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Her full mouth twisted. “I will do my best. Sometimes I just find myself with theneedto disrobe. I can’t always catch myself before it happens.”
He eyed the dark glitter in her eyes. She was baiting him. And while a part of him would love to pursue it, considering the Y chromosomes he possessed, another more sensible part of him recognized it for the folly it was. He found nothing about the fountain episode amusing, nor should she, given thatHollywood Divashad been fined in excess of a quarter of a million euros for the episode, which had left all Italians unamused. Although he suspected it had been more than worth it from the show’s perspective, given the massive ratings it had engendered.
“Make yourself at home,” he said, shutting down that very male part of his brain. “Invite a friend or two over. You are free to leave the estate to do an errand, provided you have Saul, my bodyguard, with you. He will make sure you are protected from the photographers. You will not,” he underscored, “under any circumstance, throw any parties on the estate or use any illegal drugs. Nor will you go clubbing or undertake any other activity that will put you in the limelight, unless it is specifically outlined in the PR plan. When I said no headlines, I meantnoheadlines.” He set a hard gaze on her.“Capisci?”
She eyed him. “I don’t take drugs.”
“I know the scene, Jensen. It’s full of them.”
“Not with me.Ever. It’s the quickest way for a model to ruin her looks.”
He thought she might be telling the truth, because her dark, lustrous eyes were clear, her thick, wavy hair, the color of darkest cocoa, lustrous, as was the unmarred expanse of perfect, sun-kissed skin that covered every inch of her. Which only brought to mind what she’d look like with nothing on at all.
“Bene,”he murmured, refusing to let his mind wander. “Then it won’t be a problem.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the railing. “What about Pascal and the fittings? Will I travel to FV for those?”
“Pascal is going to come here and do them, starting tomorrow afternoon. It will save him moving the clothing back and forth for the shoot. Which begins on Wednesday,” he qualified, “followed by the television commercial, which they expect will take a few days to shoot. We are cutting it close on all of it, so make sure you get some rest. It’s going to be a busy few weeks.”
Her lips firmed, and he got the impression she barely resisted rolling her eyes. “I’m used to that,” she murmured. “Is there anything else you’d like to decree, while you’re so clearly on a roll? Anything else that would keep you happy?”
“Si,”he returned in a soft, unmistakably commanding tone. “What I wouldlikeis to hear from my staff that you are going above and beyond to accommodate their needs. That their stress levels have been greatly reduced over the next few days. Andthen, I will be happy.”
Fiery dark eyes rested on his, but she wisely abstained from perpetuating this battle between them further. He pushed away from the wall, intent on getting some sleep, before the lack of it made him partake in any other irrational thoughts that were wholly unwise.
“Buona notte, Jensen. Get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”
CHAPTER THREE
“SANTOCIELO. YOU’VELOSTat least ten pounds... What have you been doing? Not eating at all?”
Jensen stood completely still as Pascal Ferrari stuck yet another pin into the midnight-blue gown she was wearing, a dark frown on his expressive face. She knew she’d lost weight. She’d been too stressed and working too much over the past few weeks to eat proper meals, which was revealing itself in the gaping fabric at the back of the dress. A state of affairs that had, unfortunately, meant that quite a few pieces of Pascal’s collection had required alteration, not ideal at this stage of the game.
“Mi dispiace,”she murmured, flashing him a guilty look.I’m sorry. “My schedule has been nuts. I’m too tired to eat when I get home, I have breakfast, and then it starts all over again.”
“I guess,” the designer exhaled on a pained breath as he affixed yet another pin to the dress, “I should be grateful you didn’t blow in at the eleventh hour, expecting me to fix it. I had visions of a week spent pulling the shoot out of the fire.”
Jensen sank her teeth into her lip. Absorbed the strain written across Pascal’s charismatic features. He’d nearly wept with relief when she’d appeared for the fittings, his happiness at finding a break in her schedule palpable. Which had made her feel awful. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders with his first collection as the new design chief ofFV set to debut in weeks. The shoes he had to fill in Francesco’s as big as they got. But she’d been too overbooked and overwhelmed to even consider what this must have been doing to him—one of her absolute favorite designers. The pressure it had put him under. So she’d tried to make it up to him the best way she could.
When they hadn’t been shooting the collection in gorgeous lakeside locations on the Vitale estate, they’d been finalizing the lineup piece by piece so it would be perfect for the shoot and show. Which had every muscle and bone in her body aching from the interminably long days spent in front of the camera, followed by these sessions with Pascal.
It had gone some way toward assuaging the guilt she’d felt toward shirking her duties. But it was doing little to alleviate the anxiety eating away at her insides when it came to her career. Tatiana had managed to reschedule her shoot in Paris, but Berlin had to go ahead without her, and Cannes, an assignment for an up-and-coming swimsuit brand, was still a question mark, given the date couldn’t be altered and her client didn’t want anyone else. Not helped by the fact that her American lingerie client had hired Ariana Lordes, a Brazilian superstar in the making, to take her place headlining the show in Shanghai—a highly visible replacement that had everyone talking.
It was unnerving to lose the job, given how hard she’d worked for it. The buzz about Ariana was immense, and she couldn’t help but feel insecure. What if her client, who hadn’t been happy at all with her last-minute cancellation, loved Ariana? What if they decided they liked herbetter? Not helped by all the rumor and innuendo over why she’d been replaced, which she hadn’t been able to comment on at all.
The only thing she knew for sure was that in the cutthroat, fast-paced world of high fashion modeling, there was always another girl waiting in the wings, ready to take her place, a prospect that had left her with an ever-present knot in her stomach. So she’d decided to do the only thing she could do: throw herself into her work and focus on the things shecouldcontrol—a tactic that was working with limited effect.
“I’m sorry I’ve been MIA,” she told Pascal as he finished with the back of the dress and sat back on his heels to peruse his work. “I’ve been trying to do too much. I’ll do better.”
He waved a hand at her. “You’re the world’s top model. You are busy.In demand. Would I like to have more of you? Of course. But you are a consummate professional when I do have you, and you make magic with my dresses. That’s what matters.”
“I’m not so sure Cristiano would agree,” she said drily. “He’s not very happy with me.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Cristiano is under a great deal of pressure right now. He’s spent the last eighteen months battling his grandfather and then the board on the way forward. Digging the company out of the dark ages. He’s taken a big risk on me. Not to mention having the weight of a national legacy resting on his shoulders.”
She was intrigued. “What did Cristiano and Francesco disagree about?”
A wry smile curved his mouth. “Whatdidn’tthey butt heads about? Francesco was old-school. He didn’t get the new realities. How the fashion world has changed. The markets we need to capture if this company is to survive.” He waved a hand at her. “Look at his opinion of you. He didn’t value you as the influencer that you are because he didn’t understand the current social climate. Cristiano does.”
