Chapter Seventeen
Lonzo threw the report that his CFO gave him an hour ago. He can’t read past the third sentence, so he might as well give up. His focus was shot.
The door of his office opened and his assistant came in carrying a cup of newly-brewed coffee.
“Sir, your cappuccino—”
“Take it away. I don’t want it!” he bellowed, startling her. He knew he was being an asshole. And poor Patrizia got the full brunt of it...just because she interrupted his brooding.
She made an about face and hurriedly left him to stew in his own piss.
“Merda!”
He was angry at himself, the world.
Her.
Jordana.
He stood from his desk and walked toward the wall-to-ceiling glass windows that gave him an almost three-hundred-sixty-degree view of Rome at night.
His mind wandered. Wondered. About her. What she was doing. Whether she was in the same boat as he was in right now.
It had been a week since she succinctly told him to go fuck himself. The woman must’ve hexed him because he was in a shit-hole since then.
The media had a field day when she got back to New York. The buzz even made it to the evening news. She had been as silent as a lamb. No statement were issued about the rumors linking them.
Her every activity was still closely scrutinized. According to this morning’s paper, she just shot an ad for PETA and was expected to walk in this year’s Victoria’s Secret runway show.
He ran an irritated hand to his hair, annoyed at himself for his new habit of scouring for any news about her in the papers. Shit. He even found himself Googling about her the other day.
He was obsessed with her.
He was even pissed she wouldn’t even acknowledge in public that she knew him. Her standard answer to anything was ‘no comment’.
He’d got back at her for selling their story to the tabloid press and taught her a lesson on what would happen if she got on his bad side again. Total control of Vitale Internacionale was his when Thio Fredo signed his shares. His uncle was under the impression that he and Jordana were still together. Thio was hinting that a future union was in the works. Soon, he’d break the old man’s heart.
But this was exactly what he wanted, right?
He hit two birds with one stone. It was a well-laid, well-executed plan.
Then why did it feel like he had just lost the love of his life?
Whoa. The thought made him stop.
Cazzo.
He scoffed at the very idea. No, the very thought had him mentally vomiting
Love of his life…? Ha! Him? In love? He didn’t believe in all that shit. El-oh-vee-ee was nothing but a worthless four-letter word not worth an entry in his personal dictionary. People had used that word like it was the answer to the ills of the world, like it was gold dung. He could think of a more appropriate, four-letter word that would pretty much sum up everything without involving some convoluted, fucked up emotional mumbo-jumbo. Lovers swore undying love all the time, only to find out they made the biggest mistake in their lives. Funny how they don’t learn and say the same old shit next time.
His train of thought was cut short when his phone went off.
It was his CFO calling, asking for his verdict on the report that was submitted. The same report that he threw across his desk earlier.
“I’m still running through it. I’ll crunch these numbers with you tomorrow,” he found himself saying before cutting the call short.
Irritated, he went back to his desk and sat on his chair. He picked up the valuation and tried to read it again. Same thing. Nothing registered. For the first time since he began his business venture, he found work unappealing.
This was bad.
It had to stop one way or another.
Maybe he just needed to get fucking laid.
He went through the contact list of his phone, picked a name and dialed a number.
A heavily-accented female voice answered, didn’t even mask her obvious excitement.
She made it all too easy for me, he thought cynically.
“Dinner?” he asked lazily, already anticipating her concurrence.
He would get distracted tonight.
Abstinence made the heart wander. Substitute heart with brains, since according to one particular chit, he lacked that part in his anatomy.
Fuck you, brain. Don’t think about her.
All is well. He is just a man. All is well. He is just a man.
Jordana chanted this like a broken record inside her head as she lay on her own bed at her once-again-occupied house.
She didn’t feel like getting up for work but she had to. Her bedside clock said it was only five in the morning, three hours away from the scheduled Victoria’s Secret runway show fitting. She closed her eyes, savoring the remaining minutes of solitude before she hit the daily grind.
