Surrender Your Love (6 page)

In the end, I
borrowed Sylvie’s navy
Jil Sander
suit, and from the same collection a tailored, long-sleeved dress that ended just above the knee. They were the least expensive clothes in Sylvie’s stuffed-to-the-brim wardrobe, so I knew she wouldn’t mind me borrowing them. She usually preferred a riskier style anyway, think short and sheer, so she’d probably not even notice them being gone.

I was still flicking through Sylvie
’s wardrobe when her key turned in the lock, and she walked in a few moments later.

“
Are you ransacking my stuff?” She lifted the navy suit I had decided on earlier and smirked. “You could have picked something less—”

“
Boring?” I prompted.

“
I was about to say
matronly
, but boring will do.” She tossed the suit aside and sat down on the bed, tucking her naked legs beneath her. Her skirt was so short I could see her frilly
Victoria’s Secret
panties.

“
I hope you don’t mind.”

“
Actually, you’re doing me a favor.” She shot the suit a dirty look like it was about to steal her purse.

“
I got kicked out of the department,” I said, ready to share my big news.

“
What? Was it that prick, James?” She inched closer and wrapped her left arm around my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Brooke.” I could tell by her excited expression that she wasn’t. “But seeing the bright side: now we’re two unemployed chicks with the margarita world at our feet.”

I smirked.

“See, I don’t get it. Why do you always have to be so
conventional
?” She emphasized the word like it was a bad thing. “You don’t slack off at work. You don’t sleep around for the sake of it. You’re just—” She waved her hand in the air, looking for the right word.

“
Dull?” I prompted, smiling.

“
Responsible.”

My smile turned bitter as I looked away. She had asked me the same question many ti
mes during our friendship. I always avoided giving her an answer because I knew she wouldn’t understand. No one would. The world didn’t like to hear about that part of my life. Luckily Sylvie knew me well enough not to press the issue.

“
Let’s have another drink,” Sylvie said. “Knowing you it’ll be a brief stint, so I say we make the best of it.”

I hated to
shatter her alcohol-fueled dreams, but someone had to do it. I owed it to mankind. “I wasn’t sacked. James signed the company over to Mayfield Realties, and Mayfield promoted me to senior assistant. I’m leaving for Italy tomorrow.”

“
Hell, no.” Sylvie’s jaw dropped. For a moment she looked disappointed, until she realized as my best friend she was supposed to be happy for me. “Yay! Well done, you.” She didn’t mean one single half-hearted word of it. Her expression was as enthusiastic as a salmon about to be fished out of the water.

“
Save it. Gee, you’re pathetic.” I rolled my eyes and snorted. “You’d rather have me home with you, picking up guys and getting to bed when others wake up for work.”

She laughed that tinkling laughter of hers that only managed to confirm my suspicion.
“A promotion is almost as good as running around in PJs all day long. This calls for a celebration.
Vixen’s
in half an hour?”

“
It’s four p.m.”

“
You’re right. It’s getting kind of late. Let’s make it ten minutes.”

I stared after
her open-mouthed as she grabbed a handful of stuff from her wardrobe and headed for the bathroom to change.

To call Sylvie’s patch of fabric a skirt was an offense to whoever invented the skirt. It was nothing more than an over-sized belt and barely covered her modesty, let alone provide any protection from the cold and damp New York air. I tried my best to persuade her to wear something else, something with more length, but she wouldn’t have it. So I clamped my mouth shut and let her dress in the clothes—or lack thereof—of her choice.

She downed a glass of red wine before we even
left the apartment, then another as soon as we hit
Vixen’s
. By the time our usual clique arrived a few hours later, we were both intoxicated and having a good time slagging off Sylvie’s ex. I didn’t see the mop of dark hair and green eyes until Sylvie pointed, slurring, “Isn’t that your guy?”

“
What?”

“
You know, your
plan cul
. Bed candy. Fuck buddy.” She collapsed in a fit of laughter.

Oh, gosh.

If it was him I could only hope he couldn’t lip-read. My vision blurred as I turned my head. I narrowed my eyes to focus, but the only things I caught were broad shoulders and a strong back heading straight for the door.

I rolled my eyes.
“You’re so drunk you’d mistake Bruce Willis for a girl.”

“
Who?”

She seemed genuinely
confused, so I mumbled, “Never mind” as I waved my hand and signaled the bartender to get us another round of shots. That sparked instant recognition.

“
You’re the best girlfriend in the world,” Sylvie slurred, and placed a wet smooch on my cheek.

I forced another shot
down my throat, then another. The room began to spin until it looked like a giant merry-go-round of laughing people, clinking glasses, and ear splitting music. Something about a job and a new boss briefly popped up at the back of my mind, but it all got lost in the alcohol-induced sense of freedom that was beginning to wash over me. I felt as though I had no care in the world, and I intended to keep it that way until strong arms wrapped around me, and I was tucked into something warm and fluffy. I opened my eyes to peer into the most electrifying green gaze reflecting a dark puddle of annoyance.

“
You have the most gorgeous eyes. I could stare into them forever,” I mumbled giggling.

And then I passed out.

I wasn’t a wallflower when it came to partying and having a good time, but I didn’t usually have more than two glasses. So two nights in a row drinking my head off with Sylvie hadn’t been a wise decision. I opened my eyes groggily and blinked against the bright sun spilling through the window.

Good grief.

My head felt as though someone was pounding it with a sledgehammer and my tongue was stuck to the back of my throat. At least I didn’t feel sick. I sat up and placed my naked feet on the rug in front of my bed, testing the ground. It felt a bit shaky but otherwise okay. I walked to the kitchen for a glass of water when I remembered the green eyes from last night.

