.

Her dark hair shone loose around her lovely face, the champagne-colored dress she wore as she sat perched on the high stool highlighting every dip and curve of her slim, perfect figure. Her legs—and there was a lot of them—were a jaw-dropping, toned work of art. They made his mouth go dry.

And that was before he got to those gorgeous eyes of hers—dark rippling pools framed by the longest, most luxurious lashes he’d ever seen. Eyes that had once made him lose his common sense. He thought maybe she’d put about ten coats of mascara on.

Carello had one hand on his jean-clad thigh, the other around his drink, talking in an animated fashion while Chloe listened, her clear, bright laughter cutting through the din of the crowd. Nico’s mouth tightened as the actor slid his arm to the back of her stool and moved in closer.

Resisting the urge to walk over there and pluck her off the stool, he lifted his hand and signaled the bartender instead. The young hipster called out a greeting to him and slid his favorite dark ale across the bar.

“You thought that was a good idea?” he growled as Lazzero lost the blonde and ambled over.

His brother hiked a shoulder. “I’m not her babysitter. You are. How you found yourself in that role is beyond me.”

“You know full well how I did. Martino made it impossible to say no.”

Lazzero took a sip of his beer. Eyed him. “When are you going to tell her about his cancer? It would make your life easier, you know.”

It would. But Martino had made him promise not to tell his girls about the rare form of cancer that would have eventually claimed his life. He’d asked Nico to take care of them instead by taking his place at the helm of the company and ensuring it prospered. Telling Chloe now would only add to the emotional upheaval she was going through. And quite frankly, he needed her head on the job.

He threw back a swig of his beer. Wiped his mouth. “I have no idea why Martino even thought this was a good idea.”

“Maybe because you did such a good job with Santo and me,” Lazzero goaded. “We are such model citizens.”

“I am questioning that right now.” Nico slid his attention back to Carello. Watched him put a palm on Chloe’s bare thigh. She didn’t flinch, throwing her hair back over her shoulder and laughing at whatever he said.

Heat seared his belly. “How much has she had to drink?”

“Enough to boost her confidence.” Lazzero leaned a hip against the bar. Slid an assessing gaze over him. “Tough day?”

“Evolution’s stock is in the toilet, we desperately need a hit product and Giorgio has been executing an internal smear campaign against me. It’s been a joy.”

Lazzero’s mouth curled. “He is a nuisance. He’s not a serious threat.”

But he was distracting him at a time he couldn’t afford to be distracted. When Evolution was teetering on the edge of a defining moment. And that, he couldn’t have.

A tall, lanky male with razed blond hair pushed through the crowd to the bar, leaning over to say something to Eddie. The actor gave Chloe a regretful look, then said something that made her face fall, then brighten as Carello took something out of his wallet and slid it onto the bar.

Nico’s fingers tightened around his beer bottle as the actor bent and pressed a kiss to each of Chloe’s cheeks, staining her skin with two twin spots of pink. Then he and his entourage headed off through the crowd.

* * *

A surge of triumph filled Chloe as she sat holding Eddie Carello’s agent’s business card, his parting words ringing in her ears. Call my agent. Give him the details. Tell him I gave this the green light if he’s good with it.

She shook her head bemusedly. Slid off the bar stool, a half-finished glass of champagne in her hand. The world rocked ever so slightly beneath her feet. She’d never had much of a head for alcohol, but Eddie had insisted on that glass of champagne, and OMG, he’d just said yes. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined he would.

Untouchable, my foot.

She turned and headed for Lazzero to thank him. Pulled up short. Nico was standing beside his brother at the bar, the jacket of his dark suit discarded, a drink in his hand.

Her pulse went haywire. Why did that happen every time? And why did he look so good in a shirt and tie? The tie loosened, his hair ruffled, he looked younger, like he had when they’d first met. Devastating.

But that Nico didn’t exist, she reminded herself, heart thumping against her chest like a bass drum. And she’d do well to remember it.

She straightened her shoulders and walked the length of the bar to where the two men stood. Lazzero waved off her thanks and melted into the crowd to greet someone. Nico set that penetrating gray gaze of his on her.

“I told you to secure him. Meaning use the PR department. Not take on Hollywood yourself.”

She lifted a shoulder. “The PR department didn’t have access to him. Mireille said he was untouchable. So we asked Lazzero for help.”

He leaned back against the bar, his free hand crossed in the crook of his folded elbow. “What did he say?”

A victorious smile played at the corners of her mouth. It might have been her best moment ever. “He said yes.”

His eyes widened. “He did?”

