Making Over the Billionaire (Italian Connection) Read online

  “Thank you,” she murmured. Stop it, knees. She had business to conduct. Stiffen up. She turned to Tina. “If you’d like to see more of my designs, I’ve got samples next door.”

  “The House of Borlenghi produces all their designs in house,” Giorgio cut in, a layer of steel beneath his polite words. “The Borlenghi brand is known for quality Italian craftsmanship. Perhaps I didn’t make it clear earlier. We don’t outsource to foreigners.”

  He might look a Roman god but honestly, these billionaires, they thought they ruled the world. “Shouldn’t your sister make that decision, since she manages the atelier?”

  “You see, Giorgio, the truth is apparent even to an outsider,” Tina said in an aside. “The odd foreigner here and there isn’t going to dilute the brand. Especially given that we’re expanding globally.”

  “The deal with the Chinese is irrelevant in this case. You know company policy.” He also spoke in a low voice, keeping the conversation between Tina and him, even though Layla could hear perfectly well. “I made a promise to our father.”

  “You can’t stay stuck in the past,” Tina insisted. “You have to move forward. We’ve talked about this. Or tried to.”

  Layla glanced from Giorgio to Tina, feeling uncomfortable.

  Abruptly, Giorgio rose. “Our time is up, Ms. Langham. I will see you out.” Turning on his heel, he left the room.

  “But…” Frustrated, Layla glanced at Tina.

  “Sorry. He’s been under a lot of stress lately.” Tina slid off the arm of the couch and touched Layla on the shoulder, guiding her to the door. “I’d love to come next door and see your portfolio. I can’t promise anything, of course.”

  “Naturally.” Layla smiled, trying to appear nonchalant and not do a happy dance on the spot. Tina Borlenghi was interested in her work. It was a start.

  Giorgio was pacing in the foyer when Layla entered with Tina. He paused. “Are you leaving too, Tina? We haven’t finished talking about Fabio.”

  “We have as far as I’m concerned. Keep your nose out of my love life.” Tina tossed her mane of dark chestnut waves and breezed past him to go outside. “I’m going next door. I’ll be back later for my car.”

  Giorgio turned a scowl on Layla, clearly blaming her for his sister’s defection. But if he thought he could intimidate her, he was mistaken. She could be killingly polite too. “Thank you for your gracious welcome into your beautiful home.”

  He gave her a sharp glance, and she felt a small surge of triumph that she’d surprised him. With a slight bow, he matched her tone. “I wish you bouna fortuna. You have the courage to succeed in your endeavors.”

  Just not on his turf.

  He must realize the irony of his remark. If it wasn’t for him, she might have succeeded. But she refused to be dejected. Against all odds, she’d made contact. And Tina liked her work enough to take a closer look.

  As Layla stepped past him onto flagstones warm from the afternoon sun she said, “You know, women buy my lingerie to look desirable for their men. Men buy it for women they want to make love to. I’d have thought an Italian male would understand amore. Do you have a special woman in your life? I’d be happy to supply one of my designs for you to give her.”

  He stiffened, his hand gripping the edge of the door. “I do not discuss my personal life.”

  “Does that mean you don’t have a girlfriend?” Now she was goading him but damn it, he’d pissed her off. And she was curious. One thing the gossip rags never mentioned was Giorgio Borlenghi’s love life. Years ago he’d had a brief marriage to the daughter of a shipping magnate, but that had sunk faster than an Italian cruise ship. Since then he was seen in the company of beautiful models and actresses but no one special, it seemed.

  “It means I don’t discuss my personal life. Arrivaderci.” He stepped back and closed the huge double door with an emphatic thud.

  And that was that. Two thumbs down. What would it take to crack a man like him?

  Chapter Two

  “Please, come in.” Layla ushered Tina into her rental villa’s modern living room of sleek, cream leather furniture and blond wood. Her lingerie and swimwear samples were hanging on a movable clothes rack she’d found in the master bedroom’s dressing room. “I’ll get changed and be right back.”

  “No rush.” Tina started to flick through the clothes rack. “I’ll drool over these while I wait.”

