Lonzo: Book 2 (Tycoon Series Book 2) (5 page)

“You better arrive here in one piece or I’m gonna kill that bastard—”

“No need to do that. I’m…alright. Totally not worth it. And I’m a big girl, I can handle this. I’ll talk to you when I get back.” She cut the call short, not waiting for her manager’s reply.

She was too aware of Lonzo’s presence and that he heard every word.

She was rescued from dealing with him when the airport’s public address system announced that her flight was ready for boarding. Grabbing her sling bag, she stood up to leave when he grabbed her free hand and halted her departure.

She glanced at their entwined hands and remembered how she foolishly thought he’d be it for her. The one who would be there to always hold her hand when the going got tough or when she was having a bad day.

Funny how his touch burned her skin like acid now.

“Getting touchy again?” she mocked.

“Not a word will come out in print,” he commanded.

She met his eyes steadily before she jerked her hand from his grasp.

“No one took me to court for breach of contract. I don’t intend to start now.”

“Good.”

There was no remorse in those green orbs as he held her stare. The bastard’s face was devoid of emotion.

She won’t allow him to have the last say in this!

“Oh, one more thing, Vitale…fuck you and your billions,” she said in Portuguese as she made for the boarding area.

The cabin crew smiled as she took her seat.

She was flying first class this time. Even then, she still got several looks from some of the passengers in the cabin but she was so weary from hurting this much.

She closed her eyes.

So this is what heartbreak feels like
, she told herself as the plane took off.

Chapter Three

Lonzo threw the report that his CFO gave him an hour ago.
He can’t read past the third sentence, so he might as well give up. His focus was shot.

The door of his office opened and his assistant came in carrying a cup of newly-brewed coffee.

“Sir, your cappuccino—”

“Take it away. I don’t want it!” he bellowed, startling her. He knew he was being an asshole. And poor Patrizia got the full brunt of it...just because she interrupted his brooding.

She made an about face and hurriedly left him to stew in his own piss.

“Merda!”

He was angry at himself, the world.

Her.

Jordana.

He stood from his desk and walked toward the wall-to-ceiling glass windows that gave him an almost three-hundred-sixty-degree view of Rome at night.

His mind wandered. Wondered. About her. What she was doing. Whether she was in the same boat as he was in right now.

It had been a week since she succinctly told him to go fuck himself. The woman must’ve hexed him because he was in a shit-hole since then.

The media had a field day when she got back to New York. The buzz even made it to the evening news. She had been as silent as a lamb. No statement were issued about the rumors linking them.

Her every activity was still closely scrutinized. According to this morning’s paper, she just shot an ad for PETA and was expected to walk in this year’s Victoria’s Secret runway show.

He ran an irritated hand to his hair, annoyed at himself for his new habit of scouring for any news about her in the papers. Shit. He even found himself Googling about her the other day.

He was obsessed with her.

He was even pissed she wouldn’t even acknowledge in public that she knew him. Her standard answer to anything was ‘no comment’.

He’d got back at her for selling their story to the tabloid press and taught her a lesson on what would happen if she got on his bad side again. Total control of Vitale Internacionale was his when Thio Fredo signed his shares. His uncle was under the impression that he and Jordana were still together. Thio was hinting that a future union was in the works. Soon, he’d break the old man’s heart.

But this was exactly what he wanted, right?

He hit two birds with one stone. It was a well-laid, well-executed plan.

Then why did it feel like he had just lost the love of his life?

Whoa.
The thought made him stop.

Cazzo.

He scoffed at the very idea. No, the very thought had him mentally vomiting

Love of his life…? Ha! Him? In love? He didn’t believe in all that shit. El-oh-vee-ee was nothing but a worthless four-letter word not worth an entry in his personal dictionary. People had used that word like it was the answer to the ills of the world, like it was gold dung. He could think of a more appropriate, four-letter word that would pretty much sum up everything without involving some convoluted, fucked up emotional mumbo-jumbo. Lovers swore undying love all the time, only to find out they made the biggest mistake in their lives. Funny how they don’t learn and say the same old shit next time.

His train of thought was cut short when his phone went off.

It was his CFO calling, asking for his verdict on the report that was submitted. The same report that he threw across his desk earlier.

“I’m still running through it. I’ll crunch these numbers with you tomorrow,” he found himself saying before cutting the call short.

Irritated, he went back to his desk and sat on his chair. He picked up the valuation and tried to read it again. Same thing. Nothing registered. For the first time since he began his business venture, he found work unappealing.

This was bad.

It had to stop one way or another.

Maybe he just needed to get fucking laid.

He went through the contact list of his phone, picked a name and dialed a number.

A heavily-accented female voice answered, didn’t even mask her obvious excitement.

She made it all too easy for me, he thought cynically.

“Dinner?” he asked lazily, already anticipating her concurrence.

He would get distracted tonight.

Abstinence made the heart wander. Substitute heart with brains, since according to one particular chit, he lacked that part in his anatomy.

Fuck you, brain. Don’t think about her.

All is well. He is just a man. All is well. He is just a man.

Jordana chanted this like a broken record inside her head as she lay on her own bed at her once-again-occupied house.

She didn’t feel like getting up for work but she had to. Her bedside clock said it was only five in the morning, three hours away from the scheduled Victoria’s Secret runway show fitting. She closed her eyes, savoring the remaining minutes of solitude before she hit the daily grind.

