She shook her head, her throat too thick to talk.
“Kyra, what’s wrong?”
She lifted her hand, full of pink Post-It Notes. “Here.” She shoved them at him. “Here’s your pink slip.”
He just stared at her as her phone, still in her hand, vibrated again. “What are you talking about?”
“I just can’t…believe in you.”
Even in the sun, she could see him pale, stepping back as though she’d smacked him with the words. “Kyra…”
“Maybe you know, maybe you don’t. But whatever, it’s you and what you are, and I don’t want to spend my life with someone like that.”
He blinked in shock. Probably because she’d said spend my life when they sure as hell hadn’t talked about anything like that. And they never would. But if this didn’t lead there, then where did this romantic scavenger hunt lead at all? It was all she wanted and…
“Please,” he said, his voice strained as he reached her. “Kyra.”
Fear rocked her right down to the soles of her feet. Was she worthy of an attachment like he was promising? Was he capable of giving it? Her phone buzzed again and again and again.
“My family needs me,” she whispered, turning away and running back up the long scalinatella, leaving Positano and James and her notes and all that hope behind.
* * *
James stood with the sun on his face, feeling nothing but ice in his veins. What the holy hell just happened? He watched the yellow and white frock disappear into the crowd, past the beachfront restaurants and stores, and…away.
She left him. She left him for no good reason and with no chance to hear the three words that he was so ready to say to her.
Women leave. Joyous, bright, warm, fun women leave. When would he learn that lesson?
Swallowing the thought, he looked down at the handful of ridiculous notes he’d gotten up in the middle of the night to write and paid an employee of the Eden Roc a small fortune to plant.
What a foolish, inane waste of time and money and feelings.
As he passed a trash can, he tossed in the notes and made his way back up the long and windy stairs and path that was the only way back to his hotel. Tourists jostled him, and vendors smiled at him, and the sights and smells and sounds of magical Positano pressed so hard it was a wonder he could drag himself back up to the main street.
There, two scooters whizzed by and nearly knocked him over, and he didn’t even flinch. He rounded the last corner and looked up at the stacked balconies of the Eden Roc, bathed in purple flowers and more sunshine.
It was time to go home, he thought. He’d call his assistant, arrange for the plane to be ready, and get back to work, which was life. Staying here one more day was just stupid.
The woman at the desk looked surprised when he walked into the cool, dimly-lit lobby. “Signor Brannigan. We were not expect—”
He waved off the greeting and marched to the elevator, head down. When the doors opened, he was surprised to see Mario, one of the hotel employees, standing outside his suite, his arms crossed, his expression serious.
Was Kyra in there?
His heart literally soared as he hustled closer.
“Signor Brannigan,” the man said. “Your guest is here insisted on entering.”
He frowned, both at the announcement and the strange note in Mario’s voice. “Guest?”
Mario paled. “You were expecting Signor Hayward?” He handed him a business card with William Hayward’s name and the Brannigan Capital logo, with James’s own handwriting on the card that said Permission to grant access, and his signature. At least it looked like his signature.
What the hell? “He’s in there?”
“Is that all right, Signor? He insisted.”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” He headed inside. “He’s an insistent kind of guy.” And intrusive, James thought, but that made him an excellent project manager for things James didn’t want to think or worry about. Like the winery.
Was that why he was here?
It had to be. James had hired him shortly after Dad died, handing over the management of the winery to a man who had an impressive résumé managing remote businesses. It was so much easier than even thinking about Villa Pietro, which James hadn’t wanted to do.
But now…now there was no one in the entryway or living room or on the balcony, then—
Hayward bounded out of the bedroom, inhaling sharply when he saw James.
“What are you doing here?” they asked each other in perfect unison.
“James, I…I…” Color rose to his angular features, reddening him from a sharp chin to dark blond roots. He took a shallow breath, which caught in his throat. “I needed to talk to you.”
“In my bedroom?”
“I thought you might still be asleep.”
Seriously? Frowning, James’s gaze slipped behind the man, falling on the unmade bed and the sight of Kyra’s undergarments left in haste on the floor. “Well, that was an intrusion,” he said, taking a step to push by him so he could close the bedroom door.
“Wait.” He snagged James’s arm, sending a shot of adrenaline and anger through him.
“I will not wait.” James yanked free and walked to the door, blinking in surprise at the mess on his desk. Days ago, the maid had picked up the papers he’d swept off and piled them into a neat stack on the corner. But now, they were spread out and messed up and…
“Were you going through my work?” James asked, incredulity lifting his voice.
“I was looking for the original offer.”
“You could have asked.” James pulled the door and spun around to Hayward, who was stuffing something in a suit jacket pocket and inching toward the front door. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
“Look, James, I just closed an amazing deal and you made seven figures and the first is certainly not a one.” He took another backward step. “You continue your vacation, and I’ll—”
“You what?” James had to restrain himself from leaping on the guy. “You sold the winery?”
“For more than twice the original offer.” He had the audacity to sound smug about that. “It’s all done.”