“Yes. But,” she qualified, “it’s contingent on his agent’s approval.”

Nico’s gaze warmed with a glimmer of something that might have been admiration. “I’m impressed. How did you convince him?”

“I explained the campaign to him. Why he was the inspiration for Soar. He was flattered—said he liked the idea of having a fragrance created for him. It turns out,” she concluded thoughtfully, “that men are true to their biology. They like to have their egos stroked. It’s their Achilles’ heel.”

A hint of a smile played at his mouth. “That may be true,” he acknowledged. “But Carello is not to be played with. His reputation precedes him. Get his agent to sign off, then leave him the hell alone.”

“I know that.” Irritation burrowed a bumpy red path beneath her skin. “That’s why I told him I had a boyfriend. Honestly, Nico, do you think I’m a total neophyte?”

“Sometimes I do, yes.”

She made a sound at the back of her throat. “Well, you can go home now. The show’s over. Your babysitting duties are officially done for the night.”

He nodded toward her glass. “Finish that and I’ll drive you home.”

Oh, no. She was not having him shepherd her home like some stray sheep who’d wandered into the wrong field. She had conquered tonight, and she was leaving under her own steam. Because, truthfully, all she wanted was a hot shower and her bed now that the world had blissfully right-sided itself.

She lifted her chin. “I’m not ready to leave. It was so nice of Lazzero to invite me. It’s a great party. There’s dancing and everything. I think I’ll stay.”

He set his silvery gaze on hers. “Let’s go dance, then.”

Her heart tripped over itself. She knew how good it felt to be that close to all that muscle and masculinity. How exciting it was, because he’d subjected her to its full effects before he’d cast her aside and chosen another.

“I didn’t say I wanted to dance right now.” She held up her half-finished glass of champagne. “I still have this.”

“I think you’ve had enough.” He plucked the glass out of her fingers, captured her wrist in his hand and was leading her through the crowd toward the packed dance floor before she could voice an objection. She knew it for the bad idea it was before they’d even gotten there. Eddie had touched her bare thigh and hadn’t even caused a ripple. Nico’s fingers wrapped around her wrist were like a surge of electricity through her entire body. She felt it right to the tips of her toes.

But then they’d reached the mosaic-tiled dance floor with its elegant chandelier. With a smooth flick of his wrist, Nico tugged her to him. A little more pressure and she was firmly within the circle of his arms, shielded from the other dancers by his height and breadth.

One of her hands in his, the other resting on his waist, it wasn’t a close hold. But this was Nico. Every inch of her skin heated as it came into whisper-soft contact with his tall, powerful body. And then the scent of him kicked in, filling her head and electrifying her senses.

Smoky and elusive, it was pure, understated sensuality. Vetiver, the warm Indian grass known for its earthy, hedonistic appeal her mother had highlighted in Voluttuoso, her final fragrance. Chloe had always thought it was sexy. On Nico, with his overt virility and intensely masculine scent, it was knee weakening.

One dance. She kept her gaze riveted to the knot of his elegant silver tie. Unfortunately for her, the song was a jazzy, sexy tune, in keeping with the über-cool vibe of the party. A smooth, instinctive dancer, Nico was an excellent lead, guiding her steps easily in the small space they had carved out with a light pressure on her palm.

It should have been simple to exercise the mind control her yoga instructor was always preaching. Instead, her thoughts flew back to that sultry Fourth of July night that changed everything.

Her in Nico’s arms...the illicit, forbidden passion that had burst into flames between them...how for the first time in her life, she’d felt truly, completely alive.

She lifted her gaze to his, searched for some indication that everything they’d shared hadn’t been the imaginings of her eighteen-year-old mind. That she’d meant something to him like she’d thought she had. But his cool gray gaze was focused on her with a calculating intensity that sent that irrational, naive hope plunging to the bottom of her heart.

“We started off on the wrong foot the other night,” he murmured. “We need to work as a team, Chloe, together, not apart, if we have any hope of preserving what your parents built. Full-out warfare is not going to work.”

She arched a brow at him. “Is that an apology?”

“If you like,” he said evenly. “Like it or not, we are in this together. We succeed or fail together. You decide which it is.”

Her lashes lowered. “I agree we need a better working relationship. But this is my company, Nico. You need to listen to me, too. You can’t just run roughshod over me with that insatiable need for control of yours. I know what’s going to make Evolution a success. There’s no doubt in my mind it’s Vivre.”

“Put the rest of the pieces of the plan in place and I might agree. And,” he said, inclining his head, “I promise to listen more. If you stop trying to bait me at every turn.”

