Surrender Your Love

Chapter 13

“The Lucazzone files,” Jett said, tossing a thick blue file on top of my desk. The sound travelled all the way from my ears into my brain, causing a few neuron fibers to fire up pain in the process.

And dammit, did he have to shout like that? Or look so damn yummy when all I wanted was to roll into a ball to die?

I shot him a desperate glance. “I’ll have a look at it.” As soon as I can keep my eyes open without flinching from the glaring light flooding in through the high bay window.

“I need you to familiarize yourself with it, but don’t take too long.” Jett’s brows burrowed into the sexiest frown I had ever seen. “The owner’s health is deteriorating. We want his estate before—” He trailed off, leaving the rest to my imagination.

I knew what he was about to say.

Before the old man kicked the bucket.

“Have you made an offer yet?”

“Only about twenty in the past ten years.” Jett’s expression darkened. I sensed a hint of the wrong kind of determination and couldn’t shake off the feeling Mayfield Realties’s reputation was well earned. The Lucazzone estate was their latest acquisition-to-be, and I was about to be dragged into Mayfield’s strange work ethics, which apparently included not giving up on a project even if that meant trying to change the opinion of an old man who clearly didn’t want to sell.

“Ten years, huh?” I bit my lip, forcing myself to keep my mouth shut, and managed to do so for all of three seconds. “Maybe he loves that house and doesn’t want to part with it.” My gaze traveled up to meet Jett’s gaze tentatively. He measured me up and down, probably considering whether to tell me off for expressing my opinion when I was a mere employee.

Eventually he just sighed and inched closer. His fingers clutched my chin and forced my head up as his dark eyes descended into my soul. “Look, Brooke, I appreciate your input, but this isn’t Sunrise Properties, and I don’t really have a choice. The board members want that estate, and I’m the one who has to make it happen. It’s either getting the old man to sign, or be kicked out of my own company.” His lips trailed down the left side of my face to my ear. “You smell good,” he whispered, his hot breath grazing my skin.

An involuntary shiver of pleasure traveled all the way down into my panties. I held my breath, but a low moan escaped my throat nonetheless, betraying my unsolicited state of arousal. Jett peeled his lips off my earlobe and put a few inches between us, grinning. “I have to make some calls. Catch you later?”

Holy mother of hell, he had noticed. What gave me away this time?

“Yeah, sure,” I grumbled, and looked away—mortified.

“You know I’d help you out if I weren’t too busy. You could ask me to stay and I might be able to squeeze you into my tight schedule.” Jett trailed a finger down the nape of my neck, circling the spot where the tip of my ponytail touched my naked skin. His touch was so tender, yet sensual, it sent another jolt through me.

I wanted him. Badly. But right now I also wanted him to go away so I could gather some self-control to do my work and stop being so unbelievably horny. This whole thing, whatever it was that just made me feel so attracted to him, had to be reined in because it was taking up all space in my head.

“I’ll get the file back to you ASAP.” My tone ended up harsher than intended. His finger flinched away from me and he put a few inches between us. I ignored the sudden urge to reach for his hand and tell him that I didn’t mean to be so abrupt.

“I’ll be upstairs in my private office. Second door to the right.” He barely looked at me as he turned around and left, closing the door behind him.

I breathed out, relieved, and yet not quite able to feel at ease. I doubted I’d ever feel relaxed with Jett in the same room, or with him in the same house. The guy was a mystery. One moment he picked up a drunken woman from a bar and ended up naked in her bed; the next he claimed he didn’t take advantage of women under the influence of alcohol. For some reason I had believed him last night when we were sitting outside on the balcony, right before he helped me get into bed, barely touching me in the process. Either he was inventing and changing his own rules as we moved along, or he was playing some sordid game pursuing the incentive of—

What incentive would that be, Brooke?

I had signed the contract and was willing to sleep with him. What else could he possibly want?

Groaning, I shook my head at my own thoughts. It had always been like this. Whenever a guy I liked showed the slightest bit of interest in me, I couldn’t take it at face value, and my brain concocted some morbid story about everything else he might want from me: attention, getting over an ex, easily available sex. Never just me. I thought they couldn’t possibly want me for who I was. In the end I always ran, and ended up with someone like Sean, an emotionally unavailable narcissist who’d dump everything and anyone as soon as he saw a benefit elsewhere.

