Sandra Marton - Roman Spring

The receptionist looked up as Caroline pushed the door open.

“Ah, Signorina Bishop. You are right on time.”

Caroline nodded. “Yes. Is Signor Silvio—”

“He is waiting for you.” The woman leaned across her typewriter and flashed a smile so chummy it was almost a grin. “There is nothing like an excellent opportunity to make a girl prompt, eh, signorina ?”

An excellent opportunity. Caroline’s heart thudded again. She was right, then. Adorno’s had telephoned the agency. They wanted her. Oh, Lord, they wanted—

One of the doors swung open and Silvio emerged, both hands held out to her, his round face beaming.

“My dear,” he said. “Please, do not stand outside. Come in, come in, and sit down.”

Caroline fought back the urge to glance over her shoulder and make certain he was really talking to her. She smiled hesitantly, ignored the outstretched hands, and stepped into Silvio’s office. It was sparsely furnished and grimy. A smudged window overlooked an alleyway. To the right, a partially opened door led to a connecting office.

He motioned her to a chair opposite his desk.

“Would you care for some coffee? No? Tea, then.” He gave a forced laugh. “I never remember which it is you American girls prefer, my dear, coffee or tea—or is it chocolate? I am certain my girl can—”

“No,” Caroline said quickly, “thank you, signore , but I don’t want anything.” She swallowed. “I just—I’d like to talk about this job offer.”

Silvio’s smile seemed to slip a notch. “Of course. I simply thought you might wish to make yourself comfortable before we did.”

“I appreciate that.” She drew her breath. “But—but I’m just so delighted about it, that—”

“You know of it, then?”

“Well, yes. Sure.” Caroline hesitated. “It was my idea, after all.”

His eyes widened. “Yours?”

She nodded. “Yes. I know we’re not supposed to solicit jobs for ourselves, but—”

Silvio laughed a shade too heartily. “No, no, that’s fine.” He leaned forward. “But must we use that word, solicit? Such a nasty word, don’t you think? As for worrying about my displeasure...” He spread his hands. “If our girls are enterprising enough to find unique positions for themselves, who are we to object?”

She nodded again, all thought of her overdue money forgotten in her excitement. “I hoped you’d see it that way, signore . When do I start?”

Grinning, he tilted his chair back on its legs and folded his hands across his ample paunch.

“I must say, Signorina Bishop, your—enthusiasm—surprises me. You are not known for having such a cooperative spirit.”

“I think I’ve been very cooperative,” Caroline said quickly. “No designer has ever complained about me.”

“Well, not the designers, no.” He gave an expressive shrug. “But some of the clients...”

Last night. That damned buyer with honey on his voice and whoring in his heart...Caroline shifted in her chair.

“If you’re referring to what happened at the Sala dell’Arte,” she said, “I’m sorry. I never intended to make a scene, but—”

“You need not explain, signorina .” Silvio’s chair hit the floor with a thud as he leaned forward again. “It has all worked out for the best, yes? The gentleman was most pleased. He has made an excellent offer to us, and—”

Caroline blinked. “I thought it was a woman who ran the House of Adorno.”

“Adorno? What has Adorno to do with this arrangement?”

“Why—why that’s the job, the one I went after.” She stared at his blank face. “Isn’t that what we’re discussing?”

Silvio threw a quick glance at the connecting door. “We are discussing the offer made us this morning by His Highness, the Prince. He has agreed to—”

Caroline felt the blood drain from her face. “The Prince? Do you mean—Nicolo Sabatini?”

“Exactly. He had agreed to pay us more than our usual commission—well, I explained, of course, that we would need ample compensation to lend him one of our girls for such unusual services, and I must say—”

“Services?” Caroline leaped to her feet. “Services? Are you insane?” She slammed her hands on the desk and papers flew in every direction. “I don’t perform ‘services'!”

“ Signorina , please. You must calm yourself.” Silvio looked at the door again. “I only meant—”

“I know exactly what you meant, you pig!” Her voice shook with rage. “You and that—that slimy Prince, that—that—that—”

“Slimy?”

Caroline spun toward the connecting door. Nicolo Sabatini, dressed in a navy pinstriped suit, white shirt and crimson silk tie, smiled at her.

“I am disappointed, Miss Bishop. I have seen enough American films to have expected something more colorful than that.”

“Yeah? Well, stick around, Prince,” she said, her tone making it clear that her deliberate misuse of the title was meant to insult him. “Give me a minute and I’ll come up with something that will turn your face the same color as your tie!”

Silvio rose to his feet. “Your Highness—”

“Get out, Silvio.”

“Excellency, I was just about to explain the details of your proposition to the signorina —”

“With all the subtlety at your command, no doubt.” Nicolo jerked his head toward the door that led out to the reception area. “You’ve done enough,” he said sharply. “Now, get out!”

Silvio’s chair scraped as he shoved it back. He rounded the desk quickly, made an apologetic bow of his head to Nicolo, frowned at Caroline, and scurried to the door. It opened, then swung shut.

Nicolo blew out his breath. “So much for leaving things to those who are the least capable,” he said. He walked slowly toward the desk. “Please, Miss Bishop, won’t you be seated?”

“No.” Caroline tossed her head. “There’s no point. If you think your—your wonderful offer is going to sound any better coming from you than from that—that pig—”

“He is not a pig at all.”

“No? Well, I suppose not, considering your part in this sleazy little scheme. But—”

“He is another animal entirely.” Nicolo scowled, leaned back against the desk, and crossed his arms over his chest. “The man is an ass.”

“I’m telling you, he’s—he’s...” She stared at him. “An ass?”

“Exactly so. And you, Miss Bishop, are a fool.”

Caroline’s brows lifted. “I beg your pardon?”

“Didn’t I make myself clear last night? Then let me do so this morning. I am not interested in buying your services.”

“Oh, please! I’ve just sat through the most incredible proposition, and now you expect me to believe—”

“A business proposition. I do not buy my women,” Nicolo said coldly.

“No?” Her smile was thin. “What do you do, then? Shower them with expensive gifts to keep the lie alive? Is that what Silvio was going to explain to me next, that you’d agreed to pay the agency a commission but that you were going to give me—what? Jewels? A diamond ring? A fur coat? After you’d enjoyed my services, of course.”

A cool smile curved across his lips. “I see you put a high value on yourself, Miss Bishop.”

Caroline’s head came up. “Believe me,” she said quietly, “you could never afford me, Your Highness.”

The smile came again, quicker and somehow more knowing than last time.

“I would not have to,” he said softly.

“Listen here—”

“Because, if I wanted you, you would come to my bed eagerly, carina .”

“That’s it,” she said, flushing with anger. She turned away. “Don’t think it hasn’t been interesting.”