At least there were no more paparazzi at her door, a small consolation. She had to thank a US Senator for that. Well, not exactly the honorable senator but the picture of his dong which he accidentally tweeted to his constituents. The papz went wild, not over the size of the man’s appendage, but at the caption of the pic. Seemed the ultra conservative politician couldn’t wait to put his dick inside his new mistress, who happened to be his kids’ nanny.
Dong-a-gate, as the tabloid media christened the latest twitter hoolabaloo finally got the pesky papz off her back. Or maybe they realized she wasn’t worth their efforts…especially now that Lonzo was seen dating women left and right. A baroness, a French actress, a prima ballerina. His social calendar had been busy of late, according to the papers.
She told herself she felt nothing at seeing pictures of him and his latest conquest splashed on the pages of rags. She knew it could take a long time before she could even utter his name on her lips.
In the light of the day, it was easier to remind herself. What she dreaded were the nights, where she had no control of her dreams—where he would hold her tenderly one moment and push her carelessly the next.
Damn the man! She mentally cursed. Willing away his memory was harder than she had expected it to be. Because everything she saw, smelled, touched and tasted reminded her of their time at the island.
Where he broke her heart.
She blinked away the sudden tears that threatened to fall. It took her several seconds before she was able to push him from her mind. She sat at the edge of the bed and stared out of the nearest window, playing the past events in her head dispassionately.
She was able to hide her heartbreak from Leandro when he personally picked her up from the airport that day. He did try to pry her with questions but she wouldn’t budge and evaded his relentless interrogation.
She didn’t deny what happened. She just kept the details to a bare minimum. Yes, they had an affair and it didn’t work out. End of story. Less talk. Less mistakes. Less lies.
That flight from Rome to NYC was a blur. She can’t recall anything. Except the pain. Every freaking cell inside her hurt.
She’d been through a lot in her life, but nothing could top that.
Love can drive one crazy.
For a long time she couldn’t comprehend what happened to her father. Her earliest memories of him, he was a warm, loving person who loved to laugh and put his little girl over his shoulders. He changed into a bitter, abusive alcoholic when his mother left him for another man. He transformed into the nasty demon who hit her during his frequent alcoholic rages, the stranger who sold her to the white traffickers to be abused and used as a child prostitute. If not for the timely rescue…
She shuddered at the memory.
She wouldn’t go far as excuse her father’s actions. No sane person would do that to a child, let alone his very own. But now she understood. In his father’s mind, she was a constant reminder of her mother’s betrayal.
Love made him do the things he did. Love made her father weak. Love can be extreme.
But she was made of stronger stuff than her father. She had made opportunities out of mistakes. Now was no exception. She would not self-destruct. She would not let a bad man ruin her for the rest of her life. Lonzo Vitale would be a grim reminder to herself.
It would be a long, hard road to recovery but eventually she would get there. She vowed to.
One day this stupid love she felt for him would wither and die. God willing.
“Mr. Vitale! Mr. Vitale! Look this way!” one of the damned shutterbugs shouted as he and his date for the night was about to enter the Kodak Theater in Los Angeles for an AIDS charity benefit.
He was almost blinded by the flashbulbs. Paparazzi were truly sub-human, camera-totting species.
Fuck. How he hated this city and its artificial vibe! For the fifth time, he questioned his decision to come here. Why did he allow himself to be manipulated by the woman clinging on his arm to attend this paparazzi fiesta?
What the fuck am I doing here?
He flew here for business and got delayed because the deal hit a few snags. No thanks to those crafty television executives. But he pushed for more leverage and Vitale Internacionale’s media arm got the exclusive syndication rights to several high-rating programs, including the airing of next year’s Emmys and Oscars.
He was about to get out of Tinseltown after the agreements were inked, but when he entered his hotel suite, he found he had company. The female kind.
Helene Harwood was the current toast of Tinseltown, having won an Oscar for best-supporting actress after she played the role of Eva Braun, Hitler’s mistress, in a film adaptation.
He got introduced to her a few days ago. She took one look at him and decided she must have him.
She was classically beautiful, intelligent and came from a prominent New England family that had ties to American politics. Definitely WASP. He almost asked how the hell she got in when he remembered that her family owned this exclusive hotel.
