The Takeover (Love is in the Air #3)
Chapter One
‘What exactly are you doing in Florence, darling?’ Emerald Montrose’s boyfriend, Rick, asked as he pulled open the door to his hotel room, blinking in shock. ‘Erm, at my hotel in particular?’ he added, looking pained — and horrified, it had to be said. There was no sign of the lustful glee she’d anticipated. No excitement. Nope, he’s not even quietly pleased , she thought, peering at the face she had missed so much, taking in the generous smile and the cute freckles that dotted his nose. She hoped his reaction was no more than his terribly British restraint kicking in, but the signs weren’t promising.
Lowering the proffered bottle of champagne, Emerald’s ready smile drooped. ‘Surprise!’ The voice that came out was a deflated squeak, not the sexy timbre she’d practised earlier. ‘Mr Clarke was using the aircraft to come over for a business deal, so I offered to be the hostie to . . . surprise you,’ she said, finishing lamely, as Rick clearly did not like surprises — or at least not the surprise of herself and her bottle, which she couldn’t seem to stop waving around.
He gripped the fluffy towel around his waist, pulling it tight, which led Emerald’s line of sight down to a giveaway bulge.
She peered closer, then balked. A low-grade light-bulb moment glowed in her mind. Why did he have an erection?
‘Problem, honey?’ a sultry, very female voice drawled from the depths of the bedroom.
Ah. The light bulb blazed bright.
She peered around the door that Rick, too late, tried to close. The towel protrusion was a bit of a clue, but the blonde in his bed, watching their exchange through smoky eyes while sipping from an elegant crystal flute, was enough to convince her that she’d been pipped to the post in the bedroom department. Her gaze fixed on the woman’s huge breasts jiggling with a life of their own as she propped herself, languorously, up on one elbow.
Emerald snapped her eyes shut, wishing she could un-see the image now engraved on her brain.
‘If it’s the maid, just tell her to come back later.’ The voice dripped honey — never had a simple command sounded so sexy.
Rick shot Emerald the rueful smile she knew so well as he ran a hand around his neck, his expression almost willing her to be the maid to save any inconvenience.
She should have slugged him there and then, but shock held her rigid and her inherent good manners saved the bottle of champagne from being cracked over his head. Instead, she smoothed down her silk dress repetitively as if the action would somehow erase this distasteful Florentine farce that she found herself party to.
Helpless, she implored the meltingly sincere brown eyes that had once held so much loyalty and love, willing him to tell her it was all a dreadful mistake. But, sadly, the half-naked Goldilocks in Rick’s bed wasn’t a figment of her imagination and Emerald didn’t think she’d turned up for the porridge.
How quickly her rosy world, spinning on its axis of hopeful new beginnings, could spin off-kilter to crash and burn. She looked down forlornly at the silky dress she’d zipped herself into not half an hour ago stowing her airline uniform in her overnight bag. The emerald-green dress her boyfriend Rick had professed to adore looked more acid yellow in the bright lights of the corridor and she wondered why on earth she’d thought it suited her complexion. ‘I wore this especially for you.’
Rick’s brow creased in confusion. ‘Sorry?’
‘The colour highlighted the green of my eyes?’ she hinted, surprised that he appeared to have forgotten that the dress was his favourite.
‘Did I say that?’ His bewildered eyes met hers, peering closely as if looking for the said green flecks.
‘Yes, you did.’ Her voice was flat. She’d already accepted that, once again, happiness had been denied her. Even worse, she’d made a total fool of herself.
They stared wordlessly at each other until Rick broke the silence. ‘Well, as you can see . . . ?’ He nodded toward the woman in his bed, before pulling the door closer to block her out. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he hissed, out of earshot.
‘No worries. I’m really busy anyway — I just popped by to say hello.’ Emerald backed away while uttering the pathetic words that they both knew were lies. ‘Oh, and I bought you this, but it looks like you already have some.’ She waved the champagne bottle in the air as she retreated. ‘So I might as well keep it. Bye then,’ she added as she swivelled on her heels.
‘Yeah, call me,’ Rick whispered, putting his thumb and forefinger to his ear, mimicking a phone.
She might have left then like the good little girl he expected her to be, if he hadn’t said those words — the final insult. It was simply too much. She swung back around to face him.
‘ Call you? Are you for goddamn real?’ She clenched her fist and took a step backwards, raising her arm, gearing up to thump him one. Or two. Or hell yeah , three. It would feel so good even if she regretted it later.
But Rick slammed the door quickly, before she’d even taken aim, possibly seeing the fire in the green eyes he’d professed to love so much, or maybe he just couldn’t wait to return to those huge boobs, so clearly up for grabs.
‘Two-timing tosser!’ she shouted, fighting back the urge to throw the champagne bottle at the door. It had cost a fortune in the duty-free shop and, quite frankly, Rick’s hotel door wasn’t worth the waste.
The bellboy who had taken her up in the lift poked his head into the corridor and Emerald was forced to contain her anger, her nostrils flaring as she bit back more obscenities. She picked up her overnight bag and sashayed back to the lift, acting as if she hadn’t just made a complete arse of herself.
She smiled sweetly at the bellboy.
The bellboy smirked. ‘Great alliteration, I thought.’
‘Sorry? Oh, I just had to remind my boyfriend of something.’
‘What, that he was a two-timing tosser?’ His Italian accent made the words sound comical and she grinned in spite of her anger. ‘Yeah, better make that my ex-boyfriend,’ she said, dismally, her face falling.
‘Should’ve got a punch in too — it would have made you feel a lot better,’ he added, raising his fists and jabbing at the air.
‘I was going to surprise him,’ she said, waving the champagne bottle.
