CARLA’S STOMACH HOLLOWED. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
He didn’t answer for a minute. Instead, he strolled to the single window that let in bright sunlight, glanced out for a moment, then turned.
If anything, his silhouette was even more formidable, his almost god-like stature drawing her gaze to his captivating frame.
‘The reason you were chosen to be the face of the J Santino luxury line was because you’re an expert at blending the illusion of innocence with ruthless ambition.’
‘If there’s a compliment in there you expect me to thank you for, I’ll need a moment or two to think about it,’ she replied.
The haloed outline of his shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘The results speak for themselves. Or at least they used to.’
‘Is there a point to all this?’
‘Your choices lately have been...disappointing, to say the least.’
‘My choices?’
‘You dragged out your negotiations with Draco Angelis’s agency until he threatened to walk away. I’m guessing you realised, almost too late, that playing hard to get with him would get you nowhere? Then you insisted on associating yourself with a trainer whose reputation should’ve made you stay well clear of him.’
Carla swallowed hard against the need to tell him why. But she could see no way to set the record straight without pointing a direct finger at her father. And in a way, hadn’t she also been at fault for desperately clinging to a familial bond that was only in her mind? ‘My last trainer retired. Tyson Blackwell was only supposed to be temporary—’
‘He was known to push his trainees too hard. You should’ve had nothing to do with him,’ he cut across her.
Her breath shuddered out. ‘I didn’t want to. My father made a deal with him without my knowledge,’ she muttered.
Disapproval vibrated off him. ‘Then you should’ve hired someone else.’
She wanted to blurt out that she’d said the same thing to her father, instigating yet another row. A row during which she’d discovered she had no choice but to work with Blackwell because there was no money to hire anyone else. A row that set in motion a series of disagreements that still remained unresolved. Ones she wouldn’t be able to brush under the carpet this time, even though it meant facing the hard truth—that her father loved the prestige and financial reward she brought him much more than he loved her.
Staunching the anguish before it bled into her voice, she replied, ‘We both know why you pursued me to sign with you. So why are we having this conversation?’
‘Because aside from our impending private matters, your father made an excellent case on your behalf by convincing me you were a good bet.’
‘Wasn’t it the other way round? Didn’t you pursue him because you convinced him you were a good bet for my image?’
‘Is that what he told you?’ he enquired silkily, his tone taunting.
She pursed her lips and glanced away. When her fingernails cut into her palm, she forced herself to relax her fist. For the past few months, ever since she had broached the subject of untangling her father from his active role as her manager, their relationship had grown more strained than ever. Tensions had increased until an argument last month when he’d branded her ungrateful and irresponsible. Carla hadn’t fooled herself into thinking the haggard look her father had worn in the past few weeks had anything to do with familial concern for her well-being. Time and hard lessons had taught her otherwise. But she hadn’t known the reason behind her father’s almost visceral reaction to her wanting to take a different path in her career. Not until six weeks ago, after the lavish charity event he’d given in their home in Tuscany. A weekend where her eyes had been opened in more ways than one.
Carla steeled her heart against the pain she’d never managed to suppress. Appearances were everything to Olivio Nardozzi, enough for her to know she was nothing but a meal ticket to the man who had raised her. Any threat to the lifestyle her father believed was owed to him had been disposed of with ruthless efficiency the moment Olivio became aware of his daughter’s exceptional talent.
It was the reason her father had relinquished control to her when she’d come of age, but had legally tied up his role in her career as her manager. Twenty-one and reeling from her mother’s sudden death, she’d fooled herself into thinking that the working collaboration with her father would ease a relationship whose foundations had been decimated when her mother had walked out on them both when Carla was ten.
With the passage of time, Carla had been prepared to forgive the fact that he’d chosen to tie her in knots professionally at the moment when she’d been most vulnerable. She’d chosen to believe that, somewhere deep down, her father had loved her mother and was reacting just as strongly to her death. What she couldn’t forgive was her father cunningly plotting three years later to cement a lucrative business association by attempting to marry her off to Draco Angelis.
Willing calm into her body, she lifted her gaze as Javier paced closer. ‘So you’re here to do what exactly? Ensure I toe some sort of line set by you?’
‘Among other things, I intend to ensure this...’ he touched a hand to the wound dressing above her right temple ‘...and this...’ a drift of his fingers over her cast-bound wrist ‘...don’t happen again.’
Carla gritted her teeth against the heat dredging through her. On top of everything else, she didn’t need the reminder that this man’s touch elicited the most decadent sensation inside her. She jerked her arm away, hiding the twinge of pain in her wrist. ‘Please don’t touch me.’
His fist balled for an unguarded second before he dropped his hand. She didn’t need to look up to know she’d succeeded in angering him further. ‘Your co-operation in seeing to your own health would help matters proceed smoothly. And please look at me when I’m talking to you.’
A childish urge to refuse surfaced. Reluctantly she raised her gaze, squashing the electricity that fizzed through her when his eyes locked on her. ‘As I told you, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Once I’m back home in Tuscany—’
‘You’re not returning home.’
She frowned. ‘Of course I am. It’s my home.’ Albeit a home that felt more like a museum and her father’s way of congratulating himself for what she’d achieved. But it was the only home she had left, and the only thing standing between her and losing that home was her contract with Javier.
‘In Tuscany, the nearest adequate medical facility should you need one is over sixty miles away. You were lucky this time that there was an air ambulance nearby when you fell. Tempting fate again is unwise. Besides, I want you where I can keep an eye on you.’
‘Fine, I’ll stay here in Rome. I can rent an apartment here—’ She stopped speaking when he shook his head.
‘No. New York or Miami is a much better option.’
‘For you, you mean?’
‘Of course. As much as I love your fair city, I have an important launch in a few weeks that needs my attention. I can’t hop on a plane whenever you make an unfortunate choice. Besides, you were contracted to be in New York for your sponsorship duties sooner rather than later. And before you trot out an excuse about talking to your father, I already have. He’s agreed.’
Bitterness dredged her insides. As much as she wanted to vocally condemn her father, she kept her mouth shut. Doing so would only hand Javier further ammunition against her. She would deal with her father later. ‘So do all your clients get this special attention from you?’
‘No,