Hell, he was already way ahead of them in the love department. Parker and Jack had never even had serious relationships until they’d found Lynn and Pepper. Dean had understood what long-term commitment meant ages before these two boneheads.
“I have work to do,” he announced. “So if there’s nothing else to discuss…?”
He didn’t miss the alarmed look that his buddies exchanged. “We’re just joking, you know that, right?” Parker said slowly.
“Yeah, I know. And I still have work to do, so…?”
After a beat, Parker sighed. “Yeah, the meeting’s over.”
Nodding, Dean strode out the door and left them in Parker’s office. Shit. He hadn’t meant to be rude or defensive, but Emma’s reappearance in his life was stressing him out. He wanted… Damn it, he still had no clue what he wanted.
He just hoped he figured it out soon.
“So how’s Lou working out?” Emma balanced the phone on one shoulder as she rearranged a stack of sketches, bracing herself for Stella’s response. The bodyguard-slash-handler-slash-monkey-wrangler she’d hired to act as Enzo’s keeper had started that morning, and she was praying there hadn’t been any snags today. It boded well that Stella hadn’t called even once, and it was already six o’clock on the East Coast.
“Lou is a godsend!” Stella blurted out, her relief echoing over the extension. “I don’t know where you found this guy, Em, but he’s…holy St. Christopher, he’s like a drill sergeant!”
“I should hope so,” Emma said dryly. “Because he’s a retired army sergeant.”
After every executive assistant agency had informed her that “baby-sitting an egotistical asshole” wasn’t something their temps were trained for, Emma had been forced to explore other avenues. The security company she’d hired consisted of former military personnel who served as bodyguards for the rich and famous, and the company head had assured her that her very specific requests would be met, no questions asked.
“He hasn’t let Enzo out of his sight all day,” Stella revealed. “And when Enzo tried to bail on the French Vogue interview, Lou said the gun in his holster wasn’t for show and therefore Enzo shouldn’t eff with him. Lou could shoot him, bandage him up, and still deliver him to the appointment on time.”
Emma burst out laughing. “I bet Lorenzo loved that.”
“Trust me, he’s been moping like a six-year-old all day, but Lou doesn’t mess around.”
Good. That’s precisely why Emma had hired him. “And you’re okay staying in New York?” she asked her assistant. “I really want you handling the business end of things while I’m working on these designs.” Because she didn’t trust Enzo with that kind of responsibility, not as far as she could throw his big, stupid ego.
“Yup, yup, I’m all good,” Stella assured her. “Now I can concentrate on actual work instead of dealing with that spoiled, arrogant jer— Hey!”
A squeak flew over the line, followed by a rustling, and then a male voice roared in Emma’s ear.
“Is that you, Emma? What the hell game are you playing?”
Lorenzo’s incensed demand raised her hackles. She was so fucking sick of hearing his voice. And seeing his face. And watching him destroy everything she’d worked so hard for.
“Don’t you dare talk to me about games,” she snapped back. “You’re the one who’s showing up drunk at photo shoots and bailing on interviews and driving poor Stella crazy. Enough is enough, Enzo.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child!”
His accent always seemed to grow more pronounced when he was angry, and Emma knew it wouldn’t be long before he started unleashing a string of Italian expletives.
“Then don’t act like one!” she yelled, then forced herself to draw a deep, calming breath. She exhaled slowly before speaking again. “You’re the public face of this company, Lorenzo. You can’t keep doing stuff like that.”
“I can do whatever I want because I’m the face of the company.”
His mocking tone slid through the phone and chilled her spine. Shit. This was even worse than she’d thought. Enzo had let the fame and success go to his head from the moment Fire and Ice had exploded onto the fashion scene, but now that misplaced sense of entitlement was coming dangerously close to ruining Emma’s livelihood.
“Do you think Ralph Lauren shows up for every interview?” Lorenzo went on. “Do you think Marc Jacobs sits at home twiddling his thumbs? And Lagerfeld? McQueen? What do you think they’re doing, Emma? They’re screwing models and spending their oodles of cash, and why shouldn’t they? Why shouldn’t I?”
“Why?” she echoed quietly. “Well, because the difference between you and Jacobs and Lagerfeld and the rest of them is simple—they actually design the clothes. You don’t.”
“Who fucking cares.” He laughed harshly. “To the world, I am the designer, and that’s all that matters. And I don’t appreciate you trying to leash me like I’m a disobedient dog who needs to piss on your command.”