His Rules: Ludlow Nights - Book1 (A Ludlow Nights Romance) (5 page)

"You're right." She held up a hand to halt whatever he'd been about to say. "But here's a newsflash. I do not want or need a relationship with you. And I have valid reasons for..."

"You have a boyfriend?"

"No. I don't have a boyfriend," she said through gritted teeth. "I'm one hundred per cent focused on my career. I don't have either the time or the emotional will to have an affair with you or anyone else. And I never, ever, date clients."

He nodded his head as if he understood, agreed even.

And Anastacia wondered what on earth was the matter with her that she felt somehow... disappointed, that he'd given in so easily.

"I admire ambition, independence, in a woman. My mother and sisters are going to adore you." Olivier grinned when her jaw dropped.

"Dream of me, my beautiful Anastacia, as I will dream of you.
Ciao, cara
."

The next morning, a cranky Anastacia (not enough sleep) stalked into her office, her heels clacking on the floor of ivory marble. Today she was dressed in a sleeveless shift of taupe silk. A dress that showcased toned arms and long and lean thighs. Slung over her arm was a black patent bag the size of Texas.

Linda was at her desk, fingers dancing over her keyboard. Over the vibrant green reading glasses perched on her nose, she took one look at Anastacia's face and raised pencilled black brows.

At the same time an office junior made herself scarce.

Linda knew the drill.

At the best of times Anastacia Morgan could never be called a morning person.

Anastacia on a tear was a person best avoided.

Since Linda was fearless and had worked with Anastacia from the very beginning, she wasn't bothered by her glorious leader's thunderous expression.

Linda waited five minutes, no more, no less.

Armed with tray holding a full pot of strong black coffee, and a plate of Oreos, she entered the lioness's den.

Anastacia was sprawled behind her huge desk, with a face like a spanked bottom. A small foot encased in black patent pumps with five inch ice-pick heels tap, tap, tapped on the floor.

Without saying a single word, Linda poured and placed the delicate cup and saucer of white china at Anastacia's right hand, poured one for herself, whipped an Oreo from the plate and sat down to wait for the explosion.

It didn't take long.

"Bastard."

Linda didn't have a lot to go on regarding the identity of said bastard, but by a careful survey of the clues; the file open on the desk, the ten by twelve glossy picture of an Italian footballer, and the fact that her illustrious leader had defaced the picture of said footballer with black ink - a twirly moustache and pointy beard. Linda deduced that the 'bastard' referred to was one Olivier Conti.

Linda knew that if her boss didn’t want Olivier for the advertising campaign, then Anastacia would be on a collision course with Nico Ferranti. There had been times when they'd clashed, which wasn't surprising since both were, in their own way, control freaks. But their clashes had never ended in bloodshed. Until now.

Oops.

"So," said Linda, carefully testing the waters. "We're not using the footballer for our campaign?"

The way her leader pouted, as if she was five years old, tickled Linda's antennae.

Oops.

Trouble.

"Yes, we're using him," Anastacia growled.

"Okey-dokey," said Linda in a cheery voice. For the moment collision course avoided. Today was a good day. She munched happily on her Oreo. "Saw the match last night, he played well."

"Oh, yeah. He has
all
the right moves."

Again, Linda's antennae twitched at the throaty growl.

"I'm assuming he can indeed speak in declarative sentences?"

Anastacia's shoulders slumped.

Her eyes joined her mouth in a sulk.

"Yeah. Perfect English."

"No squeaky voice?"

Now her leader crossed her legs, jiggled her foot.

"He sounds like a younger version of Nico."

Linda's eyes went wide.

"Seriously? So, he looks good, can move, and sounds good. What's up?"

Anastacia used both hands to flip back her hair, gripped and pulled.

Uh oh.

The grip and pull was a dead give-away.

It seemed Olivier had seriously pissed off her fearless leader.

Linda was just about to ask what he'd done when she received the answer.

"He kissed me."

Linda's jaw dropped.

Silence.

"Fuck me. Has he been hospitalized? Castrated?"

Anastacia pressed her fingertips into tired eyelids.

"I kissed him back."

Silence.

"Wow. I'm like... stunned."

Anastacia blew out a breath, looked Linda dead in the eye.

"You're not the only one. I don't know what came over me."

"Sounds like Olivier Conti came all over you."

That remark earned Linda a very hard stare.

"You're disgusting. It was a kiss, not sex."

"Aha! It's been a while for you. That's why you're so mad and pissy. Unrequited lust. You should've used your Rabbit, got it out of your system."

"You know, there are plenty of really good PA's out there. PA's who don't curse. PA's who treat their boss with respect. All looking for a job."

"I know there are, but there isn't one who knows you and loves you the way I do."

It was nothing less than the truth.

Now Anastacia snatched an Oreo off the plate and nibbled the edge.

"I didn't use my Rabbit. I also didn't sleep a wink. But nothing's gonna happen between us."

Linda waggled her brows.

"Sounds to me like something already has."

"I never mix business with rumpy pumpy."

Linda grinned. "Rumpy pumpy? Now those are words we don't hear every day."

"Shut up. After Jake..."

Linda made a face, remembering the nuclear fall-out of Anastacia's last long-term relationship. If six months could be considered as long-term.

"Babe, it wasn't your fault."

Unhappy vivid blue eyes met hers.

"Wasn't it?"

Linda leaned forward.

"You
know
it wasn't."

Logically, Anastacia knew Linda was right.

But logic didn't help guilt.

A guilt that burned bright and deep.

"I broke his heart."

