Christmas At The Tycoon's Command

She slicked her tongue across suddenly dry lips. Cocked her chin at a defiant angle. “Mission accomplished. I’ll be in bed by midnight. But then again, you always get what you want, don’t you, Nico?”

His gray gaze was heavy-lidded as it focused on her mouth for an infinitesimal pause. “Not always,” he said quietly.

Then he disappeared into the night.

CHAPTER THREE (#ud318f1af-d7de-511b-b487-771682a23ce3)

IT HAD BEEN the champagne talking. Chloe convinced herself of that version of events as she walked to work the next morning. That cryptic comment from Nico on her doorstep, the chemistry that had seemed so palpable between them. Because not once in all the years since their summer flirtation had he ever looked at her like that.

She’d merely been a blip on his radar. A casual diversion he’d regretted when more sophisticated choices had come along. Thinking it had been any more than that would make her a fool where he was concerned and she’d stopped being that a long time ago.

Whatever misguided sense of duty he was displaying toward her, this power trip he was on, Nico’s ambition was the only thing he cared about, a fact she would do well to remember. She’d agreed to this truce of theirs only for the greater good of the company. Because saving Evolution was all that mattered.

She perfected her spiel for Eddie’s agent as she rode the elevator to her office, said good-morning to Clara, whom she’d decided was not only witty but astonishingly efficient, and took the messages her assistant handed her into her office.

Done in antiques, with a Louis XVI writing desk and chairs, ultra-feminine lace-edged, silk curtains and warm lamp lighting, the office that had once been her mother’s wrapped itself around her like a whisper-soft memory. But her mind was all business as she picked up the phone and called Eddie’s agent. A good thing, too, because when she reached him, he told her he was on his way out of town but could have lunch that day before he left.

Apprehensive Eddie would change his mind if it waited, Chloe jumped on the invitation. Unfortunately, his agent wasn’t immediately sold on the endorsement, but in the end he relented, only because Eddie seemed so keen on the project and the actor had a movie coming out at Christmas, just as the massive campaign for Soar would appear.

Chloe floated back to the office and announced her victory to Mireille, who was just as excited as she.

“I,” she informed Chloe, “have good news and bad news for you. The good news is that Lashaunta is interested. She loves the campaign. It really resonated with her.”

Chloe’s heart soared. Lashaunta was a megastar. “That’s amazing.”

“The bad news is that Carrie Taylor is a no. She’s about to represent a competing fragrance. Desdemona,” she concluded, “I’m still working on.”

Which meant they needed to secure their plan B supermodel, Estelle Markov, for Nico to give them the green light. He might approve the plan with only three of their four celebrities in place, but any less than that and Chloe knew she’d be out of luck.

While Mireille worked on Estelle, Chloe went off to put the final piece of her buzz campaign into effect, personally delivering samples of the Vivre fragrances to each and every Evolution employee’s desk, explaining the story behind the perfumes. A streak of the devil possessing her, she also had Clara courier samples of the fragrances to the board members, making sure she also sent one for their significant other.

She would win them over.

* * *

Hurricane Chloe had entered the building.

A wry smile tugged at Nico’s lips as he waved Chloe into his office late on Friday afternoon and motioned for her to take a seat as he finished up a conference call.

She walked to the window instead, vibrating with the perpetual energy she’d been displaying all week in her very effective campaign to prove him wrong. Her slender body encased in a soft, off-white sweater, dark jeans tucked into knee-high boots and a fawn-colored jacket topping it off, she wore her hair in a high ponytail, her flawless skin bare of makeup.

The hard kick she administered to his solar plexus wasn’t unexpected. He’d been fighting his attraction to Chloe ever since the first moment he’d set foot in the Russo household and eyes on Martino and Juliette’s eldest daughter.

Twenty to Chloe’s sixteen, he’d been hard and bitter from his experiences. But something about the quiet, passionate Chloe had penetrated his close-packed outer shell. Perhaps he had recognized a piece of himself in her—the need they had both had to bury themselves behind their layers to protect themselves against the world. Perhaps it had been how she had sold her subtle beauty short when he’d always found her far more attractive than her stunning sister.