  Layla went down the hall to her bedroom. She stripped off her bathing suit and put on a loose, striped top and leggings, leaving her feet bare. She gave her hair a quick brush, cringing that Giorgio had seen her so disheveled—not that she cared what he thought—and hurried back to the living room.

  “Would you like a coffee or a cold drink?” she asked Tina. “I have soft drinks, mineral water, Pinot Grigio….”

  “I could kill a glass of wine, thanks.” There was a note of frustration in her voice. “I adore my brother but some days he’s enough to drive me to drink.”

  How she could see that. “Coming right up.”

  Layla went to the kitchen and poured two glasses from the bottle in the fridge. She handed one to Tina and sat on the arm of the couch, on tenterhooks waiting for a reaction to her designs.

  Tina held up a bra and panty set in ivory silk with crimson lace edging. “This is gorgeous—sexy and romantic at the same time. Your craftsmanship is superb.”

  “Each piece takes me weeks to make.” Layla passed her a camisole in pale blue satin, with pale pink piping trimmed with tiny pink rosebuds.

  “I can tell.” Handling the garment with the care she would reserve for a Faberge egg, Tina turned the camisole over to inspect the stitching. “I don’t have a lingerie or swimwear line at the House of Borlenghi.”

  “I know. It’s one of the reasons I targeted your atelier.” And because of the family closeness and the fact that Louisa, her foster mom, had Italian heritage. She felt like she had a connection to this country even though this was the first time she’d ever been here.

  “Now that I’ve seen your work, I’m tempted but well…” Tina’s mouth tightened. “You heard Giorgio.”

  “I can’t believe you don’t have authority to hire who you want for your atelier.”

  “I do, as long as the employee is Italian. My brother’s carried our father’s Italian-only policy to an absurd degree.” Tina put the camisole down and sipped of her wine. “To be fair, when Giorgio took over as CEO he was only twenty-one and unprepared for the role. He’s worked extremely hard to be worthy and feels responsible to build on our father’s legacy.”

  “Still, it’s a lot for one man to handle.” Layla could understand having drive and passion because she did too, but he sounded controlling in the extreme. No wonder Giorgio had no personal life. If there was one thing she hated it was controlling men. Richard, her ex-fiancé, had been like that and although she’d loved him, she was well rid of him.

  “He’s working on a deal with the Chinese now to expand into Asia. He’s so busy he won’t even listen to the concerns of my sisters and me. And now he’s even trying to dictate who I date—” She broke off, biting her lip. “I shouldn’t be talking so freely. It’s just that I’m frustrated.”

  “Is Fabio your boyfriend?”

  “Si,” Tina smiled. “He’s a fashion photographer from Milan. We’ve only been together a few months, but I’m crazy about him.” She shook her head. “Giorgio thinks he’s my father and can tell me how to live my life. He’s saying terrible things about Fabio to get me to drop him. I’m twenty-six years old. I can make up my own mind!”

  “Your brother seems old-fashioned, that’s for sure.”

  “He takes everything on his shoulders,” Tina complained, gesturing with both hands. “He used to be crazy fun, the life of the party, but ever since our brother died, and then our father…” Tina shook her head and sighed. “Sorry, you’re not interested in our family problems.”

  Not really, but she liked Tina and wished she could help her. “Maybe if yo
u got your brother away from his office, sat him down with you and your sisters, and just talked to him…” She broke off because Tina was shaking her head. “Of course, you’ve tried that.”

  “A million times. He’s always too busy to discuss our issues. He won’t even agree to a get-together for his birthday. It’s this Sunday, and we want to all meet in Naples on the family yacht.” Tina waved. “Never mind. Show me your portfolio.”

  Layla spent the next half hour going through her sketches with Tina, telling her how she’d studied fashion design and worked freelance for major department stores while trying to get a toehold into the luxury lingerie market. She omitted the fact that two years ago she’d put every cent of the small inheritance Louisa left her into her materials for these samples and to pay for this trip. She was desperate but she didn’t want to look as though she was.