Her mouth twisted. “A truce, then?”

A mocking glint filled his gaze. “A truce. We can celebrate by attending the Palm Beach fund-raiser together. It will present a very public united front.”

Her parents’ favorite fund-raiser. A glittering, star-studded musical event in Palm Beach every year in support of breast cancer—a disease her mother’s best friend had succumbed to. Her stomach did a nervous dip at the thought of attending it with Nico.

She tipped her head back to look up at him. “You mean you don’t have one of your hot dates lined up for it?”

Hot in the sense they never lasted with Nico. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him photographed with the same woman twice.

“I haven’t had a hot date in six months,” he drawled. “It will have to wait until Evolution isn’t in danger of falling through the cracks.”

A calculated insult intended to remind her of her irresponsibility and his immutable focus. “However will you survive?” she goaded, skin stinging.

“I will manage,” he murmured, eyes on hers. “Careful, Chloe, we’ve barely gotten this cease-fire of ours under way.”

She sank her teeth into her lip. At the erotic image that one word inserted into her head. It took very little of her imagination to wonder what he would look like in the shower satisfying that physical need, his beautiful body primed for release.

She closed her eyes. She hated him. This was insanity.

The song finished. She stepped hastily out of his arms, smoothing her dress down over her hips. Nico gave her a pointed look. “Ready to leave?”

The concrete set of his jaw said there was no point arguing. He wasn’t leaving her here. He would wait all night if he had to because this was Nico—relentless in everything he did. Patient like the most tenacious predator in achieving what he wanted.

“Yes,” she agreed with a helpless sigh.

He placed a palm to her back as they wound their way through the crowd to say good-night to Lazzero. The heat of it fizzled over her skin, warming her layers deep, a real-life chemical reaction she’d never been able to defuse.

It rendered her silent on the trip home, the warm, luxurious interior of the car wrapping her in a sleek, dark cocoon as they slipped through quiet streets. She was so tired as Nico walked her to her door, she stumbled with the key as she tried to push it into the lock.

His fingers brushed against hers as he collected the keys from her hand and unlocked the door. Little pinpricks of heat exploded across her skin, a surge of warmth staining her cheeks as she looked up at him to thank him. Found herself all caught up in his smoky gaze that suddenly seemed to have a charge in it that stalled the breath in her throat.

“Go inside and go to bed, Chloe,” he said huskily. “And lock the door.”

His intention ever since he’d walked into that bar tonight, she reminded herself, past her spinning head. To prevent her from slipping into Eddie Carello’s hands.

She slicked her tongue across suddenly dry lips. Cocked her chin at a defiant angle. “Mission accomplished. I’ll be in bed by midnight. But then again, you always get what you want, don’t you, Nico?”

His gray gaze was heavy-lidded as it focused on her mouth for an infinitesimal pause. “Not always,” he said quietly.

Then he disappeared into the night.


CHAPTER THREE (#ud318f1af-d7de-511b-b487-771682a23ce3)

IT HAD BEEN the champagne talking. Chloe convinced herself of that version of events as she walked to work the next morning. That cryptic comment from Nico on her doorstep, the chemistry that had seemed so palpable between them. Because not once in all the years since their summer flirtation had he ever looked at her like that.

She’d merely been a blip on his radar. A casual diversion he’d regretted when more sophisticated choices had come along. Thinking it had been any more than that would make her a fool where he was concerned and she’d stopped being that a long time ago.

Whatever misguided sense of duty he was displaying toward her, this power trip he was on, Nico’s ambition was the only thing he cared about, a fact she would do well to remember. She’d agreed to this truce of theirs only for the greater good of the company. Because saving Evolution was all that mattered.

She perfected her spiel for Eddie’s agent as she rode the elevator to her office, said good-morning to Clara, whom she’d decided was not only witty but astonishingly efficient, and took the messages her assistant handed her into her office.

Done in antiques, with a Louis XVI writing desk and chairs, ultra-feminine lace-edged, silk curtains and warm lamp lighting, the office that had once been her mother’s wrapped itself around her like a whisper-soft memory. But her mind was all business as she picked up the phone and called Eddie’s agent. A good thing, too, because when she reached him, he told her he was on his way out of town but could have lunch that day before he left.

Apprehensive Eddie would change his mind if it waited, Chloe jumped on the invitation. Unfortunately, his agent wasn’t immediately sold on the endorsement, but in the end he relented, only because Eddie seemed so keen on the project and the actor had a movie coming out at Christmas, just as the massive campaign for Soar would appear.