Linda nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, well, shit happens. In life we don't get to choose the person we fall in love with. Love isn't a personal choice."

"I don't think I'm capable of falling in love."

Linda rolled her eyes to heaven.

"Bullshit. If you were a heartless bitch, you wouldn't be sitting there eaten up by guilt for something you had no control over."

"This thing with Oliver... it's different."

Linda's eyes went huge.

"It's already a thing? Must have been some kiss." Linda studied Anastacia's pale face, the anxious deep blue eyes. "Did you explain the rules?"

"Yep."

"And?"

"He said he plays by his own rules."

Linda thought for a while.

Then sent Anastacia a big toothy grin.

"You know, I've never met the man, but I like him. I like him a lot."

"Fat lot of help you are." Anastacia sulked for all of ten seconds, then lifted her chin. "Right, let's get this show on the road. First up, London. Have we managed to get Ed to direct?"

Linda grabbed her notepad, flicked back a couple of pages.

"Yep, but only for London. He can't commit to Paris and Rome. His wife is due to deliver their first baby in four weeks."

"First babies are notoriously late. Shouldn't be a problem."

"Soeth speaketh the childless."

Anastacia ignored the snark. "Let's just pray that she hangs on."

Linda stared at her over her glasses.

"We need a back-up, just in case."

"How about Tracy?" Anastacia suggested. "She'd be good with Olivier. Doesn't put up with any nonsense."

"I'll give her a ring."

Now Anastacia wrinkled her nose as she thought about female models who would gel with Olivier. Might as well bring out the big guns. It would be interesting to see how he behaved around a gorgeous blonde.

"How about Mimi for the London shoot? She's tall, around five eleven. And she's a sweetheart, too."

Linda thought for a moment, nodded her head, jotted down a note.

"I'll see if she's available."

"And I'm thinking about Tamara for Paris. She's got that chic French vibe going on."

Linda nodded again, jotted down another note.

"What about Rome?" she asked Anastacia.

What about Rome?

Anastacia kicked back in her chair, crossed her legs, jiggled her foot.

Then she grinned in a way that had Linda shoot her a look over her glasses.

"Lena. We'll use Lena."

Linda's brows flew into her bangs.

"Don't you think she's too old for him?"

Anastacia's brow creased, thinking.

"She's twenty-two. He's twenty-five."

"Yep. But Lena's managed to cram four lifetimes into one."

Anastacia's butter-wouldn't-melt smile flashed.

"I know. She's a handful. Let's see how he handles her."

Linda sat back to study her carefully.

"You're testing him."

Anastacia's cool blue eyes met hers.

"Too bloody right I'm testing him. Let's see what Olivier Conti's made of."

"We'll want to send him all the scene scripts well ahead of time, so that he can see what he's getting himself into," Linda reminded her.

"I'm sure Nico's explained everything to him. However, I've no problem with Olivier being kept in the loop." Anastacia sat up in her chair to type notes on her laptop. "It's not as if he hasn't been in front of a camera before. He seems quite comfortable with his endorsements. We haven't heard a whisper that he's hard to work with."

She looked at her PA for confirmation.

Linda nodded. "On the contrary, all I'm hearing is how easy he is."

"There you go. We've nothing to worry about."

"Uh-huh. But what we want is not the same thing as him just standing there looking pretty. He'll need to act. And he might not be too happy with the bath scene in Rome."

Anastacia just gave her big wide eyes.

"Gimme a break. When have you ever seen a footballer shy about showing off the size of their package? Trust me, Olivier Conti will be just like the rest of them."

Linda said nothing for a long time.

"Well, he's thrown you, which is a first in my book. I'm just saying that we better be careful and make sure he’s clear about our needs."

Anastacia's fingers flew over her keyboard as she glared at her assistant.

"Fine, fine. Do what you need to do, send him the Rome script and even highlight the bathroom scene. But I bet you twenty quid he'll be more than happy to strip."

"No need to get snarky, Ms. Cranky. Just protecting our butts."

Now Anastacia grinned and wiggled her eyebrows in a move that reminded Linda forcibly of Nico.

"He has a deliciously tight butt."

"If you're a very good girl you might get to see that tight butt up close and personal."

The remark wiped the grin from Anastacia's face.

"Not a chance in hell."

Linda rose, gathered her notebook, her pen, the empty coffee cups.

"We'll see what we'll see," she said and sailed out the door.

Ten minutes later, Anastacia's trusty PA sailed back into her office and plonked herself in the chair in front of the desk.

Linda looked so pale, Anastacia broke off her chat with the TV film director, Ed Brookes.

"What's the matter?"

"Check your inbox, I've just sent you what's trending on twitter and Facebook." Linda stood and stalked towards a tall cupboard which held glasses and drinks in a mini fridge. "And while you're doing that, I'll get the brandy."

Brandy?

What on earth could have happened that needed brandy first thing in the morning?

Wondering what the hell was going on, Anastacia did as she was told and clicked on the email link.

Her eyes bugged out of her head.

Omigod
.

She counted the pictures.

Eight.

Eight pictures of Olivier Conti and Anastacia Morgan in front of her apartment last night... snogging.

Her pulse kicked in her throat as perspiration beaded on her top lip.

Omigod
.

The kisses weren't just hot, they were scorching.

Dear God, had she really tangled her fingers in his hair like that?

And had really she pressed her whole body against his like that?

And had he
really
had his hands on her butt cheeks like that?

Bloody hell.

Linda placed the brandy glass at her elbow.

Anastacia grabbed it and took a swig.

And right on cue, her cell phone rang.

She glanced at caller i.d.

Feck, feck, fecking hell.