“Good.” No doubt they’ll get lots of questions. It’s one ofthe few family-owned companies left in the luxury space, and they’ve touted their independence far and wide.We’ll never sell.Until they did, and now they’re mine. “We’ll coordinate.”
“I want to talk to you about the plans ahead.” She chooses a wedding band that fits and slides it onto her finger to fit next to the engagement ring. “The PR team and I worked on several campaign proposals that my uncle killed for no good reason.”
“There’s a new interim CEO coming in. You can take it up with them,” I say.
“I wantyouto see them.” She meets my gaze across the table. Her back is straight, and there’s steel in her gaze.
“I don’t get involved in the?—”
“I know for a fact that you do,” she says. “You said so yourself when you gave an interview a few years ago toThe Financial Tribune. One of the rare ones you’ve given, by the way.”
My eyes narrow. “You listened to that?”
She ignores me. “I want to run my ideas by you.”
“When I have the time,” I say.
“Now,” she demands.
“Maybe tomorrow.”
“Tonight.”
“Maybetomorrow,” I repeat in a hard voice.
A ringing sounds through the bottom floor. My house manager Antonella comes in through the door, her hands knotted together.
“Signore,” she says, “La signorina Sylvie è qui.”
I head to the window and look out. And there, on my courtyard, is Sylvie’s dark blue Ferrari pulling to a stop.
Shit.
“Lei insisteva. L’ho lasciata entrare,” Antonella says.
I nod and thank her in Italian. “Well done. That was the right call.”
She knows, as do all the people I work with, how importantcertain people are. And Sylvie Li is certainly one of them. Letting her in was the right call.
I step away from the window and look at Paige, her arms crossed, her hair looking like molten gold in the sunlight.
“This conversation will have to wait,” I tell her.
She throws out her arms. “Wait? I’ve waited days.”
“Someone just arrived who I need to?—”
My words are cut off by high-pitched barking outdoors. Paige’s eyebrows fly up, and she starts to head toward the front door. I walk past her. I need to get out there first.
This is a fire about to spark, and I’ll do my best to strangle the embers before it starts.
CHAPTER 6
RAFE
“Raphaël!” a sing-songy female voice calls out. “Raphaëlll!”
On the gravel courtyard, past the high boxwood hedges, Sylvie stands next to her old sports car. She’s in all-black despite the summer heat, her eyes hidden behind a pair of giant sunglasses.
