Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Elle.”
Her reply is quick, a rubber band snapping back into place.
“Elle. Is that the name I’ll find on your visa?” I ask impatiently.
Her eyes dart to the sidewalk, then back to me, like she’s looking for an escape route. “Wh-why does it matter?”
I sigh. “What’s your full name?”
After a beat of silence, I move like I’m going to drag her back inside the club, straight to the office. She jolts, and some of that hard exterior crumbles.
“Isabel,” she answers through gritted teeth. She knows she’s lost, but she doesn’t want to hand me the win easily.
“Why are you going by Elle, then?”
She scowls. “Why do you care?”
I tease her with an arched brow. “Isabel De Vere is a pretty enough name. I think you should use it.”
With this revelation, her expression turns menacing once again. “I see you already looked through my file in Hugo’s office. You could have just said that and saved us both the trouble of having this conversation.”
I bristle at the accusation. I don’t snoop around on my employees. They’re not usually that important.
“You look just like your grandmother,” I admit drily, throwing her a bone.
Shock steals her annoyance in an instant. Anger morphs into intrigue. “You know Caterina?” Her gaze roves over my face as she studies me with fresh wonder. Then her eyes snap back to mine and her dark eyebrows pinch together. “How?”
I don’t feel like answering her question yet, not until she answers mine.
“Why the nickname?”
She’s disappointed that I won’t make it easier for her. She looks away, preparing a lie, I’m sure. “I don’t want people to know who I am while I’m here for the summer.”
“Why?”
“What does it matter to you? Does it affect my job at Aura?” She looks back to me with fire in her eyes. “Are people not allowed nicknames?”
I can feel the tension rising between us before I take another step toward her, forcing her back up against the wall.
“How’d you get a job here last minute?” I demand.
Her hands curl into mutinous fists. “Why don’t you take three steps back and I’ll tell you? You’re pretty tall, you know that? You shouldn’t try to intimidate people with your size. It’s rude.” She points her finger past me to some distant point on the sidewalk. “Better yet, stand over there. That way I can actually think.”
This isn’t going the way it’s supposed to. I rake a hand through my hair and turn away, drawing in a deep breath.
“Tell me how you know my grandmother,” she insists.
I glance at her over my shoulder. “Cristiano Moreno Winthrop. Ring a bell?”
Recognition lights up her features. “You’re Dolores’s son?”
“Son?” I bark out a laugh. “I’m her grandson. How old do you think I am?”
“Sorry,” she says, shaking her head, chancing a quick glance down my body. “You have me flustered. Of course you’re her grandson. I can see it now. Your coloring and your eyes. Although she was polite, so maybe that trait failed to get passed down…”
I’m helpless but to laugh, surprised by her wit, even if it is at my expense.
“Plenty of people say I’m polite,” I counter.
She arches one fine brow. “Under duress?”
This girl.
“I was going to suggest we start over and introduce ourselves the proper way, but no, I don’t think that will help. Besides, you knew who I was this whole time…”
“I didn’t know you were Dolores’s grandson.”
“But you knew I was your boss. Care to apologize?” I ask with a healthy dose of sarcasm.
“No,” she says in a pretty tone with a mocking smile tacked on for good measure.
“Still, maybe we should try for peace.” I hold out my hand, and she stares down at it like she’s afraid. “It’s just a hand.”
Her green eyes flare when they meet mine again. “I know that.”
Then she clasps it tightly, like she’s trying to mangle my fingers. It doesn’t work. Her hand is tiny. She’d need a grip of steel to actually hurt me. Her failure only worsens her mood.
“Are you going to tell people who I am?” she asks, dropping my hand and setting her scowl in place again.
“Is it really that big of a secret?”
She turns away and gives me her proud profile. “Yes. It is to me. I’m just trying to have a normal summer here as Elle, not Isabel.”
So that’s the explanation for why she’s here working in one of my nightclubs when we both know she doesn’t need the money or the headache. Her family ranks on every list around the world for influence and wealth. She could be lounging in Ibiza’s most luxurious resorts. But she wants to feel normal? Is that really it?
“Do you have a college degree, Elle?” I ask, trying to glean more pieces of the puzzle.
She lifts her chin in stubborn defiance. “Hugo already interviewed me. If you want to know, ask him. Though I doubt he even remembers. He didn’t care about anything so long as I had a decent—”