“Lonzo,” she said as she stretched her almost-naked body on his bed.
He was used to women like her. Her predatory streak should’ve amused him months ago. Now it only irritated the hell out of him. He wasn’t even tempted to jump her.
“Helene. Don’t you think it’s rather too early for bed?” he said mildly.
Helene pouted. “You don’t want to play?”
He almost snorted. Playing was at the bottom of his list. It was all because of—
Don’t even go there, he’d warned himself.
“Okay. I’m sorry for barging here, darling. Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she said, putting on her silky negligee.
He didn’t reply but gave her a small smile. He went to pour himself a scotch.
“Since you’re not in the mood for loveplay…I was wondering if you could accompany me to an AIDS benefit tonight. Poor me don’t have an escort you see,” she continued.
He turned to face her, swallowing the scotch in one go. “I don’t do your level of publicity, Helene.”
Her lips rounded into an exaggerated “O”. Damn, his dick didn’t even twitch at that.
“Don’t tell me that you’re still not over her? I refuse to believe that!” she exclaimed.
He did a mental double take at that.
“Her?” he bit out.
“Oh come on, darling. Your ex. The little Brazilian supermodel. Jordana Almueda. She’s coming tonight at the charity said my agent. Why, with her new hunky boyfriend, of course. He’s Italian too. What was his name again…? Ah, yes. That hunky footballer. Chris Falcone. According to the organizers, both gave a substantial amount for the AIDS research—” Helene sweetly imparted.
A flash of hot, raging jealousy thumped him in the chest.
He was able to hide it from the woman eyeing him speculatively. Being poker-faced in his business dealings served him well.
“Should I be interested?” he asked in a neutral, almost bored tone.
“So she’s really out? So there’s no reason for you not to escort me tonight? Hmmm?” she prodded. He found himself saying yes. She was obviously elated. She almost danced as she dressed up and skipped her way from his suite.
And so here he was, completely regretting his hasty decision.
He let his ego get the best of him. Crap. Who was he kidding? He wanted to see her again. To prove that the jealousy he felt in the hotel suite was just a knee-jerk reaction.
He got this obsession with her all under control…
And then he saw her.
She was slowly making her way on the red carpet, wearing a gold gown that could’ve been poured over her amazing body. It made the IQs of the males present fall into single digits. His included.
And then he noticed Chris’ presence at her side. The sonofabitch looked so smug, holding her close to him by the waist. He wanted to march over, get the footballer’s hand off her and drag her away from this place.
His ears registered Helene laughing at his side.
“Darling, I’m so glad you’re wearing a tux. The color green just doesn’t suit you—” she said as she led him inside.
Jordana fought not to squirm. This was her first big public appearance months after her return from Rome.
Chris had asked her two weeks ago to accompany him and she declined numerous times but he persuaded and cajoled her into agreeing. He said the charity was the perfect event to show the world she was living her life fabulously after the Vitale fiasco. That was really sweet of him.
When Chris began seeing her in New York, she did try to avoid him. She was still smarting over Lonzo. She told him upfront that she wasn’t ready to date anyone yet. He still persisted. He said he wanted to get to know her as a friend. He wouldn’t pressure her into anything. He disclosed that he was on the same boat as she was and that he found it refreshing that she didn’t make a play for him.
“Don’t tell me you shun female attention, Falcone.”
“Hey, I didn’t say that. What I’m saying is, locker sex gets old. In time you’d wish these girls wouldn’t want to fuck you all the time.”
“Oh, pwoor wittle you. You’re growing conceited, Falcone.”
He shrugged. “A bit. I’m a guy.”
She laughed at that and from thereon, an easy friendship developed between them. He opened up one time that she reminded him of someone.
“Who?” she asked.
He smiled sadly. “She…passed away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah. I am, too.”
She felt comfortable around him. It wasn’t brotherly like what she felt for Leandro. She was attracted with Chris Falcone but it wasn’t the all-consuming kind she felt for the bastard she fell for. Their friendly dates did spark the gossip mills but at least the indecent proposals were now a thing of the past.