Did I have sex with him again?
Or had I been imagining him? No idea what might be worse.

“
Sylvie?” My voice sounded so hoarse it made me cringe. I called out louder but got no answer. She was probably still sleeping off her hangover. I padded through each room, looking for a sign that I brought a man home, but found none. Eventually I knocked on Sylvie’s door and entered. Either she left early, which couldn’t be since she would have left me a note, or she never accompanied me home. The stack of clothes she had tossed on the bed while rummaging for something to wear last night persuaded me to go with Option B.

So the guy had been
just a figment of my imagination. I couldn’t help the sudden disappointment grabbing me.

Why did I even care
whether I ever saw this guy again? Sean had just split up with me, and I had barely wasted a minute obsessing over it. Yet Jett and I had talked for all of five minutes, and I was all but planning out our future together.

Because no one
’s ever made you feel this way. Sexy. Confident. Wanted.

I groaned at the thought
, even though I knew it was true. He wasn’t just hot; he had something about him that turned my insides all mushy and made me want to do stuff. To him. With him.

Get your head out of the gutter, Stewart.

I made myself a cup of coffee, grabbed a piece of dry toast, and sat down at the kitchen table overlooking the busy street below. But it wasn’t old ladies and moms holding onto their kids that I saw.

My mind could only focus on one thing: smoldering eyes and a hard body leaning over me. I sighed and let my imagination roam free
ly where it wanted to go.

***

Late afternoon, Sylvie was still not back, probably busy hooking up with last night’s conquest. In case she worried or needed me, I left a note on the kitchen table with my new number and the promise to call her as soon as I arrived in Italy. Half an hour later a cab pulled up in front of the building, and I drove to the airport with the setting sun behind me.

Once at JFK and waiting in the boarding area, I switched on my smartphone. The plan was to transfer my
old cell’s contact list, excluding Sean’s number, to my company phone. Instead, I was instantly awarded with a long list of redirected calls and text messages. I knew nothing about my new boss, so I figured flicking through his messages would help me paint a picture before I met him in less than nine hours. I took a sip of my water and almost choked on it. He sounded businesslike and curt. While I understood that smileys and kisses were to be avoided in business correspondence, Mr. Mayfield also seemed to harbor a great aversion to saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. I frowned as I made a mental list of his favorite words:
great, okay, fine, yes, no way, done
. His longest sentence was:
If you need to talk, my assistant will be happy to assist you.

I sighed and rubbed my still throbbing forehead.
James hadn’t been the greatest boss in the world, but he didn’t seem allergic to talking. I certainly liked engaging in dialogue every now and then, so my new job might turn a bit challenging, and not in a good way.

I was about to switch off the smartphone when an IM from Sylvie came through. Glancing at the clock to make sure I wasn
’t late, I opened the conversation and quickly skimmed through to the bottom. There was a brief mention of a letter and some guy with a strange and (according to Sylvie) extremely sexy accent calling to talk to me. I was listed in the public phone directory and was used to the usual financial and insurance companies soliciting me, so the information didn’t bother me. Maybe the fact that I had other things on my mind further contributed to my lack of interest. Switching off the smartphone, I headed for the gate to board the plane, wondering for the umpteenth time why a headhunter would headhunt
me
to work for someone like Mayfield. Judging from his brisk tone and my fondness of human conversation, we sure weren’t a match made in business heaven.

The plane landed at Malpensa airport nine painful hours later, which was the longest period I had ever spent on a plane. I knew I didn’t look my best. My head reeled, my eyes burned from a lack of sleep, and my thighs ached for a jog, but at that moment, I couldn’t be more excited
.
Milan’s ancient buildings and twinkling city lights were waiting just outside the sliding doors. I was ready to explore each and every part of this wonderful city on my days off, of which I hoped I would have plenty.

Smiling, I gathered my unruly hair in a high ponytail and pinched my cheeks to look more presentable, then picked up my luggage from the carousel and made my way through customs.
The arrivals area was filled with waiting families and taxi drivers. I spied a cardboard plaque the size of a notebook with my name written on it and walked over, expecting my new boss to be waiting for me. The middle-aged guy greeted me in broken English, and I knew it couldn’t possibly be Mayfield.

“
Seniorita Stewart, I’m your driver. May I take your luggage?” He didn’t wait for my answer. He grabbed my suitcase and heaved it up in a fluent motion, then carried it to the parked SUV, dodging the dissipating crowds and taxi drivers vying for tourists’s attention. I hurried after him, concentrating hard to keep up with his chitter-chatter as he went on to tell me about the weather, the country, sightseeing opportunities, and who knows what else.

Night had
descended, but the airport was brightly illuminated, allowing a breathtaking sneak peak at the mountain scenery I had seen outlined through the plane’s window. I smiled and nodded politely as he opened the door for me, and I jumped onto the back seat of the car. He paused in his conversation for all of five seconds, or as long as it took him to pull out of the parking lot. As we headed up the highway he resumed his chat.

“
You had a nice trip but very long?” I nodded, and he laughed. “But now it’s over and you’ll have a beautiful vacation.” I didn’t want to point out that I wasn’t on vacation, so I just nodded again. The driver continued his half-English, half-Italian monologue through the drive to Bellagio. By the time he pulled over thirty minutes later, my head was reeling, and not from the fresh air and stunning backdrop I had glimpsed outside the window. I jumped out on shaky feet, my hand clutching the car’s door for support, as I gawked at the hotel in front of me.