‘I think you can safely say you managed that,’ the bellboy confirmed.
Emerald managed a weak smile as the hotel lift juddered and moaned its way to reception, taking her far away from the low-life, rotten, two-timing scumbag that was her ex-boyfriend.
By the time she hit the pavement her bravado was as tattered as her dreams, the embarrassing scenario of being turned away from Rick’s room as if she were an inconvenience scorched painfully on her mind.
The cacophony of noise in the street was unbelievable: Vespas, buses, cars all honking their horns and screeching to a halt or swerving to dodge tourists, dogs and other cars. It made her dizzy and disorientated but eventually she flagged down a taxi by practically throwing herself at it and climbed in, swiping at her eyes and sniffing loudly. The driver looked anxiously in his mirror, probably more worried about his upholstery than her state of mind.
‘Take me to a hotel, please. Any hotel.’
His foot hit the floor and he accelerated, pinning her back in her seat before braking sharply and propelling her forward again. She held on protectively to the champagne, like it was some sort of talisman that proved her worth.
After some rapid gear changes and lots of honking he said in heavily accented English, ‘You just left a hotel.’ He waved his right hand behind him, in the general direction of the De Medici hotel.
‘I know — just take me to a different hotel . . . Any one, just not that one.’ Any hotel that didn’t have Rick and Goldilocks in it would do. ‘Here, this one!’ she cried and the car skidded to a halt. She jumped out of the taxi and handed the driver twenty euros with a quick ‘ Grazie ’. She then strode into the forbidding looking building — all Gothic windows and unlikely pillars — having no clue where she was or what she was doing.
But inside it was light and airy, with classical cool white Carrara marble fitted from top to bottom. Emerald nodded her approval as she took in statues of nudes against the walls and water-nymphs playing in small fountains that sent water rippling over real plants and well-positioned Grecian urns.
Suddenly, as the reality of her pilot boyfriend’s complete betrayal hit her, she thought she might be sick. The cloakroom was well signposted and she rushed into a cubicle, tears threatening. To think that only an hour ago she’d believed her future was laid out before her like a yellow brick road to happiness — that the trip to Florence was fate telling her to take her relationship with Rick that one step further.
Rick — the arrogant bastard , she thought savagely — had spent the last month telling her how much he’d missed her while he was stationed in Florence for the summer season. He wrote her long messages and called her on FaceTime, mostly at inappropriate times, it had to be said, but she’d felt treasured and wanted, not for one second imagining the scenario she’d just experienced, playing out as it had. How she regretted her impulsiveness now.
But at least she’d discovered Rick was a rat before she’d slept with him. She wondered if he’d meant any of the declarations of love he’d spouted. He probably just wanted to get her into bed, she acknowledged — and he would have achieved his aim if it wasn’t for the fact that someone else was already occupying it. The irony of it would have made her laugh if she hadn’t been so busy mopping up the tears sliding down her cheeks.
She put her hand to her chest, her heart actually ached, as if someone was trying to twist it tight, but even as it hurt, she knew she would cope, as she had coped with all of the other knock-backs in her life. She was used to disappointment — even expected it. She would swallow this setback and bounce back, just as she always did.
She left the cubicle and splashed cold water on her face, gave her reflection a good talking to, and slicked red lipstick over her lips with determination. Straightening her shoulders, she left the cloakroom, competent as ever at hiding her emotions as she headed for the reception desk. It was then that she realised she was in one of the most upmarket hotels in Florence, well beyond her means.
Emerald gazed at the huge, twinkling chandelier refracting colours across the floor and walls, the serenity and cool opulence of the interior serving to remind guests that they had chosen the best hotel in town. A low babble of rapid Italian gave a vibrancy and charisma to the whole scene and Emerald had to remind herself to stop gaping.
A chic woman glided across the marble floor, studiously ignoring anyone who looked her way, and Emerald wished she could emulate her assured style. She knew the elegance and confidence came from money as much as beauty — the woman’s handbag was probably worth more than Emerald’s monthly salary.
The woman drifted out of view and Emerald tuned in once more to her own sorry situation. Lacking the energy or interest to go anywhere else, she knew she just needed to wait it out in this hotel until she accompanied Mr Clarke back to England.
‘Just one night, per favore ,’ she said with resignation, kissing her credit card before handing it over, knowing the company finance department wouldn’t approve the hotel of her choice. She gave a wry smile to the receptionist, who smiled back in sympathy as she passed her a plastic key card — an unfair exchange, Emerald reflected, but she thanked her anyway — and screwed up the receipt with resignation.
She sighed, wondering how she would fill her time now that Goldilocks with Boobs, in all her naked glory, had spoiled her plans and stolen her boyfriend. In all honesty, the woman probably hadn’t had to try too hard. Rick’s quiet, boy-next-door friendliness belied the ruthlessness of the man who had chatted Emerald up remorselessly, making her believe she was the only woman he had ever wanted. And she’d believed him. Got that a bit wrong then, didn’t I ? she told herself.
But she pushed away her pain. She determined he would be no more than an annoying blip before too long, but right now the betrayal hurt a great deal and she needed to obliterate it.
A sign above her head attracted her like a siren, luring her to her downfall. She’d found her answer and it was going to be in the bottom of a glass — specifically, a glass in the Crepuscolo bar. She squared her shoulders. Right, I’m going to that bar to have a drink, and then I’m going to have another drink. A little voice in her head reminded her that, according to the nuns in the convent school where she had spent most of her formative years, it was immoral to drink alcohol. But it was a very small voice and before it had even cleared its throat Emerald had swept through the archway into the Crepuscolo bar.