Christmas at the Tycoon's Command by Jennifer Hayward

Author:Jennifer Hayward [Hayward, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarlequinUKLtd
Published: 2017-10-31T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

NICO WOKE WITH a pounding headache. His alarm clock sounded like a fire engine, the sunshine pouring through the windows threatened to blind him, amplifying every throbbing beat of his head. Swiping at the clock with his hand, he silenced it. Sagged back against the pillows.

The events of the night before infiltrated his head. His mother showing up...that red-hot scene beside the pool with Chloe... Merda.

He hauled himself out of bed, showered and drank a gallon of the black coffee his housekeeper brewed for him, apparently not unused to the aftereffects of the whiskey phenomenon with Lazzero’s hard-partying nights. The idea of walking for hours in the bright sunshine seemed an abhorrent idea, but as his golf game was with the president of the largest beauty retail chain in America, canceling was not an option.

He left the house with a thermos of coffee tucked under his arm and a prayer of silent thanks Chloe was still in bed, because he could definitely wait until dinner to address that giant misstep.

Sliding into Lazzero’s Porsche, he gunned the powerful car to life and followed Ocean Boulevard to his destination, a pristine stretch of blue ocean flanking his right.

You’re angry, Nico... Perhaps you need to find forgiveness to find peace.

Chloe’s words from the night before echoed through his head. He tightened his fingers around the steering wheel. Damned right he was angry. His mother had been a selfish, bitter creature who’d beguiled his father with her undeniable beauty, then made him pay every day of his life for getting her pregnant with him, even though, by all accounts, she’d been a dancer of mediocre talent who’d resorted to teaching to pay the bills.

Money had been the currency his mother had been willing to trade in. His father had sold what was left of his soul to give it to her. And when he’d eventually folded under the pressure, his mother had made him pay for failing to provide by walking out on New Year’s Day.

Forgive her? He took a sip of his coffee. Wiped an infuriated palm across his jaw. Never. He was the one who’d had to pick up the pieces after the flashy-suited banker had left the Di Fiores’ Greenwich Village home after delivering his instructions to repossess the house and everything in it. He was the one who’d taken one look at his father’s grief-stricken face, his father who was no longer there, and assured his brothers that everything was going to be okay, when, in actual fact, he wasn’t sure it would be at all.

He jammed his foot on the brake as a car cut in front of him. Hell yes, he was angry. Furious with his mother for approaching him like that when he’d made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her. He was also, he conceded, furious with himself for his own lack of control. For drowning himself in whiskey, pouring out the whole sordid story to Chloe and allowing himself to fall under the spell of a woman he’d vowed to keep his hands off.

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