At least Jett was honest and didn’t pretend to have feelings that weren’t there. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I stop looking behind a guy’s intentions and just enjoy his attention? Was it because I still couldn’t trust a guy after all that happened in the past?

Opening the Lucazzone file, I gulped down a glass of water to get rid of the dry sensation in my mouth, and focused on the task at hand. Alessandro Lucazzone, the current owner, was one of the most well-known and respected men in the area. He inherited the Lucazzone estate, including hundreds of miles of vineyards, forests, and fields, from his father who in turn inherited it from his father, and so forth. The estate had been handed down from generation to generation for centuries, withstanding revolutions and recessions. The Lucazzone family hadn’t always been rich. A few times they lost most of their money in bad investments and gambling, but they always bounced back from their financial hardships, usually by marrying a rich spouse. Alessandro Lucazzone had managed to keep the estate in order and the vineyards thriving through World War II with the help of his wife’s money. He and Maria had no children, and when she died of cancer he never remarried. At ninety-seven the old man was dying, leaving no apparent heirs behind. According to Jett’s research, the estate would fall into the hands of local charities, and I couldn’t help but feelthey deserved the money. They could certainly put the grounds to better use than Mayfield Properties. Besides, it felt wrong to tamper with the possibly last wish of an old man who seemed to believe in a good cause.

Taking a sip of my lukewarm coffee, I almost choked on it as I flicked the next page, finally realizing why my boss would be so interested in a remote estate in Italy where the price of acquisition and upkeep made no sense in terms of profit. My fingers slowly traced the jagged contours on the map. The west side was situated around a private lake about the size of Lake Geneva, with mountain views surrounded by untouched nature. Combine that with the sunny Mediterranean weather, a clean beach, and lots of privacy—and you had prime real estate ready to cater to the rich and famous.

I pulled out the architectural plan and shook my head in disbelief. Mayfield Properties was planning to build ten homes: each a five-room, three-bath, mansion-like holiday home, with ground to ceiling glass windows overlooking the shoreline and mountains in the distance. Each property would boast a large tiled hallway, a lounge, dining room, study, several bedrooms with walk-in closets, and bright open-plan kitchen and living areas. They would have a private garage, a swimming pool, a security system worthy of the White House, and a level of privacy ensured by high gates to protect the owners from prying eyes. Basically, they were about to rebuild the Hollywood Hills amidst the Italian countryside. Another oasis for the rich and famous. Given that the Italian government wasn’t known for their cooperation, it was an ambitious project. However, a multi-million dollar corporation like Mayfield Properties always finds a way. No doubt about that.

I tossed the sheet aside, disgusted with the company’s plans to destroy parts of the Italian countryside. Disgusted I had to help them make it happen. This was the reason why I had been more or less happy working for James. He wasn’t hell-bent on finding and annihilating the last spots of untouched nature on Earth to build a few houses for people who already owned more than they needed. I wasn’t your usual environmentalist, but I prided myself on recycling my garbage and not supporting the chopping down of trees and the asphalting of mountain paths by greedy corporations. And Mayfield Properties was one of them.

It was a matter of integrity vs. going against my boss’s wishes and possibly losing my job in the process. If I consented and helped Mayfield acquire the Lucazonne estate, I was no better than all those money-hungry, designer suit-wearing corporations I always despised because of their work ethics. If I refused to do my job, Mayfield had no reason to keep me employed, meaning I might face unemployment within the week. What could I possibly say to prospective interviewers as to why I lost the job within a few days of commencing it?

The decision was out of my hands, but even though I knew I didn’t really have much choice, I wasn’t less disgusted with myself. Mayfield Properties was just a stepping stone, I reminded myself, and soon I could boast enough experience to get a job with Delaware & Ray. Taking a deep breath, I stood and smoothed over my skirt, vowing to stay true to my convictions as much as possible given the circumstances, while still doing my job.