Chloe floated back to the office and announced her victory to Mireille, who was just as excited as she.

“I,” she informed Chloe, “have good news and bad news for you. The good news is that Lashaunta is interested. She loves the campaign. It really resonated with her.”

Chloe’s heart soared. Lashaunta was a megastar. “That’s amazing.”

“The bad news is that Carrie Taylor is a no. She’s about to represent a competing fragrance. Desdemona,” she concluded, “I’m still working on.”

Which meant they needed to secure their plan B supermodel, Estelle Markov, for Nico to give them the green light. He might approve the plan with only three of their four celebrities in place, but any less than that and Chloe knew she’d be out of luck.

While Mireille worked on Estelle, Chloe went off to put the final piece of her buzz campaign into effect, personally delivering samples of the Vivre fragrances to each and every Evolution employee’s desk, explaining the story behind the perfumes. A streak of the devil possessing her, she also had Clara courier samples of the fragrances to the board members, making sure she also sent one for their significant other.

She would win them over.

* * *

Hurricane Chloe had entered the building.

A wry smile tugged at Nico’s lips as he waved Chloe into his office late on Friday afternoon and motioned for her to take a seat as he finished up a conference call.

She walked to the window instead, vibrating with the perpetual energy she’d been displaying all week in her very effective campaign to prove him wrong. Her slender body encased in a soft, off-white sweater, dark jeans tucked into knee-high boots and a fawn-colored jacket topping it off, she wore her hair in a high ponytail, her flawless skin bare of makeup.

The hard kick she administered to his solar plexus wasn’t unexpected. He’d been fighting his attraction to Chloe ever since the first moment he’d set foot in the Russo household and eyes on Martino and Juliette’s eldest daughter.

Twenty to Chloe’s sixteen, he’d been hard and bitter from his experiences. But something about the quiet, passionate Chloe had penetrated his close-packed outer shell. Perhaps he had recognized a piece of himself in her—the need they had both had to bury themselves behind their layers to protect themselves against the world. Perhaps it had been how she had sold her subtle beauty short when he’d always found her far more attractive than her stunning sister.

He’d told himself he couldn’t have her. That he would never put his position as Martino’s protégé in jeopardy—the career that had meant everything to him as he’d finally built a solid footing under his feet. Until unintended and explosive, the attraction between him and Chloe had slipped his reins at the Russo’s annual Fourth of July party.

Martino, who’d witnessed the kiss, had brought him up short, asking his intentions when it came to his daughter. Pursue Chloe seriously or leave her alone, he had said, knowing what Nico was—a man who would never trust, never commit to a woman because of the scars his early life had left behind.

So he’d walked away. Done it the hard way so it would be a clean break. So he wouldn’t be tempted with what he couldn’t have. Because Martino had been right—he would have broken Chloe’s heart far worse than he had in the end.

Martino might not be alive, he conceded, studying the delicate length of her spine, and Chloe wasn’t a teenager anymore, but he had a new responsibility now. To protect her, not bed her. To nurture her as Martino had asked of him. It was a promise he would not break.

His call with the West Coast team over, he pushed out of his chair and walked to where she stood at the window. She turned, her face expectant. “Did you look at the plan?”

“Yes.” He glanced at his watch. “I have time to go through it before my dinner plans if you’d like.”

When she answered in the affirmative, he strode out to reception, sent his PA, Simone, home, then returned to pour himself a Scotch. When Chloe refused his offer of a drink, he joined her in the lounge, where she stood at the windows, enjoying the view.

Designed to work and entertain with its Italian glass chandeliers, dining room for ten and magnificent vista of a night-lit Central Park, the view was Nico’s favorite thing about the space he spent far too much time in.

Chloe turned around. “So what did you think?”

“I think you’ve made a very persuasive case for Vivre being the Christmas focus. The plan is excellent.” A wry smile touched his mouth. “It was also impossible,” he conceded drily, “to miss your blitz campaign. Very clever. I couldn’t walk the halls without hearing about it. Simone can’t stop raving about Be. Jerry Schumacher called me this morning to beg for an early production bottle for his wife.”

A tiny smile curved her mouth at the mention of Evolution’s most senior board member. “I did say I would win them over. But more important,” she added, excitement filling her voice, “the media is raving about Vivre, Nico. The editor of the most influential fashion magazine in America is crazy about Soar. She wants to feature it as her must-have product for Christmas. I think it’s going to be a huge hit.”

He held up a hand before she got too carried away. “I saw that. I do, however, still have real concerns about the timing. It seems inordinately tight. I want more than Giorgio’s rose-colored glasses making this decision.”

