Page 51 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
“What time should I be ready, Mr. Valentine?”
My mouth spread into a grin. “Six am, we’re taking an early flight.”
“You’re trying to beat the airport rush?”
“No. We’re flying private. I just happened to want every minute of every second of those two days with you.”
“Is that right?”
“Damn right.”
She giggled deeply. “I’ll see you at six am Friday. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Don’t ask me that, or I’ll shapeshift your schedule for the rest of the week.”
She laughed haughtily. “Have a good day, Christian.”
“You as well, Naomi.”
Her laughter became distant then the call dropped. I bit my bottom lip. I may have missed out on having her on my arm for the gala, but I would have her all weekend, and I was going to make it the time of her life.
Friday evening
Tuscany
Naomi had her phone pressed to her ear, handling what had to be her twentieth crisis call since we’d left St. Louis eleven hours ago.
“No, Tamara,” she said, sharply. “Tell him Christina doesn’t do private parties. We’ve been over this.”
I watched her work from across the back seat in the limo, admiring the way she could dismantle a problem while looking like she belonged on the cover of a magazine. The burnt orange silk dress she’d changed into during the flight moved with her body, keeping my concentration on every curve she owned.
“I don’t care if he’s offering double. The answer is no.” She rubbed her temples. “Handle it, and don’t call me unless someone’s bleeding.”
The call ended, and she dropped her head back against the leather seat with a sigh.
“Your position sounds pretty daunting. Having to keep men in check must be exhausting.”
She smirked. “Believe it or not you do it all the time, in a different setting but still.”
I nodded. “I never thought about it like that.”
She smiled over at me. “Sometimes a few of my clients think money can buy them anything, including things I’ve explicitly told them aren’t for sale.”
“Well, they’ve definitely got the right woman to put them in their place.”
We stared at each other, and I winked. She blushed and turned her head to look out the window.
Villa Bellavista appeared through the trees like a Renaissance painting. Honey-colored stone walls, olive groves cascading down the hillside, and in the distance, a small village dotted with warm lights.
When we made it to our destination, Naomi stepped out of the car, her heels clicking against the gravel as she took in the view. “This is beautiful.”
“I thought so, too. I own it.”
Her eyes widened. “How long have you owned it?”
“Since I took a trip out here to see what a trip to Tuscany had afforded me. I fell in love with the area and the houses.”
“You bought a house in Italy on a whim?”
