Signed Over to Santino Read online

  Eventually, the medication kicked in. At some point she woke to find a blanket tucked around her and the lights in the sitting area dimmed. A glass of water stood on the table next to her and she drank before once again succumbing to sleep.

  She was awoken by Selma, who smiled and informed her that they’d landed and that Javier had already left the plane to head to his office.

  Carla told herself the disappointment she felt was because she’d been denied the opportunity to set the record straight. And she kept telling herself that all through the next two weeks of barely seeing Javier. Of Selma, though, she saw a lot, the doctor almost frustratingly efficient in ensuring Carla was fed, watered and medicated within the four walls of Javier’s ultra-luxurious Upper East Side penthouse.

  Emerging from her assigned bedroom on the morning after being given the all-clear to pursue light work, Carla caught sight of herself in the large gilt mirror gracing the wide hallway, and paused in surprise.

  Her skin looked healthy and vibrant and her cheeks had lost the sickly pallor and gaunt hollowness. Her newly shampooed hair, which she’d worn in a tight bun for as long as she could remember, fell in waves around her shoulders, the distinct caramel highlights catching the sunlight.

  ‘Admiring your new and improved self?’

  She jumped and turned to find Javier striding towards her. Dressed in an open-necked casual shirt and black jeans, he was the epitome of sophisticated chic, and arresting enough to make her gape for several embarrassing seconds before she regained her focus. ‘There was nothing wrong with my old self,’ she snapped after recovering from the shock of suddenly seeing him, larger than life and in the flesh.

  ‘That is a subject of much debate,’ he returned.

  Carla moved away from the mirror. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Black eyebrows rose. ‘At my last recollection, I lived here.’

  Heat suffused her face. ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant, it’s Friday. I thought you’d be gone by now.’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint, but if I want to keep my famous work/life balance title I need to take the occasional day off,’ he drawled.

  ‘Is that what you’re doing? Taking the day off?’

  Powerful shoulders hefted a shrug. ‘That depends on how well you do with your first assignment.’

  She stopped in her tracks. ‘Me?’

  ‘Selma tells me you’re fit enough to attend a creative meeting or two as long as your wrist is taken care of. She also tells me you’re going stir-crazy. Was she wrong?’

  ‘She wasn’t,’ she hurriedly replied. She looked down at the short tunic she’d thrown on after her shower because it’d been the easiest thing to hand. ‘I’ll go and change.’

  After a swift perusal of her attire, he shook his head. ‘You don’t need to. The creative director will be here after breakfast. We’ll work from here today.’

  He headed for the dining room. She followed him into the large, sunlit room. Before now, breakfast had been a solitary affair, eaten with almost absent enjoyment while her mind worried over what Javier had meant by reparation and just how he would exact it from her.

  Now as she walked towards the place set for her, she couldn’t help recall how the last meal they’d shared had ended.

  But looking at him, she could see little trace of the capricious emotion that had leapt from him then. She didn’t fool herself into believing it was far from the surface. Javier had bided his time for three years. She didn’t doubt that he would be perfectly content to toy with her a while longer yet.

  Suddenly reluctant to touch on the subject she’d spent far too many hours dwelling on, she helped herself to a bagel, smothered it with cream cheese, and took a bite. Swallowing it down with a sip of coffee, she risked a glance and found him staring at her over his coffee cup. ‘I’m not sure exactly what a creative director does.’

  ‘We’ll discuss the preliminary designs I have in mind for you to work with and then decide how best to go about it.’

  ‘Don’t I need to be on your speedboat to get the best visuals?’

  ‘The speedboat shoot has been put on hold until you’re no longer wearing that cast. My new premium tequila brand launches in six weeks. I’ve been struggling to find the right person to front it. You’ll be the face of it.’

  Her hand shook as she set her cup down. ‘What?’

  ‘You’re not deaf, querida.’

  ‘I’d rather not do that, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘But I do mind. You drink the stuff, if I remember correctly. In fact you virtually drowned in it at my birthday party three years ago. I fail to see what the problem is.’

  ‘In light of what happened afterwards, do you really think I’m the right candidate to promote your tequila?’

  His mouth twisted cruelly. ‘Since you insist on convincing me the circumstances of your getting drunk that night no longer exist, it shouldn’t be a problem. Besides, you won’t be required to drink it, just pretend it’s the best thing that’s happened to you since the first time you put your ice skates on. That was the single most incredible moment of your life, was it not?’

  She drew in a deep, sustaining breath, before she gave in to temptation and slapped his face. ‘You obviously mean to torture me at every opportunity. If that’s how you get your kicks, then so be it. But if you want our collaboration to have any hope of working, can I suggest we resolve this sooner rather than later?’ When one mocking eyebrow started to lift, she ploughed on. ‘So I called you a playboy. Where was the lie in that? Were you not a playboy, then? Are you not now? You date as frequently as you change your socks. In fact, I don’t think the paparazzi has snapped you with the same woman twice!’

  An arrogant smile twitched his lips. ‘Have you been keeping tabs on me, querida?’

  ‘Hardly. But it’s very difficult to avoid seeing a man who flaunts himself as often as you do. If you choose to practise that work/life balance you’re so proud of in public, don’t complain when people take an interest.’