The frenzied cries and constant barrage of flash from the photographers left her a little disconcerted.
Then she felt it. That instant awareness that she only felt around him. She stiffened.
Chris’ arm encircled her waist.
“Don’t look at three o’clock, babe. Lonzo’s here with Helene Harwood—” Chris whispered in her ear, looking lover-like. “—smile your most beautiful smile for me, sweetheart. Don’t let him get to you.”
And she did. It rekindled her fighting spirit, letting it take control. She looked sideways at her friend and gave him her most come hither smile worthy of a photo spread, before kissing him on the lips, in full view of the media. It drove the press crazier.
Take a good look at what you lost, Lonzo Vitale.
Chris clearly didn’t mind as he beamed down at her. “Now, that’s the spirit! Please feel free to kiss and fondle me in public, woman.”
“Shut up, Falcone. I just might do.”
“I knew it! You want my body, too.”
“You’re…all right.”
“Ouch! Careful! You’re trampling my ego!”
“Don’t worry. It’s still big.”
He winked down at her. “Let’s get inside, saucy wench, and let’s show Lonzo what he’s missing.”
Her heart plummeted a bit.
She had convinced herself she wouldn’t get affected seeing him with another woman.
But being in the same roof as him was too much.
So what if he’s here? It’s done. Get over it. Civility is the key.
She can be civil.
Her pep-talk came crumbling down when she learned they would be seated in the same row as Lonzo and his current piece.
She gave Chris a nervous look. Did you know about this? Her eyes conveyed.
“I had no idea Helene knew him, babe. My publicist told me she’s coming with a different guy…a director. Must’ve changed dates the last minute. Apparently, she likes high drama,” he whispered.
She couldn’t speak, all the resentment toward the man who ripped her heart into pieces resurfaced. He still walked like he owned the place. On his arm was the stunning Helene, who raptly listened to his every word.
Helene’s face was in a perfect profile as she laughed at what Lonzo had just said, her whole demeanor animated.
The actress was very beautiful. Helene’s face had the glamor of old Hollywood. She made her think of Grace Kelly—with the exception of the bee-stung lips reminiscent of Angelina Jolie. The award-winning thespian can also rival Salma Hayek’s spectacular curves. Tonight that banging body was showcased in a royal blue silk sheath that shouted Gucci a mile away.
Now I can understand what Jennifer Aniston went through after Brad dropped her for Angie, she mused.
But she wasn’t a Jennifer Aniston. She wouldn’t let anyone…not even this talented, moneyed and beautiful creature outshine her.
Nah-ah.
Her self-pride kicked in and went on high gear. She straightened her back, her shoulders thrown back, her head held fiercely high.
Jordana Almueda ruled runways and the red carpet. She was born for it. She got paid big bucks for it.
Fuck you, Lonzo Vitale! You will not cower me!
Chris patted her hand, reassuring her as they neared their respected seats.
She gave him a glance.
“It’s okay, Chris.”
Then she resumed their tête-à-tête until they reached their seats. She feigned that nothing unsettled her. She got an admiring look from Chris for it.
“You sure you’re okay?” he murmured.
“Damned sure.”
She did her absolute best to block Lonzo from her mind. She looked through him and pretended he wasn’t seated a few seats away.
All this time, she felt Lonzo’s disapproving gaze on them. She didn’t give him any mind. It made her more determined to enjoy and have fun that evening.
She gave Chris her full attention, applauded the speeches the speakers made and smiled at her date’s witty comments about some of the celebrity guests who were there just to get photographed, not really caring about AIDS and making a difference.
At last the event was over.
“We can skip the benefit dinner. Don’t want to be in the same room with a whole lot of plastic-faces. You can smell the silicone from these people,” Chris said.
She couldn’t agree more. She wondered if Helene’s lips were natural.
“Me, too.”
“How about dinner somewhere? There’s this restaurant a couple of blocks from your hotel. They serve great steak.”
She smiled at him gratefully. The strain of keeping a happy face was beginning to wear her down.
“Take me away, soccer prince.”