  “My pieces are displayed in Seattle boutiques, but I want to expand my line both in terms of what I can produce and to reach the international market. An established but innovative atelier like the House of Borlenghi would be a perfect fit.”

  Translation: Her lingerie was on consignment, but no one bought it because there wasn’t a market for something that expensive in Seattle. She couldn’t charge less because the materials cost so much. When Layla dreamed, she dreamed big.

  “You’ve got a solid background, and you’re a great saleswoman, very convincing. Maybe you should talk to Giorgio about changing his hiring policy.” Tina smiled slyly. “I could tell he thought you were hot.”

  “He marched me out of his house!” Layla felt her cheeks heat with remembered outrage and humiliation. If he was attracted, he no doubt resented the fact. Probably required his lovers to be Italian nationals too. “He would slam the door in my face if I went over there again.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Tina said. “That’s the first time I’ve seen him take an interest in a woman in a long time. I was astounded when he agreed to see you.”

  Ridiculous to feel flattered but she was, just a little.

  Tina glanced at her watch and jumped up. “Tutti i santi! I have another appointment. Fashion week is crazy. Thanks for showing me your designs but I’ve got to go.”

  So that was that. As Tina had cautioned, nothing was going to happen. Thanks to Giorgio. Layla rehung the camisole on the rack and then walked her to the door. “I appreciate you taking the time to look at my sketches and samples.”

  Tina gave her a kiss on both cheeks. “If it was solely up to me, I would snap up your designs in a heartbeat.”

  Layla’s mouth twisted. To be so close was agonizing. If there were any way possible to get Giorgio on board she would try. She wasn’t sure what she could do to convince him to let Tina give her a contract, but if Tina thought she had any chance at all… Maybe she could bump into him. Accidentally.

  “Does your brother run every day?” she asked.

  “Every morning in the Villa Borghese gardens.” Tina smiled as she caught Layla’s drift. “He starts at the big gate near the Corso d’Italia at seven a.m. He’s a stickler for time. And he’s fast. If you’re late you’ll never catch him.”

  “Seven. Borghese Gardens. Right, got it.” Layla wasn’t a jogger much less a runner. But if that’s what it took she was prepared to do it. “I could use some exercise after all the pasta I’ve been eating.”

  Tina withdrew an embossed invitation from her purse. “I’m having a cocktail party for the House of Borlenghi on Thursday evening at the Grand Hotel. Please come along and bring a plus one if you’d like.”

  “Thanks, I’d love to. I’ll bring my agent, Renaldo.” Layla paused. “Will Giorgio be there?”

  “He claims he’s busy, but if you do see him again, try to persuade him to come. He needs to get out more.”

  “I’ll try.” It would be another long shot, if he didn’t leave her in his dust on the jogging path. But Layla specialized in long shots.

  She went back inside and put the invitation to the cocktail party on her mantelpiece. Then she set her alarm so she wouldn’t forget. Early bird gets the worm.

  …

  Giorgio stretched out his calf muscles against a park bench and tried to clear his mind. His hectic thoughts rushed from problem to problem like the morning traffic building on the Corso d’Italia.

  First there was Chang Lee’s demand to manufacture Borlenghi brand products in Shanghai as part of the global expansion deal. That wasn’t a good option for his Italian factories or employees and went right against his policy of not hiring foreigners.

  Secondly, his sisters were plaguing him to relinquish control and give them autonomy over their own companies. Didn’t they understand the importance of a single vision guiding the corporation? How did they think he’d built the Borlenghi Group as big as it was? Not ruling by committee.

  Thirdly, Tina and her infatuation with Fabio worried him. She couldn’t see that Fabio was using her money and her name to further his own career. There had been rumors linking him with other women, even vaguely criminal connections, but nothing that could be substantiated. Maybe it was time Giorgio put a detective on the case and got hard evidence. He didn’t want to hurt her, but better she be heartbroken than humiliated.

  Finally, there was Layla Langham. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind since he caught her spying on him with opera glasses. How dare she invade his privacy and his home when she admitted herself that she knew the House of Borlenghi only employed Italians?