He’d told himself he couldn’t have her. That he would never put his position as Martino’s protégé in jeopardy—the career that had meant everything to him as he’d finally built a solid footing under his feet. Until unintended and explosive, the attraction between him and Chloe had slipped his reins at the Russo’s annual Fourth of July party.

Martino, who’d witnessed the kiss, had brought him up short, asking his intentions when it came to his daughter. Pursue Chloe seriously or leave her alone, he had said, knowing what Nico was—a man who would never trust, never commit to a woman because of the scars his early life had left behind.

So he’d walked away. Done it the hard way so it would be a clean break. So he wouldn’t be tempted with what he couldn’t have. Because Martino had been right—he would have broken Chloe’s heart far worse than he had in the end.

Martino might not be alive, he conceded, studying the delicate length of her spine, and Chloe wasn’t a teenager anymore, but he had a new responsibility now. To protect her, not bed her. To nurture her as Martino had asked of him. It was a promise he would not break.

His call with the West Coast team over, he pushed out of his chair and walked to where she stood at the window. She turned, her face expectant. “Did you look at the plan?”

“Yes.” He glanced at his watch. “I have time to go through it before my dinner plans if you’d like.”

When she answered in the affirmative, he strode out to reception, sent his PA, Simone, home, then returned to pour himself a Scotch. When Chloe refused his offer of a drink, he joined her in the lounge, where she stood at the windows, enjoying the view.

Designed to work and entertain with its Italian glass chandeliers, dining room for ten and magnificent vista of a night-lit Central Park, the view was Nico’s favorite thing about the space he spent far too much time in.

Chloe turned around. “So what did you think?”

“I think you’ve made a very persuasive case for Vivre being the Christmas focus. The plan is excellent.” A wry smile touched his mouth. “It was also impossible,” he conceded drily, “to miss your blitz campaign. Very clever. I couldn’t walk the halls without hearing about it. Simone can’t stop raving about Be. Jerry Schumacher called me this morning to beg for an early production bottle for his wife.”

A tiny smile curved her mouth at the mention of Evolution’s most senior board member. “I did say I would win them over. But more important,” she added, excitement filling her voice, “the media is raving about Vivre, Nico. The editor of the most influential fashion magazine in America is crazy about Soar. She wants to feature it as her must-have product for Christmas. I think it’s going to be a huge hit.”

He held up a hand before she got too carried away. “I saw that. I do, however, still have real concerns about the timing. It seems inordinately tight. I want more than Giorgio’s rose-colored glasses making this decision.”

“It is a tight timeline,” she admitted. “I may not sleep. But we can do it. The advertising space is booked, and all four of our celebrities have the time in their schedule to film the spots.”

He addressed the one glaring hole in the plan. “I don’t see Carrie Taylor in there. What happened to her?”

She sank her teeth into her lip. “She’s representing a competing fragrance. But Mireille has a verbal commitment from Estelle Markov, who’s making it big in Europe. I think she’ll be perfect to target that audience.”

“I’ve never heard of her.” He frowned. “She doesn’t have Carrie Taylor’s cachet, Chloe. Nor is the European market anywhere near the size of the North American one.”

“But she’s amazing.” Her eyes shimmered with fire. “When was the last time you were a twentysomething fashionista with breasts?”

A dry look back. “Point taken.”

“Not to mention the fact that Eddie and Lashaunta could carry this campaign on their own if they had to,” she plunged on. “Carrie is not a make-or-break for us.”

He took a sip of his Scotch. Considered his options. The skincare line he had favored was, in truth, not going to set the world on fire. It would, however, provide very solid profits. Vivre might be that superstar product line Evolution so desperately needed, but was he insane to bet the company on it?

“This is a fifty-million-dollar campaign,” he said, fixing his gaze on Chloe’s. “We’ve never done anything of this magnitude before. It needs to be executed flawlessly—right down to the last detail. Needs to put Evolution on everyone’s lips again. Are you sure you can get it into market in time?”

“Yes.” Her head bobbed up and down. “Trust me, Nico. I can do this.”

He gave her a long look. “Okay,” he said finally, pointing his glass at her. “Let’s do it, then.”

* * *

The world tilted beneath Chloe’s feet. “Did you just say yes?”

He smiled. “Si.”

“Why?”