“Hey, it’s football. What is it with you Americans? You keep on messing up the beautiful game.”
She giggled. “Sorry. Whisk me away, futbol prince,” she amended in her thickest Brazilian accent. “That okay with you?”
“Perfetta.”
They were on their way out when Lonzo came out of nowhere. He was walking toward them, the lovely Helene hooked around his arm like a very expensive porcelain doll.
Avoiding him would be a big no-no. That would indicate in big, bold letters that his presence with another woman hurt her. It did, but she’d rather die than let him know that. Her defenses went up as the distance between them closed, as he also made no effort to avoid her and Chris.
Chris’ arm casually went around her. She was glad to have him on her side. She would’ve broken down a long time ago if he wasn’t here. She basked in his protectiveness.
The other attendees began to take interest. It had all the elements of a soap opera scene.
Her eyes clashed with Lonzo, trying to dismiss that the man really looked gorgeous in a tux. She pasted a small, polite smile on her lips when they came face-to-face for the first time in months.
Several tense moments ensued before Chris broke the silence.
“Helene! You look smashing in blue, sweetheart. Congratulations on the Oscar. Watched the film. Hey Lonz!” Chris greeted warmly.
“Chris,” Lonzo grunted his reply, never taking his eyes off her.
“Fancy seeing you here. This isn’t exactly your scene.”
“Same thing can be said to you, paisan,” Lonzo replied curtly.
“I don’t believe you’ve introduced us, darling…” Helene’s voice chimed into their little tableau.
“Jordana Almueda and Chris Falcone, Helene Harwood,” Lonzo made the introductions.
“Pleasure to meet you,” she said casually, her polite smile still in place.
“Likewise, darling—” the actress said, eyeing her with curious interest.
“Well…we really have to be going,” Chris said, nodding to Lonzo, who gave him a look that would have seared steak.
“Enjoy the night,” she heard Lonzo say dryly.
She was eager to get away from this place before her mask of civility fell. She could barely hide her annoyance at her former lover’s arrogance.
As they reached the confines of the limo, she gave out a sigh of relief.
Chris gave her a worried look. “You alright?”
She smiled widely, glad not to be sharing the same air as Lonzo. “Yes. Thanks for…well…you know.”
“He was itching to punch me and grab you,” he remarked.
She laughed without humor. “He’s with Helene.”
“But he still wants you.”
She gave a snort. “Why would he do that? He’s got Helene.”
He gave her a smile that displayed his dimples. “Helene? You blind?”
“Oh, come on. You need an optometrist! She’s drop dead gorgeous.”
“I agree—she’s talented and a classy arm candy. Wouldn’t mind dating her myself.”
“Why you disloyal lout—”
“But his eyes were always on you, baby.”
She shook her head. That can’t be true. And she wouldn’t allow herself to hope again. Placing her hope on Lonzo was like swimming in treacherous seas without a lifesaver. She wouldn’t go down that path again. Let him think she was now involved with Chris.
He’s bad for me, she reminded herself.
“I really don’t know, Dana. I really have a feeling that he will seek you out.”
She frowned at Chris. “Let’s not talk about him. We’re over.”
Chris gave a short laugh. “Hey, I’m your pal here, baby. Use me as you see fit…I really don’t mind. I get a kick out of seeing my cousin’s friend squirm. You’re under his skin and he’s under yours.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Wanna bet? Chemistry doesn’t lie. You two have it.”
She shrugged Chris’ remark even if it hit home.
“You’re on.”
Chemistry would never be enough for her. Besides, he’d been seen with different women barely weeks after she left the picture. That was enough proof where she stood in his universe.
When the limo stopped at the driveway of a swanky fusion restaurant, Chris gave her a wink.
“Pay up, Dana—” Chris said mischievously, while looking past her shoulder. “Seems I won our bet.”
Jordana gave him a quizzing look, confused at first. Then she felt the tell-tale prickling behind her neck. She slowly turned.
She was shocked when she saw the black Maserati Granturismo parked a few meters from their vehicle.
The driver was standing beside the coupe.
Lonzo.