Page 21 of The Marriage Bid
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The following week was a flurry of work, work, work, and nothing else. After Tyler approved the changes, we got to recreating the design, contacting suppliers, and looking for the best material that would pass Tyler’s exacting standards. Almosteverything was done until we realized that the material needed for the sofas was only available in Italy.
“Can’t they ship it to us?” Malaya asked when I told her the representative of the factory that makes the leather wanted me to come to their factory.
“Apparently, a customer has to make an inspection of the leather in person, especially if they’re buying it for the first time.”
Malaya groaned. “Hawthorne demanded full-grain Italian leather for the sofas. We can’t skimp on that.”
“Yeah. One of us has to go.”
“One of us? Ha!” She shook her head. “The sofas are your thing. You have to go, my friend.”
I banged my head on the desk. Traveling was not my favorite thing. I didn’t mind going to places, but my God, airports and cheap hotels in foreign countries were frustrating, especially on a business trip.
I raised my head and pouted at Malaya. “I don’t want to,” I said. “Can you go instead? Pretty please?”
“Nope. Not even if you put a cherry on top. I need to work with our doors guy and make sure he’s not ruining the designs. And then there’s the carpet shipment that’s arriving tomorrow. I’ve got a lot on my plate, unless you want to do all of that. And you can’t give this to Penny. She’s good, but she’s new.”
At that moment, our newest employee knocked on the open door. The blonde, plus-sized woman with an effervescent smile bounced in when I nodded for her to enter. She had a laptop in hand. “I need your approval of the bathroom renderings that just came through,” she said to both of us. Malaya shrugged as she waved Penny over to her desk. “See? Now that Penny’s desk is officially full with the bathroom designs, it’s all on you.”
“Ugh. I hate this.”
“What’s the issue?”
“Saffron over there doesn’t want to visit the beautiful country of Italy? Can you imagine the horror?”
“I’ll have to spend the entire trip in a crowded economy seat, and then sleep in a tiny hotel room, and then visit a factory that smells like a big fart. Hardly a romantic trip.”
“Get H&H to book the flight and hotel for you. They’ll probably put you in business class. They’ve got the money.”
That wasn’t a bad idea at all. I sent an email to the logistics manager at H&H telling her about the trip. She was a pleasant and efficient woman who responded promptly to emails, but she took longer this time. I went on with my work, and when it neared lunchtime, I got an email from her.
I meant to book a hotel and flight for you, but you’re in luck. Mr. Tyler Hawthorne is visiting Italy on a business trip and has agreed to accommodate you on his private jet and at the hotel where he will reside.
Chapter 12
Saffron
Ihated how comfortable the plush seats of Tyler’s jet felt. When I got the email, my immediate reaction was to reject the offer and pay for the trip out of pocket, but the shallow depth of that pocket made me reconsider. Now I was sitting at one end of the plane while Tyler was on the other end with three of his employees huddled in an impromptu meeting. Well, his assistant, a project manager, and his CFO were huddled while Tyler casually reclined in his seat as he listened to his subordinates, interjecting here and there. From where I sat diagonally opposite him at the far end, his handsome side profile was all I could see. It was beautiful. He could have been a successful male model if he weren’t so stinking rich.
As though he could sense my stare, Tyler’s gaze caught mine. I froze; my cheeks heated. He frowned as though he had caught a pervert leering. I turned to my laptop and pretended to be busy, but that didn’t fool him. My phone buzzed. A text message popped onto the screen.
Tyler the Asshole: Don’t you have better things to do than stare at me?
Me: Don’t you have better things to do than send me text messages?
At the front of the plane, Tyler chuckled as he stared at his message. God, I hate him. I went back to work and tried to focus on that until we arrived in Italy. The logistics manager had booked a room on the same floor as Tyler, much to my surprise. I thought I would slum it with his lower subordinates, but it seemed the manager thought I was of a higher status. Nice. I hoped Tyler seeing me enter a room next to his made his blood boil.
The following day was hectic on my end. I saw little of Tyler or his people most of the day, except early morning at breakfast. I was busy trying to get to the factory shop on time. I’d never been to Florence before, even during my modeling days, so I had to get my bearings first. The factory was just on the outskirts of the city, and I made my way there, following the instructions the supplier gave me.
The pungent smell of leather processing greeted me, and I knew I had arrived. A short, burly man was waiting for me when I got out of the ridesharing cab.
“Miss Channing?” he said, holding out his hand.
“Antonio Caruso?”
He nodded and beamed. His firm handshake was so strong it drove the blood out of my hand. “You don’t look like I thought,” he said in a gruff voice laced with a thick accent and led me to a small building that was a few yards away from the factory. My heels crunched on the gravel, digging into the pebbles. I should have worn flat shoes, but oh well.
