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He scanned the text beneath the photograph, his trepidation mounting.
Catwalk Catfight!
Jensen Davis, the hottest model on the catwalk, continued her headline-grabbing behavior of late, engaging in a very public catfight with Princess Juliana Margues last night at Zoro. Rumored to be a disagreement over Davis’s nude romp in an Italian fountain with Prince Alexandre of Santeval, the princess’s on-again, off-again beau.
After the spirited exchange, which featured a shouting match and a drink Margues purportedly threw at Davis, the American supermodel made a quick exit with her entourage.
One can only wonder how far this will go before the palace steps in. Bets are it won’t be too long.
Meanwhile, Davis is set to headline the Designer Extravaganza in support of the London Hospital Foundation this evening, the most coveted ticket in town.
Cristiano’s blood heated in his veins. The fountain incident in Rome had been bad enough, given his family’s close personal ties to the pope, and the resulting scandal that had followed. Now Davis was instigating a full royal PR response? There was a line, he breathed. A line to these antics of hers she couldn’t cross, and she’d done it twice in the past few weeks.Infuriating, when he’d been reassured she’d left her irresponsible behavior behind. Promised she was a professional now.
He drew in a deep breath. Tempered the wave of dark heat scorching through him. “I told you to take care of this, Antonio. It is too much.Troppo.”
“I’ve tried,” his CMO defended hotly, a swath of color climbing his aristocratic cheekbones, “but she is a moving target. And her agent has been no help.”
“Because she is out of control,” Cristiano thundered, jabbing a long finger at the photograph. “Racking up thirty-thousand-euro bar tabs in Monaco on wild nights of partying...Debasingsacred fountains in Rome... Blowing off her FV responsibilities. Pascal is ready to lose his marbles,” he said, referring to his brand-new star designer, set to take his grandfather’s place as the creative head of the company. “He can’t finish the collection without her. She is aphantom,” he breathed, waving a hand in the air, “appearing only when she likes.”
His CMO scrubbed a palm over his brow. “She’s usually a complete professional when it comes to her work. I have no idea what’s going on with her. How to deal with this.”
Cristiano pushed the newspaper away, frustration singeing his fingertips. He’d been content to look the other way at some of Davis’s attention-grabbing stunts, because they only tended to increase her popularity, and thus that of the FV brand. But these latest exploits? They had the potential to do real damage to both her own brand and Francesco Vitale’s if they continued. Not to mention the shirking of her FV responsibilities, something he would never tolerate.
“Need I remind you,” he bit out, his gaze resting on his marketing chief, “that we have bet the bank on her, Antonio? That she is the centerpiece ofeverythingwe have created? That I went against Francesco’s express wishes on this because ofyourrecommendation, a decision that likely has him turning in his grave?”
“Which I stand firm on,” his CMO replied staunchly. “Jensen Davis is the most important influencer on the face of the planet when it comes to the millennials we need to capture if this company is to survive. Young women aspire tobeher, Cristiano. She is making our clothes aspirational again. Our brand relevancy scores have doubled since she came aboard.”
“Which will plummet into the nether if she continues like this.”
“I won’t let that happen,” Antonio assured him, his elegantly shaved square jaw flexing. “Yes, it’s been a rough few weeks. But she will deliver. She always does.”
Cristiano exhaled a deep breath. He had hired Davis, whom his grandfather had not approved of, the “it” girl of her generation, the most recognizable face in America from her days as a fashion-obsessed teenager on her Hollywood family’s reality show, to make the Francesco Vitale brand relevant again. But it wasn’t a decision he’d made lightly.
He had balked at the idea of hiring Davis when his marketing team first put her name forward, sure that with her wild-child history she’d be more trouble than she was worth. But he hadn’t been able to deny the influence she’d held over the fashion world. Nor the power she wielded over the prevailing pop culture. He’d agreed to go see a shoot she was doing, sure he would talk himself out of it by the time he’d left the room. Instead, he’d found himself as beguiled as everyone else in attendance by her beauty. Fascinated by the untamed free spirit she’d been, a life she could breathe into the stagnating Francesco Vitale brand, which badly needed a jolt of fresh air. By the magic she’d created in front of the camera.
His gut had told him she wasit—a battle he’d waged with his grandfather, who’d favored a traditional Italian model versus the wild card Jensen had represented, until his grandfather had reluctantly acquiesced. A decision he was now having to second-guess, given Davis’s erratic behavior. Exasperating, because he didn’t havetimeto be questioning any part of his ambitious plan. When he’d been promised Davis’s behavior would not be an issue.
He pinned a look on Antonio, framed in the sunshine of a magnificent Milanese morning rapidly losing its rosy glow. “What is your plan? I assume you have one.”
“Si.”Antonio reached up to tug at his tie and loosen it, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture for his ultra-confident, brilliant marketing guru. “I thought you might attend the Designer Extravaganza tonight. Talk to Jensen. Impart on her theimportanceof the next few weeks for the company. Coming from you, I thought it would have more impact. Unless,” he added hesitantly, casting a wary glance at Cristiano’s smoldering expression, “you would like me to come with you and do it myself.”
Cristiano rubbed a palm over the stubble on his jaw, a task he hadn’t had five minutes to see to this morning. He did not have thecapacityfor this. He had three major crises raging on two different continents and an outdated supply chain making his life hell. A major investment deal he needed to land in order to make it all happen, which wasn’t at all a sure thing at the moment, not to mention a dozen other minor fires he had waiting to put out. He didn’t have time tobreathe. But with everything resting on Pascal Ferrari’s debut collection for FV, the first by his grandfather’s successor, a campaign in which Davis sat squarely at the center of, he had no choice but to step in.
If neither his CMO nor Davis’s agent could control his star asset, he would. Because with Jensen Davis at the heart of his plans to reinvent Francesco Vitale, failure was not an option.
He eyed Antonio across the desk, a steel-edged sense of purpose lancing through him. “Focus on the campaign. I will deal with Davis.”
Jensen Davis absorbed the frantic backstage atmosphere at the historic, glamorous Guildhall in London with a brain so bleary with fatigue, it felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. Usually, in these last few moments before a show, the electric anticipation of those adrenaline-packed few moments on stage provided her with the charge she needed for the patented high-energy performance she was known for, what had propelled her to the status of the world’s top model. Tonight, however, she was operating on only four hours’ sleep, half of what she required to feel vaguely human, so drained by the prior month’s relentless schedule she was shocked she even knew what city she was in.
Registering her current location might have been easier on this particular occasion than others, if only for the fact that she’d had to fight her way through a crowd of paparazzi as she’d left her hotel, each of them demanding to know about last night’s altercation with Princess Juliana, a scene she would prefer to forget.
Jensen, what do you have to say about Princess Juliana’s claim you’ve stolen her fiancé?
What does it feel like to be a relationship-wrecker?
Are you having an affair with Prince Alex?
What does the palace think of all of this?