  ‘Some aspects of my life may be public. You made it your business to dig up private parts about my parentage that were none of your business, and make them public.’

  Her breath shuddered out. ‘It wasn’t me, Javier. It was my father. The only thing I’m culpable of is guilt by association.’

  He regarded her for several tense seconds. ‘It’s not the only thing you’re guilty of, querida, but we’ll leave that for now. As for the tequila shoot, your role in it stands. You’re good at faking things.’ The discreet sound of the concierge’s buzzer echoed through the room. Javier rose and rounded the table to where she sat. Bending low, he placed a kiss at her temple. ‘You’ll excel in this role. I insist on it. Nothing less than perfection will do.’

  She still sat frozen in place when he returned a few minutes later with a casually dressed man in tow. Darren O’Hare wore boxy spectacles, behind which his grey eyes twinkled with friendliness.

  ‘Welcome on board. We’ve had a hell of a time placing the right person for this launch. I was excited when Javier told me we’d landed you. I’m a huge fan,’ he said, a faint Irish brogue curling his words.

  Careful not to glance at Javier in case the tension between them exploded onto their unsuspecting visitor, she smiled and shook Darren’s hand. ‘Thank you. I’ll do my best to make it work.’

  Darren grinned and set down his leather portfolio. ‘I’ve watched a few of your performances online, for research purposes, of course. Outstanding doesn’t begin to describe them. Dedication like that translates into everything. You’ll knock this shoot out of the park. Then hopefully I can score myself tickets to your next performance. Tickets for the last one sold out within minutes—’

  ‘Perhaps we can get on with discussing what we need Carla to do? That is, of course, if you’ve finished with your shameless idol-worsh
ipping?’

  Darren froze at the bite in his boss’s tone. Clearing his throat, he nodded. ‘Sure...of course.’

  ‘Great, let’s take the meeting in my office.’

  He led the way out, his strides swift and purposeful. Grabbing his case, Darren sent her a puzzled glance. Her smile felt as false as her insides felt brittle.

  They entered the room to find Javier poised at the head of an oval table, arms folded. In silence, Darren produced poster-sized glossy shots from his case and spread them out on the table.

  Carla stared down at the pictures, the attention to detail and the sheer magnificence of the graphics robbing her of breath. It was quite evident that a lot of time and effort had gone into creating the perfect outer package for La Pasión, the signature drink fronted by J Santino Inc.

  She read the tag at the bottom of the first graphic.

  La Pasión.

  Taste The Edge.

  Live The Edge.

  ‘That’s our slogan for the tequila. My department is working on the script for you and Pavlov.’

  ‘Pavlov Krychek?’ she asked, surprised that the Russian ice-skating supremo was on board with the project. His penchant for throwing diva tantrums was well known. He also had the insufferable egotistical delusion that every woman he came across would fall at his feet.

  Darren smiled wryly. ‘Yes, he was a pain to sign up but—’

  ‘Sadly he’ll no longer be part of this campaign,’ Javier finished.

  Darren blinked in surprise. ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since I fired him this morning. He made one demand too many.’ His gaze shifted to her, and Carla’s breath stalled. ‘I don’t tolerate divas, male or female. So you’ll be on your own for this one. It’ll be just you, the bottle and your ice skates.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘My skates?’

  ‘It’s your signature accessory, the essence of who you are. Otherwise you’ll be any other dime-a-dozen celebrity with an eye-catching face.’

  Darren nodded slowly, clearly still reeling from the shift in proceedings, but catching up quickly. ‘I think that could work...’

  ‘It will work, much better than the advertising department’s initial idea. Perhaps someone should’ve brainstormed that before resources were wasted trying to land Krychek?’

  A bewildered frown creased Darren’s brow, as if he had no idea what he was being scolded for. Again his gaze swung to her, and Carla almost felt sorry for him. Javier Santino in this mood meant hell for everyone.

  ‘So when is all this happening?’

  Darren’s glance slid to her cast. ‘The idea was to shoot the ad on a real ice rink. CGI would work, but the real thing would give it much more depth.’

  ‘Once we finalise your costume and script, we’ll start with the nightclub shoots. We’ll shoot the ice-skating scenes last when you’re completely healed,’ Javier added. ‘In the meantime, Darren will supply you with some in-depth information of the product to read up on.’

  ‘Isn’t the script going to suffice?’ she asked.

  A terse smile curved his lips. ‘You train three times a day to be the best at what you do. It’s no different for me. I believe in arming myself with as much information as possible in every situation. Since you’re part of this project that applies to you too. Knowledge is power. Don’t you agree?’

  She knew they were talking about something completely different. That he was taunting her—again. ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Is there anything else?’ he asked his creative director, who’d been watching their interaction with blatant curiosity.

  Darren shook his head. ‘That’s it for now. All the info you need is in the packet including the schedule we hope to achieve. I’m the location scout for the shoot as well so I’ll be in touch to arrange a visit to the rink we intend to use. If you have any questions, Carla, my business card is on the first page...’ He trailed off when Javier’s mouth suddenly flattened. ‘Or I’m sure Mr Santino can help you out.’

