Redeeming The Billionaire (The Sherbrookes of Newport Book 5) (30 page)

Looking out the window, she saw trees with the occasional driveway marked by a small wooden sign.

“Remember, be persistent,” the driver said kindly.

Isabel smiled. She might not look like she had strong convictions, but people often underestimated her. Growing up as a Neri, she’d learned how to stand up for herself. She was resilient and wouldn’t give up without a fight.

She had dressed carefully for the trip, deciding to wear a slim, sleeveless sheath in a bold print purchased to convince the high-strung perfectionist she was serious about her work. She knew she looked every bit of her Italian heritage: she had light olive skin and her hair was the color and texture of smooth dark chocolate cut to an elegant long length.

Turning off the road, the driver pulled into a gated entrance, marked “private.” Isabel thought it was strange that they were in the woods, not at the beach, until the driver made a sweeping turn and she caught sight of the Atlantic Ocean on the horizon. Driving up to a muted gray mansion with impressive architecture and landscaping, the car slowed and came to a stop.

The driver got out and held the door for her. “Good luck.”

Apprehension skittered along Isabel’s spine like a flat rock being artfully skipped over water before plunging into the depths.

Isabel felt a moment of panic as she watched the driver make a swift exit. She carefully walked up the stone path that led to the front door, being careful not to catch her black Manolo Blahnik heels in the stones.

The front door swung open and Isabel felt the oxygen leave her body. She wasn’t prepared for seeing Marc Santoro in the flesh again. She could feel his gaze rake over her in appraisal, apparently sizing her up. He looked every inch the wealthy business owner: he was dressed in an expertly tailored gray shirt with slightly darker gray trousers that were pressed to exactness. He was even more striking than she remembered, and she reminded herself to just breathe and focus on her pitch.

It was his intensity that she responded to; he seemed to be absorbing everything about her. Isabel hid her expression as she acknowledged to herself that while he may appreciate her outward appearance, he wouldn’t appreciate her damaged body.

Would he remember meeting her before? 

She forced herself to reach out and offer her hand. As his warm fingers enveloped hers, she felt a spark of attraction travel through her body. She immediately pulled back, but not before she saw his eyes darken.

He merely smiled at her reaction, saying, “So you are not just a figment of Alberto’s imagination.” Guiding her inside, he added, “I was beginning to doubt that the old man had any relatives interested in the marble trade.”

Isabel felt her spine stiffen. Was he questioning her family’s loyalty?

“My grandfather speaks very highly of you,” Isabel said as she took in the luxurious setting, trying to get her bearings.

His voice was cool and didn’t give her any clue if he welcomed her visit. “It isn’t often that Alberto Neri asks for a favor.”

Marc Santoro noticed the young filmmaker seemed nervous. Her beautiful image was still ingrained in his mind from the unexpected encounter in Boston. But he wouldn’t allow his interest in her to soften him. She would have to convince him of her ability, as he would not permit a filmmaker into his quarry without a strong feeling that she was up to the task, even with her grandfather clamoring for her in the background.

He took her to his study off the main foyer. He noticed her eyes were drawn to the view of the water and rocky coastline.

“The unobstructed view of the Atlantic Ocean and deserted beaches are what draws people to the Vineyard.”

She smiled at him briefly before turning her attention back to the view.

Looking at her fully, he thought even though she gave the appearance of being slight, she was stunning. Her body seemed to be sculpted out of fine porcelain. Every muscle from her graceful shoulders to her flat belly and flawless hips seemed to be exquisitely toned.

He easily recalled small details given to him by Alberto. For some inexplicable reason, she fascinated him. “Alberto told me you were a nurse before becoming a filmmaker.”

She turned away from the view and came over to the seating area. He noticed her natural grace and friendly, open demeanor and felt his stomach muscles tighten——but reminded himself that she was off limits. By trade, she was inquisitive and curious and he didn’t need that complication is his life.

“Yes, I’ve recently completed a degree in film. I’ve been very fortunate to work on several compelling projects. I brought samples for you to view.” He watched as she removed a tablet from her bag and placed it on the table.

Marc sat down on the modern white sofa and indicated with his hand that she should sit as well. He wanted to put her at ease, but truth be told, he had no desire to become her next subject.

“I think it is only fair to warn you that your proposal will need to stand on its own merit. Your grandfather may have made the introduction, but I can’t give this project to you based on that alone.”

He watched as she smoothed down the fabric of her dress along her thighs. “I secured a foundation grant to document the life of the quarry worker in Carrara.” Her tone seemed relaxed, but he knew she was on guard with him.

Looking at her fully, he wanted to give her anything she asked for. But he knew from experience that she could decide to cast him and his business empire in a negative light. He
valued his privacy and allowing any type of media in the door was the same thing as inviting disaster. “Why the Santoro Quarry? What do you hope to accomplish with this film?”

Isabel decided to just share her thoughts freely. “The Santoro Quarry is one of the oldest and most respected quarries in Carrara. Filming there will allow me to have access to generations of quarry workers. For this film to be compelling, I need to find a range of stories.”

He met her gaze. “Do you think your documentary will have a wide appeal with audiences?”

“Carrara has a fascinating history. Most people can relate to the history that is depicted in marble statues and art. But there is almost no documentation of the grit and skill of the quarry worker. I want to film the hard work along with the beauty of the natural environment. I think many people would find that interesting.”

Isabel noticed his eyebrows lift but plowed on. “I know there have been drastic changes since my grandfather’s time and without interviewing that generation, the stories will be lost.”

