Page 9 of Don't Bite The Boss
“I don’t eat where I work,” I snipe, hanging up the phone.
‘Mostly.’
Rolling over in a huff, I pull the blankets up to my chin and growl at the ceiling.
“Don’t eat the cabana boy, what the fuck does he think I am?”
Then I remember, I’ve pretty much tried to eathimeach time I’ve seen him.
I shake my head and groan as another unwanted memory surfaces unbidden, of another time in Italy, when a chase, a long, long chase came to a close, and I ate my first Irresistible.
Perhaps Tristan was right to call.
When it comes to what I am, I have no illusions. I am a monster.
I don’t fall to sleep as quickly as I usually do.
The historic villa’s grounds, just ruins really, are extensive, and I’m more excited than I can say, and slightly daunted, about having the opportunity to landscape them and reinstate them as they once were.
I’ve come ahead of Tristan, who has been held up in the palazzo with another business meeting, to scope out his future home. To the naked eye, there is nothing to see, just the footprint of what was once a grand estate, some rocks, indents in the earth, nothing more. But to me, and obviously to Tristan, this is the start of something wonderful.
Standing in the dark, the bright moonlight illuminating the pale underside of the leaves of the ancient olive trees as the wind flutters through them, I take a deep breath and pace out the length of what was once most likely a peristyle, a garden surrounded by columns.
Behind me in the distance, rise mountains. Before me, not too far, perhaps a kilometre or two, lies the sea.
This villa, I know, must have once been a villa Maritima, a grand pleasure villa for someone important, rather than a villa Rustica, more suited to Romans just living a rural lifestyle, processing grapes and olive oil.
It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Tristan would want a villa close to the sea, given his love of sailing and the ocean. But landscaping the villa gardens and exterior is going to take a lot more research than I had initially anticipated. This was no ordinary villa; it clearly had a number of rooms for entertainment and dining all linked with enclosed green courtyards, and most likely heated baths amid the gardens. How he had been given permission to rebuild on what was essentially an archaeological site, I will never know.
“I’ll bet if we excavated, we would find some evidence of mosaics,” I muse quietly as I study the lie of the land. “We really should have an expert take a look at this place before we do anything.”
My conversation with myself is interrupted by my phone, and I grimace as I recognise the number, and reluctantly answer.
“If you ever try to bite my baby brother again, nothing, and I mean nothing, not Serena, not Charlotte, not your goddammed ninja powers, will prevent me from staking you.”
“You really are a fuckwit, Christopher,” I spit.
He hangs up before I can, and my phone rings again. I’m so angry, I don’t even check the number before I answer.
“I’ll kill your brother in front of you, right before I rip your bloody head off,” I shout into the mouthpiece.
“I guess now is a bad time,” Tess’ quiet, amused voice echoes across the line.
“Oh, shit. Tess, I’m so sorry, I thought you were Christopher ringing to rip me a new asshole again.”
“Clearly,” she laughs, “but no. I just thought I’d follow up his call.”
“You knew he phoned?”
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he talks so loudly, and he’s here, so is Serena. They decided to take Charlotte’s advice, and yours, and lay low for a while. With you and Charlotte overseas and out of Solomon’s reach for the foreseeable future, my farm seemed the least likely place he might ever look for a billionaire and his bride.”
“Good thinking,” I nod.
I don’t add that I’m relieved Serena is there to look after Tess. She couldn’t fight her way out of a wet paper bag, and I’ve been worried about her living by herself ever since she moved to her country idyll in Minnesota.
“And how is Mr High And Mighty settling into a house with a dicky top step and no power?” I ask, suddenly amused by the thought of him slumming it and happily picturing him tumbling to his death.
“I fixed the step,” she sniffs, “and I have solar power now.”