“It is a tight timeline,” she admitted. “I may not sleep. But we can do it. The advertising space is booked, and all four of our celebrities have the time in their schedule to film the spots.”

He addressed the one glaring hole in the plan. “I don’t see Carrie Taylor in there. What happened to her?”

She sank her teeth into her lip. “She’s representing a competing fragrance. But Mireille has a verbal commitment from Estelle Markov, who’s making it big in Europe. I think she’ll be perfect to target that audience.”

“I’ve never heard of her.” He frowned. “She doesn’t have Carrie Taylor’s cachet, Chloe. Nor is the European market anywhere near the size of the North American one.”

“But she’s amazing.” Her eyes shimmered with fire. “When was the last time you were a twentysomething fashionista with breasts?”

A dry look back. “Point taken.”

“Not to mention the fact that Eddie and Lashaunta could carry this campaign on their own if they had to,” she plunged on. “Carrie is not a make-or-break for us.”

He took a sip of his Scotch. Considered his options. The skincare line he had favored was, in truth, not going to set the world on fire. It would, however, provide very solid profits. Vivre might be that superstar product line Evolution so desperately needed, but was he insane to bet the company on it?

“This is a fifty-million-dollar campaign,” he said, fixing his gaze on Chloe’s. “We’ve never done anything of this magnitude before. It needs to be executed flawlessly—right down to the last detail. Needs to put Evolution on everyone’s lips again. Are you sure you can get it into market in time?”

“Yes.” Her head bobbed up and down. “Trust me, Nico. I can do this.”

He gave her a long look. “Okay,” he said finally, pointing his glass at her. “Let’s do it, then.”

* * *

The world tilted beneath Chloe’s feet. “Did you just say yes?”

He smiled. “Si.”

“Why?”

“Because I believe in you,” he said quietly. “You’re a brilliant scientist, Chloe. Juliette said you have even better instincts than she had at this age. That you have the magic in you. I just wasn’t sure you or Vivre was ready.”

Hot tears prickled beneath her eyelids. A knot she hadn’t been conscious of unraveled in her chest. Three years of blood, sweat and tears. Six months of praying she had created something that would do her mother proud. To be so close to watching her dream reach fruition almost undid her.

But there was also fear. Her stomach clenched hard at the responsibility that now lay on her shoulders, icy tentacles of apprehension sinking into her skin. What if she failed? What if she’d been overly optimistic and couldn’t get the campaign into market in time? What if she was wrong about Vivre? What if it wasn’t going to be the smash hit she thought it would be?

She inhaled a deep breath. Steadied herself. She wasn’t wrong. She knew it in her heart. She just wished her mother was here to tell her that. To be the second half of her she had always been. Instead, she had to do this herself.

“I know this is the right path for Evolution,” she said huskily. “I can feel it in my bones.”

Nico nodded. “Then let me give you a few additional thoughts I have.”

They sat at the table in the dining room and worked through the plan. Released one by one in limited-edition launches in the weeks leading up to Christmas, the campaign for Vivre was all about buzz building and creating a sense of exclusivity for the perfumes.

Vivre’s four celebrity ambassadors would do exclusive appearances at the Times Square pop-up retail location in conjunction with the massive promotional campaign that would blanket the globe, intensifying the buzz.

Nico frowned as he looked at the timeline. “When does Eddie’s movie come out?”

“The second week of December.” Chloe pointed to the date on the timeline. “That’s why we’re launching Soar that week.”

“What are you doing on his side of things to cross-promote?”

She pursed her lips. “I hadn’t gotten that far yet.”

“You should do something with the theaters. Hand samples out. Put the fragrance in the gift bags at the premieres. Run the campaign on theater screens.”

So smart. She tapped her coffee mug against her chin. “I don’t know if we have time.”

He lifted a brow.

“We’ll make it happen,” she corrected hastily. “No problem.”

He offered a half dozen more brilliant ideas before they were done, Chloe frantically scribbling notes. She had to reluctantly admit by the time they were finished that while she and her uncle had created an inspired plan, Nico had taken it to a whole other level with his innate sense of timing and brilliant business instincts.

Which had never been in question, she brooded as he got up from the table to shrug on an elegant black dinner jacket. Her father would never have taken him on as his protégé if he hadn’t possessed Leone Di Fiore’s uncanny sense of financial wizardry. What she couldn’t forgive was how Nico had taken advantage of the trust her father had placed in him with what Giorgio had described as a systematic campaign to gain power.




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