At least there were no more paparazzi at her door, a small consolation. She had to thank a US Senator for that. Well, not exactly the honorable senator but the picture of his dong which he accidentally tweeted to his constituents. The papz went wild, not over the size of the man’s appendage, but at the caption of the pic. Seemed the ultra conservative politician couldn’t wait to put his dick inside his new mistress, who happened to be his kids’ nanny.

Dong-a-gate, as the tabloid media christened the latest twitter hoolabaloo finally got the pesky papz off her back. Or maybe they realized she wasn’t worth their efforts…especially now that Lonzo was seen dating women left and right. A baroness, a French actress, a prima ballerina. His social calendar had been busy of late, according to the papers.

She told herself she felt nothing at seeing pictures of him and his latest conquest splashed on the pages of rags. She knew it could take a long time before she could even utter his name on her lips.

In the light of the day, it was easier to remind herself. What she dreaded were the nights, where she had no control of her dreams—where he would hold her tenderly one moment and push her carelessly the next.

Damn the man!
She mentally cursed. Willing away his memory was harder than she had expected it to be. Because everything she saw, smelled, touched and tasted reminded her of their time at the island.

Where he broke her heart.

She blinked away the sudden tears that threatened to fall. It took her several seconds before she was able to push him from her mind. She sat at the edge of the bed and stared out of the nearest window, playing the past events in her head dispassionately.

She was able to hide her heartbreak from Leandro when he personally picked her up from the airport that day. He did try to pry her with questions but she wouldn’t budge and evaded his relentless interrogation.

She didn’t deny what happened. She just kept the details to a bare minimum. Yes, they had an affair and it didn’t work out. End of story. Less talk. Less mistakes. Less lies.

That flight from Rome to NYC was a blur. She can’t recall anything. Except the pain. Every freaking cell inside her hurt.

She’d been through a lot in her life, but nothing could top that.

Love can drive one crazy.

For a long time she couldn’t comprehend what happened to her father. Her earliest memories of him, he was a warm, loving person who loved to laugh and put his little girl over his shoulders. He changed into a bitter, abusive alcoholic when his mother left him for another man. He transformed into the nasty demon who hit her during his frequent alcoholic rages, the stranger who sold her to the white traffickers to be abused and used as a child prostitute. If not for the timely rescue…

She shuddered at the memory.

She wouldn’t go far as excuse her father’s actions. No sane person would do that to a child, let alone his very own. But now she understood. In his father’s mind, she was a constant reminder of her mother’s betrayal.

Love made him do the things he did. Love made her father weak. Love can be extreme.

But she was made of stronger stuff than her father. She had made opportunities out of mistakes. Now was no exception. She would not self-destruct. She would not let a bad man ruin her for the rest of her life. Lonzo Vitale would be a grim reminder to herself.

It would be a long, hard road to recovery but eventually she would get there. She vowed to.

One day this stupid love she felt for him would wither and die. God willing.

“Mr. Vitale! Mr. Vitale! Look this way!”
one of the damned shutterbugs shouted as he and his date for the night was about to enter the Kodak Theater in Los Angeles for an AIDS charity benefit.

He was almost blinded by the flashbulbs. Paparazzi were truly sub-human, camera-totting species.

Fuck. How he hated this city and its artificial vibe! For the fifth time, he questioned his decision to come here. Why did he allow himself to be manipulated by the woman clinging on his arm to attend this paparazzi fiesta?

What the fuck am I doing here?

He flew here for business and got delayed because the deal hit a few snags. No thanks to those crafty television executives. But he pushed for more leverage and Vitale Internacionale’s media arm got the exclusive syndication rights to several high-rating programs, including the airing of next year’s Emmys and Oscars.

He was about to get out of Tinseltown after the agreements were inked, but when he entered his hotel suite, he found he had company. The female kind.

Helene Harwood was the current toast of Tinseltown, having won an Oscar for best-supporting actress after she played the role of Eva Braun, Hitler’s mistress, in a film adaptation.

He got introduced to her a few days ago. She took one look at him and decided she must have him.

She was classically beautiful, intelligent and came from a prominent New England family that had ties to American politics. Definitely WASP. He almost asked how the hell she got in when he remembered that her family owned this exclusive hotel.

“Lonzo,” she said as she stretched her almost-naked body on his bed.

He was used to women like her. Her predatory streak should’ve amused him months ago. Now it only irritated the hell out of him. He wasn’t even tempted to jump her.

“Helene. Don’t you think it’s rather too early for bed?” he said mildly.

Helene pouted. “You don’t want to play?”

He almost snorted. Playing was at the bottom of his list. It was all because of—

Don’t even go there, he’d warned himself.

“Okay. I’m sorry for barging here, darling. Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she said, putting on her silky negligee.

He didn’t reply but gave her a small smile. He went to pour himself a scotch.

“Since you’re not in the mood for loveplay…I was wondering if you could accompany me to an AIDS benefit tonight. Poor me don’t have an escort you see,” she continued.

He turned to face her, swallowing the scotch in one go. “I don’t do your level of publicity, Helene.”

Her lips rounded into an exaggerated “O”. Damn, his dick didn’t even twitch at that.