“Done?” Fury punched through the fog that had hovered over him all the way up here. “What is done?”
“The sale, the turnover and, thank God for your keen eye, the arrest of Bruno Sebastiani, who was stealing a tidy sum from your coffers, my friend.”
He actually couldn’t move, because if he did, he’d throttle this son of a bitch and couldn’t be held accountable for the outcome. Instead, James gritted his teeth and got right into Hayward’s face.
“Whatever the hell unauthorized decision you made better be just as easily undone.”
“Undone?” His eyes widened. “Millions, James,” he replied in a low, slow voice. “I just made you millions. You wanted to sell the place, and I did, and I made you millions, which is all you ever wanted. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What is wrong with you? It wasn’t yours to sell! I told you not to sell the winery. Who signed the deal?”
“I did, with the power of attorney you gave me a year ago when you handed this business to me to manage for you. I’ve signed your name a lot of times. You just never paid attention before.”
James narrowed his eyes. “Power of attorney doesn’t give you the authority to sell it.”
“It gives me the authority to sign on your behalf, and you’ve been so…” He tipped his head toward the bedroom door and lifted his brows. “Distracted, if you know what I mean.”
Ire ripped through him.
“I understand when there is a good piece of ass, it’s tough to fo—”
James slammed him against the wall with one rough push. “Shut up.”
Hayward stayed frozen, fighting for composure as James held him. “She lives with that family. You know they just used her to change your mind about selling. You know that, don’t you?”
His fist tightened, rea
dy to throw a punch right across this bastard’s jaw. “I’d tell you to leave, Hayward, but we have to undo the damage you’ve done.”
He choked softly. “You really don’t know what they had her do, do you? Well, I do. Bruno told me everything.”
James drew back in shock, just enough for Hayward to find that composure and straighten his jacket.
“They forced her to get ‘cozy’ with you so you wouldn’t sell.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t? Did she not coerce you into doing nothing but sightseeing for days and days? Well.” He snorted. “Sightseeing and sex, I guess.”
“Shut up!” James yelled in his face. “And get the hell out. I don’t need you to fix things. You’re fired, and you’re—”
“How can you be so stupid?” Hayward ground out. “I mean, how can you have your head up your ass so far you don’t see that and still manage to make a billion dollars?”
“I’m going to put your head up your ass with my fist if you don’t get out now.”
He had his shit together now, James could tell. Stepping away from where James had him trapped against the wall, he pulled his cuffs and surreptitiously pushed that piece of paper deeper into his pocket.
“What is—”
“They planned the whole thing, you know,” Hayward said. “She and that Bruno guy are an item. You do know that, don’t you? Hell, he gets a boner just talking about her.”
Blood drained from James’s head.
“They’re sending money to a bogus account in New Jersey to make it look like they’re paying a distributor there that’s been defunct for a year. From there, who knows where the money goes? The whole plan would blow up in their faces when you sold, and they knew it. So the family dreamed up this thing to make her ‘get cozy’ with you. They sent her to distract you and then convince you—however she thought necessary—not to sell the place. They were all in on it, even the old lady. James, don’t look at me that way. It’s an exact quote from Bruno while we were interrogating him.”
“You interrogated him? And who’s we?”
“I had to find out who was embezzling, and I have my spies in Naples. He showed up there, and…and I did, too.”
“Did you hurt him?” James asked, his chest tightening at the thought.
“Do you care? You’re both boning the same woman.”
James threw the punch. Hard. It was like his fist had a mind of its own as it slammed right into Hayward’s jaw and sent him tumbling back. “You’re lying,” James said.
The other man held up both hands. “Whatever, man. Believe whatever. The winery’s sold. The Cana Hills people are already up there moving into the cellars and looking at the equipment and giving the instructions to the family on how to get out. Their closers are up there.”
Closers. No wonder she ran away from him.
“You bastard.” James gave him another push. “Get the hell out.”
As Hayward tripped backward, James reached into the man’s jacket pocket and whipped out the paper.
“Hey! That’s mine.”
“From my office.” James flipped it open and instantly recognized the spreadsheet. The words Blue Key Distribution jumped out at him, the numbers next to the company’s name in the tens of thousands. “What is this?” he demanded.
“Nothing. A duplicate of something that I found in your office.”
James glared at him. “Bruno is embezzling?” he challenged. “Or you are?”
He paled just enough for James to know the truth.
“Something you could hide once you sold the company, right?” James pressed. “No wonder you were in such a rush.”
Hayward tried to snag the paper away, but James jerked it back, the truth smacking him, making so much sense, as the truth so often did. “I’ll pay you back.”
James tossed the paper to the side because he needed both hands. “You lying son of a bitch, you stole the money and let someone else take the blame.” He shoved Hayward’s shoulders again, pushing him to the wall and getting both hands on his collar. “You stole it and you knew I’d figure it out as soon as I paid attention so you sold the winery.” He slammed his head against the wall, lifting the man’s narrow frame a few inches off the floor. “Guess what? I’m paying attention, William.”
“J-J-James…please. This isn’t like you.”
