Page 13 of Mr Billionaire Boss Grump

Contessa would probably say something like, ‘Oh, thank heaven, someone finally sent my real humans. At last! Now, when are you taking me home to my palace?’

Chapter 10

Gianni

TheconsignmentofoldItalian masters was at a different container terminal from the one stated on the paperwork. The forms were all complete, but the destination port was incorrect, so I had to go down to Red Hook myself and sort it out. The artworks were being held by US customs and would not be released until I had dotted all the ‘i’s and crossed all the ‘t’s. And only I could do that, apparently. A few phone calls to the right people and a little extra in payment but we will know for next time. It’s a pain. But fine. It’s done.

It’s a good thing that I could leave Luisa with one of my staff. Olivia seems nice. Trustworthy. She seems like the sort of woman who does not have an exciting life. Perfect for a nanny. She is only in her late twenties but appears to be so much older, somehow. Like she’s a widow. She could be. She reminds me of the women back home dressed in black, making lace or knitting. Is it her lack of makeup or lack of interest in her presentation? Her dowdy way of dressing? Her sensible shoes? I’m not sure. If she wasn’t on my staff, there’s a good chance I wouldn’t even notice her. Maybe that is her intention. But I can’t help feeling we have met before. That might be because she reminds me of the widow lace makers, or someone else, perhaps. Although I’m trying to recall who that could be.

The van arrives to transport the paintings and sculpture pieces to the gallery. Uniformed port authority people wave the van through to the collection area where the crates are waiting, each labeled to match the list on my documentation. I check each one three times plus once more. There is no room for error. I check again. Everything is in order. The rear door of the van opens, and the consignment is loaded, carefully, piece by piece.

I can just imagine the faces of the board members when I report that the first consignment couldn’t be sold because it had been seized by US port authorities: the shaking heads and the doubting voices of ‘I told you so’. This is just the kind of scenario I wanted to avoid. However meticulous I have been in following protocol and process; I didn’t anticipate this hiccup. But with everything sorted now I feel less anxious and next time there won’t be a paperwork mix-up. All the items have been checked and loaded. I allow myself to exhale. But I won’t be happy until we unload them safely at the gallery.

These artworks are sure to cause a sensation. They are rare, old, and beautiful, and handpicked by me for private collections and for strategic art sales that are guaranteed to lift the profile of Mayfair & Lewis and send sales through the roof. That’s the plan.

My phone rings as the last crate is secured in the back of the van.

“Papa!” It’s Luisa. “Where are you? Olivia and I are getting hungry, and we are going to be eating here at the hotel.”

“Ah Luisa, darling. I will see you very soon.” I climb into the front of the van with the driver and his assistant. “Yes, I will be there, my darling. Give me an hour, okay?”

The driver smiles over at me. “Dat your missus?”

I hang up the call and put my phone in my pocket. “No, much worse. My daughter.”

Chapter 11

Olivia

Luisaisstillstylingmy hair and I am trying to work. Initially, I found her over-confident directness off-putting and irritating, but the more time we hang out I realize she is just super bright and quite charming. I thought she was precocious, but she is just self-assured. She has the kind of self-belief that only comes from money. She has expectations that things are just so because that has been her experience so far. I don’t see that changing any time soon. And I don’t think anyone has ever said no to her. She pauses her brushing.

“I’ll call Papa to say, we’ll meet him in the restaurant downstairs, okay?”

“Umm, sure, okay, well. I’ll come with you. Are you hungry? Should we maybe get room service?”

“Oh no. I like to eat where I can watch other people. I mean, no offense, I like you and everything, but…”

“But what?”

“Oh, nothing. You could be very pretty, you know.”

Once again, I am thrown off guard by Luisa’s comment as she makes a call. My mouth opens and closes because I want to say something about prettiness not being a priority requirement of a successful woman, but no sound comes out. The phone rings and I hear Gianni’s voice. His tone is different. It makes me smile to listen. His voice is softer. He laughs. He calls her ‘my darling’. I feel as if I am intruding on their private conversation, which I am, certainly, but I don’t want to move.

“Okay Papa, we’ll see you soon. Ti amo. Kisses.” Luisa blows kisses into her phone before disconnecting the call. She turns to me. “I like your hair now,” she says although she is not looking at my hair. Her glance sweeps down to my navy skirt and jacket, cream shirt, and sensible lace-up shoes: black because they go with everything.

“Alright. Thanks,” I say knowing I am hired help.

“I’m going to shower and change for dinner now,” Luisa says as she collects the brush and comb, zipping them into her bathroom bag. She disappears through a door to her room, I assume.

“Cool. I’ll be here.”

Left alone in the lounge of the hotel suite, I wander to the window and take in the view of the New York skyline and the abstract arrangement of squares of light in the buildings opposite. Evening had snuck in to replace afternoon and I hadn’t noticed.

The other door to Gianni’s bedroom is not closed. I push it open just a little bit. It’s not as if he is here, but still, I’m intruding. His case is open on the king-sized bed revealing his personal things. Slightly panicked, I quickly repeat, I’m over it. He’s nothing to me, and, suddenly flushed and self-conscious, I back out of the room. With sweaty palms and a galloping pulse, I look out of the window again, to the street below. What must it be like to live like this, I wonder? Having more than one house to inhabit. Staying in the best hotels. Flying first class. What must it be like?

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the huge gilded framed mirror, a fixture adding light and space to the palatial living area. Luisa’s emphatic styling had done wonders for my hair. I never gave it that much attention. My neglected hair shines in happy response to the brush strokes of a little girl. It even has a little luster and bounce and falls in waves either side of my face. Luisa said I could be pretty. Maybe in the right light? With some makeup? I reach up to run my fingers through my hair and pull a pouty face. Nah. Not pretty at all.

I pack away my things in preparation to leave. I can hear Luisa singing in her room. After a while, she appears in a floaty tiered floral long-sleeved dress matched with red patent leather boots. A red leather bag is over her shoulder. Her hair is piled up on her head, but elegant curly twirls hang either side, framing her beguiling heart-shaped face.

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