  But he had to admire her guts. And her wavy red hair. And her bright blue eyes and her voluptuous curves. He recalled every gorgeous inch of her with agonizing clarity. Except for one small item. Did she have freckles or not? He’d lain awake for a good hour last night trying to remember.

  Tina had called him last night, telling him how amazing Layla’s designs were and how much she would like to add them to the House of Borlenghi’s collection. But how could he make an exception for Layla when it would set a precedent that Chang Lee would be sure to take advantage of?

  His stretching done, he set off at a jog to warm up along the broad path shaded by tall leafy elm trees. The gardens had just opened and groundskeepers were raking up fallen leaves and scraps of litter. It was too early for tourists and most locals, aside from dog walkers and joggers.

  He’d just passed the Villa Borghese and was starting to pick up speed when a female jogger in black yoga pants and a pale lemon tank top with a red ponytail darted out from behind a bush and cut right in front of him.

  “Hey!” He dodged clumsily and came down on the side of his ankle. Yelping out a curse, he limped to a halt. He bent to feel his ankle and rotated it experimentally. Not broken and not sprained, bless the saints.

  “I’m so sorry,” the woman said in a familiar American accent. “I didn’t see you. Are you all right?”

  He straightened and gazed into very blue eyes slightly tilted up at the corners and fringed with dark brown lashes. And yes, freckles were scattered across that impudent nose.

  “What are you doing here?” He planted his hands on his hips. “Is this another amazing coincidence?”

  “I guess it is.” Wide-eyed and innocent, she jogged on the spot, as if not wanting to cool down. “I had no idea you ran here.”

  Sure, and he had a villa he could sell her in a Bulgarian swamp. He took in her dry skin and top. Not even a glow, much less perspiration. She didn’t give up easily. But there was only one way she could have known where he would be at this time of day. Tina. “So, you like to run?”

  “Love it.” She beamed and lifted her knees higher.

  “Come on then, run with me.”

  It was almost comical how fast her face fell. “Oh, but isn’t your ankle hurt? Shouldn’t you rest it? I think there’s a café up ahead.”

  “No, it’s fine. Let’s go.” He set off again, trying not to wince at the slight twinge. He would pay for this later but it would be worth it to call her bluff. Anyway, she wouldn’t last long enough to be a problem. He co
uld tell by the way her arms waved around as she ran that she wasn’t a jogger.

  “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” she said, puffing already.

  He’d been so preoccupied he hadn’t noticed, but now that she mentioned it, the air was fresh and sweet with the scent of roses blooming in neatly tended garden beds along the path. “It’s not bad.”

  He increased his speed a little and smiled to himself at hearing her breathing audibly. “I’m not going too fast for you, am I?”

  “Not…at…all.” Her cheeks were pink but there was a stubborn set to her chin.

  His ankle had warmed up and wasn’t hurting so he picked up the pace a little more. He wasn’t running anywhere near his usual speed but she was already struggling, and he couldn’t wait to see how she was going to get out of this. They emerged from the shaded avenue into full sun, warm even this early in the May morning. Their running shoes crunched on the fine gravel path in a steady rhythm.

  Giorgio had to give her credit; she was pushing herself even though she couldn’t hope to keep up for long, because the gardens covered nearly one hundred and fifty acres and were criss-crossed by dozens of paths. He could lead her around the park for hours.

  “It’s getting warm,” she said, panting. Tiny beads of perspiration dotted her temples where strands of damp red hair stuck to her skin.

  He suppressed a grin. “If you’re tired, there’s a bench over there.”

  “I’ll be all right. I just need to strip off.” Without missing a beat she pulled her tank top over her head. Luscious breasts curved high above a lime green and black bra that pushed her breasts up.

  Giorgio almost fell over his own feet. Once again he stumbled to a halt and his tightening groin battled for a share of his body’s blood supply. He grabbed her hand and pulled her off the path into a grassy plot inside a tall circular hedge. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t run in your underwear.”

  “This is a sports bra.” Her hair tie had come out and tousled locks fell around her flushed face.