She could see his eyes growing colder. “Is this about Alberto? Does he have a need to memorialize himself?”

Isabel carefully kept her voice neutral as she answered his question. “It’ll bring a certain amount of joy to my grandfather, but in the larger context, the stories will be important to generations of people. Stories help shape our experience of life and examining a way of life that has been lost can provide a very tangible connection to the past.” She could feel a nervous tension vibrating along her spine and tried to relax her tense muscles.

She couldn’t tell if he was bored or interested in the conversation as he asked her, “What do you find interesting about Carrara?”

Isabel reminded herself to not let him rattle her. “When I was a child my grandfather and his friends would tell stories about the quarry and the men who worked there. They often said the men were like a close-knit family.”

His eyes pierced hers. “Your father and his brother were absent in the trade. They had no interest.”

Isabel considered how much to reveal. “It caused issues within my family. My father wanted a different life for his children.”

Marc waved his hand dismissively. “Working in an eatery?”

Her chin lifted slightly and she looked directly into his eyes. “My parents didn’t have many skills when they came to this country. They worked in the restaurant business until they could scrape together enough money to open their own deli.”

His gaze settled on her. “So if something is difficult, it should be abandoned.”

He was being unfair. She couldn’t possibly answer for her father, but she also wouldn’t be disloyal. “No. But I think it is acceptable to make a different choice.”

“Alberto Neri was a major figure in the marble business. I grew up respecting his knowledge and work ethic. It’s surprising that his family spurned the trade. Maybe if his sons stayed involved, the outcome would have been different.”

She watched him in silence as she wondered if he would turn her down. He judged her family for not continuing in her grandfather’s footsteps. But he didn’t understand how difficult the choice had been.

Isabel straightened her spine fractionally. “Listen. I can’t answer for my father. But I’m immensely interested in the marble trade. I realize I didn’t grow up with it, but the connection is there through my grandfather.”

Marc lifted his hand to stop her. “The quarry is a dangerous place for someone with no experience. Shearing off massive slabs of marble has inherent risks.”

Isabel met his gaze. “I know that I would need to stay in the background and I can assure you I have a very quiet presence. I’m drawn to creating documentaries mostly through film but also using still photography.”

Marc watched her beautiful, feminine body and thought if he allowed her to start asking questions then there was no telling what secrets would be revealed.

“The marble business can be tough. The economic pressures from global over-production have forced many quarries to go out of business and changes in technology have changed the need for manual labor, leaving most of the next generation without work. You will find stories of personal hardship and difficult choices.”

Wariness hardened Marc’s resolve, and he ran his hand through his hair. His gut told him Alberto wanted his granddaughter to be protected at all costs, yet he wouldn’t mind if she married into an Italian family with a connection to the marble trade. In their conversation last week, he had asked Marc when he was going to settle down and have a family. Marc had been very blunt and told the old man that he was only interested in seeking out wild affairs and when the passion burned out, he moved on. After that point, Alberto reminded him on several occasions that Isabel was off limits.

Isabel nodded. “My grandfather told me that you have built a diversified empire. But what would your business empire be without the quarry and the connection to the past?”

“More profitable.” Marc countered with ruthless bite, but a faint shadow of guilt stained his angular cheekbones as he stood up and turned away, trying yet failing to block out images of the quarry. He could easily recall images of his grandfather speaking with the foreman about how to safely extract the next slab of pure white marble as he waited in the background.

He could tell she was trying to figure out his thinking when she said, “Yes, but profits are not the only reason for keeping a business. Don’t you think a connection to the past is of equal importance?”

Marc turned back toward her. “It’s not responsible in the long run to keep a business that is failing. It would be better to make a quick, decisive move than to continue to put off the inevitable. That was the mistake Alberto made.” Marc kept the emotion out of his voice, as he didn’t want to acknowledge how painful this was for Alberto. For a man such as Alberto Neri to allow bankruptcy was to acknowledge his own failure.

“I know I can create a compelling film.”

His hard jawline tightened slightly. “You’re too young and inexperienced for this project.”

Isabel stared at him. “You can’t be serious. I’m not inexperienced. I have overcome enormous obstacles to even be here.”

“What type of obstacles?” Marc asked as he held her gaze.

He had her. Why would she reveal such a personal part of herself to this stranger? But what did it matter? He clearly wasn’t going to allow her to film in his quarry or interview his employees.

After a moment of hesitation, she met his gaze and told him, “I was in a serious accident. It was hard to survive physically when my family wanted to push me back into the neat little role they had devised for me. I did survive and I launched my own film company, documenting the choices people make and the reality of their lives.”

“Surviving an accident isn’t enough to guarantee success with a film.”

Cringing at his coldness, Isabel stood and raised her voice. “I don’t even know why I bothered to come here and see you. Alberto was wrong. You are clearly not interested in allowing a glimpse of the life of the men who have worked for your family for generations.”

He remained completely still, his eyes were like cold steel and there was a hard, set look to his mouth, but he didn’t attempt to stop her. He merely watched her as she continued to lecture him, her anger refueled.

“You have a reputation for being a recluse and not allowing anyone in. I’m not surprised that you wouldn’t allow filming at the Santoro Quarry.”

The silence after she had finished seemed to fill the room as much as her voice had done. She fully expected him to escort her to the front door and wish her goodbye, but he stood motionless. Then he seemed to relax a little and surprised her by saying slowly, “You’re very passionate, Miss Neri.”