“Damn right it isn’t.” He knocked him against the wall again, thudding his head.
“Signor Brannigan?” Mario called from outside. “Are you all right?”
He lifted Hayward a little higher, taking unholy pleasure in the man’s fear and misery. Too much pleasure, he realized. And he had more important business to take care of than this clown.
“Call the polizia, Mario!” he yelled. “And send more staff up here! I’ve caught a thief.”
Three staff members entered the suite instantly, already out there and waiting.
Hayward glanced at them, then looked at James with abject terror. “We don’t need to call the police, James. Let’s just handle this like men.”
“Yeah, let’s.” He jammed his knee into Hayward’s nuts, and the guy crumbled with a groan. In one move, James snagged the paperwork, stuffed it into his pocket, and brushed off his hands. “I need the hotel van,” he said to Mario.
His eyes widened. “It’s not here, sir. If you wait, I’ll call you a cab.”
Wait? He couldn’t wait. “I need a car. Now.”
“You can have my scooter,” Mario said, reaching into his pocket for keys. “It’s parked across the street at the stand. A yellow Vespa. But I don’t have a helmet.”
A yellow Vespa with no helmet. Perfect. “Thanks.” He snagged the keys, ran down the steps without waiting for an elevator, and charged out the front door to cross the street just as a huge truck barreled by and nearly ran him down.
He didn’t care. He found the bike, threw himself onto it, twisted the ignition, and headed up the mountain to his winery and his woman.
He was not going to lose either one.
Chapter Twenty
It was like a nightmare. The worst kind of nightmare when you knew it couldn’t be true but everything was so real. The family was spread around the winery, along with a group of Americans who seemed so foreign, it was hard to believe she’d ever called these people countrymen.
They weren’t mean or overbearing or even heartless, but they had a job to do and they did it with speed, efficiency, and zero personal warmth.
She almost wanted to ask if they knew Jane Summers, because surely these types all hung out in the bar at the national closer conferences. But she didn’t. Instead, she translated for everyone, since this brilliant American company that was synonymous with cheap wine had sent a crew that didn’t include a single Italian speaker.
So from the moment Kyra returned and tried to process what was happening, she’d been bouncing from place to place, helping facilitate communication. Somehow, she translated conversations between the idiots who’d just been handed the greatest gift in the world and the family she loved.
Antonio had gone with one of them to the cellars, assuring her his English was good enough to talk to the man who claimed to be another enologist, and asked Kyra to stay with Sofia, who was fighting tears and rocking the baby. They sat at the table with Filippa, who’d lost all shred of control of Nico and Gianni. The two women were talking with another woman named Alexis, who had beady green eyes, flat dishwater-blond hair, and thick lips she chewed on when Sofia rattled on in Italian.
“We will take care of you,” Alexis said, looking at Kyra. “Please explain we will take care of the family with fair compensation and corporate assistance to find housing.”
“Housing?” Kyra shot back. “They don’t need housing. They need a home.”
She shifted in her seat and gnawed that lip some more. “Well, I would appreciate if you could explain that it is my job with Cana Hills Wines to arrange for a transitional lifestyle to any former
employees who require provisional benefits during the management change.”
Kyra’s stomach turned. “Here’s what I’ll translate,” she said to the woman. “I’ll tell her some bitch is going to find you an apartment since they just forced you and your newborn baby out of the home that your husband’s family has lived in for fifty years. That okay?”
Alexis stood. “Ma’am, I realize this is an emotional tipping point for everyone, but my title is clear. I’m an agent of change, and I will assist all of the employees—”
“They’re family!” Kyra exclaimed. “Not employees. And agent of change is just another euphemism for destroyer of lives!”
She whipped around as the back door opened and Lorenzo came in with Bruno, who looked like a shell of a man. The minute they walked in, Anamaria popped out of the pantry, her rosary wrapped around her fingers and at her lips.
“Bruno!” All of the women in the room exclaimed in unison, including Kyra. His gaze landed on her, raw pain in his eyes.
“I told you, Cara,” he said softly.
A whimper caught in her throat as she crossed the kitchen to reach him. “Yes, you did, Bruno.”
“They are saying I did something I didn’t,” he said vehemently. “They tried to pay me to say I did it.”
Lorenzo shook his head and swore in Italian.
“Did you admit anything?” Kyra asked.
“No, but this man had paperwork with my name on it, and I was very confused.”
“What man?” she asked.
“Someone named Hayward.”
Kyra’s eyes closed, reeling as the last nail went into James’s coffin. He was dead to her. Forever and ever dead to her. “His business manager. James must have been playing us all along.”
“Well, I told him we were playing right back,” Bruno said.
Everyone in the room looked at him, confused, certain they hadn’t understood his English, but Kyra had. “You told him what?”
“That two could play his game. That you got ‘cozy’ to get information and—”
“You told him that?” Kyra put her hand on her chest. Now he’d think…oh, what did it matter? It was over anyway.
At the table, Alexis the family destroyer cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but could we get back to these forms?”