  Carla swallowed, the thought of returning to the ice suddenly chilling her skin.

  ‘Carla?’

  She looked up and caught Javier’s shrewd glance. ‘Yes?’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  She glanced away. ‘Nothing. I’m fine.’

  But she wasn’t. The slight trembling that had taken hold when Javier mentioned returning to the ice rink had intensified in the time since. Much as it had every time she’d thought about it since leaving hospital. Unwilling to show her uncontrolled reaction, she turned away from the table.

  ‘That’ll be all for now, Darren,’ Javier said. ‘We’ll touch base in the office on Monday.’

  ‘Sure. Uh...great to meet you, Carla.’

  She summoned a fuller, warmer smile, then walked to the leather sofa situated to one side of the room. Their low voices registered on the edge of her consciousness as they left the office. She sank into the seat, massaging her temples as she took deep breaths.

  Javier hadn’t believed nothing was wrong. She wondered why she’d even bothered trying to fob him off. Because he was back seconds later, striding straight over to crouch in front of her.

  ‘Tell me what’s going on with you. Now.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  JAVIER’S TEETH GRITTED as she shook her head. He didn’t want to believe it was a refusal to answer him. That would mean he still wasn’t getting through to her. That she didn’t think he was serious about every last ounce of reparation he intended to extract from her. His gut clenched hard.

  ‘Are you feeling unwell again?’

  That would be the only reason he would accept for her behaviour. ‘I told you, I’m fine.’

  She tried to release herself. He refused to let her go. Holding her still this close would focus her attention on him instead of on other things. Or other men.

  His jaw clenched harder, a sliver of self-disgust rising at the way he’d felt when she’d turned her stunning eyes on O’Hare. Bestowed that beautiful but rare smile on him.

  Jealous. He’d been consumed with jealousy.

  Which was unacceptable.

  ‘Explain to me then why you looked as if you’d fallen into a trance just now.’

  She met his gaze for one bold moment, then looked away with a shrug. ‘I’m sorry you don’t like the way I look when I’m thinking—’

  ‘Don’t insult my—madre de Dios, look at me when I’m talking to you!’

  Her chin angled up. Almond-shaped pools of green glared at him. Instead of raising his annoyance level, it eased a restriction in his chest. ‘I’m looking at you. Satisfied?’

  ‘I will be, marginally, when you tell me what’s wrong. And for the sake of my sanity, and yours, don’t say nothing.’

  Her nostrils quivered delicately with the sustaining breath she took. ‘Fine. I don’t want to return to the ice.’

  Javier frowned. ‘Not while your wrist is still in a cast, no. That part of the ad will only be shot once the binding comes off.’

  She shook her head, once more inducing a tightening in his gut. ‘Can we not just use CGI like Darren suggested?’

  ‘Explain to me why you don’t want to use the ice.’

  She shifted, her skin sliding against the silk tunic. Memories of how smooth and warm that skin was slashed across his brain, driving heat into his groin. ‘Another fall if I’m not careful could set me back even more months. Why risk another injury for the sake of an ad campaign?’

  ‘Because that campaign is paying you millions in sponsorship funds. Funds that could go away very easily if you don’t adhere to your part of the agreement. Surely you’re not so obtuse as to overlook that?’

  ‘But we have an alternative!’

  Javier sensed something else going on. Had t
he trauma of Blackwell’s training left her with something more than just a bodily injury? Would she even tell him if that were the case? Frustrated anger rose to mingle with the irritations pulsing within him. He refused to add hurt to the equation. Because being upset that he was on the outside of something so important to her shouldn’t be an issue for him. She was contractually obligated to give him whatever he wanted.

  His mind veered to other things that he wanted. Things that had made him stay away from his own penthouse for two weeks because he didn’t want to admit to the need hammering beneath his skin.

  ‘The alternative doesn’t work for me. So unless you want to tell me the real reason why you’re making the request, the original plan stands.’

  He waited. And waited some more. Her eyes shadowed, but her defiant chin stayed up, her mouth firming with whatever emotions were surging through her.

  ‘I told you why. Obviously, you disagree. Are we done now? I’d like to get out of here, get some fresh air.’

  ‘Carla—’

  ‘Oh, God, please don’t tell me I’m a prisoner too?’

  He caught the hand she’d brought up to push him away, the knowledge that she didn’t intend to share what was upsetting her hardening into a knot. He set the notion to one side for the moment. ‘You’re not a prisoner. But you can’t go out on your own either. It’s not safe.’

  She stilled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean a group of your fans—I believe they call themselves The Nardozzians?—are camped downstairs. If you go out on your own, you’ll be mobbed.’

  She paled. ‘I... I didn’t know. They weren’t here when I went out for a walk yesterday morning.’ The hand in his chest balled into a fist, pressed deeper into his flesh, and Javier got the impression she didn’t know how clearly her agitation was showing. ‘How long have they been here?’

  ‘They arrived last night. Obviously word has leaked that you’re in town.’

  She closed her eyes for a split second. When she opened them again, her gaze lingered on his jaw. ‘Damn, so I can’t go out?’