Hearts in Overtime: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (22 page)

“Thanks!” I still couldn’t believe it had happened. I never won contests or anything.

“The reason I’m calling is to see if we could go ahead and book the session. Alessandro’s schedule tends to fill up quickly, so it’d be great if we could go ahead and pencil you in.”

“Sure. That works for me,” I said. “I would guess that his schedule is probably a lot more hectic than mine is, so when do you think would be a good time for me to come in?”

“Actually, next Sunday would work if you’re free. Alessandro was supposed to be in Chicago, but that trip had to be canceled. If not then, he has an opening on the second Saturday in September.”

Wow, that was nearly two months away. I wanted to go ahead and get this portrait session over with, so I said, “Next Sunday works for me. What time?”

“That depends,” she replied. “Would you be able to come out to his house in the Hamptons? That’s where Alessandro prefers to work. He has a fantastic studio adjacent to the house. If that can be arranged, we’d love for you to arrive around two in the afternoon.”

“I could do that, no problem.”

In fact, it sounded ideal. I hadn’t escaped from the city for months, so the change of scenery would be nice. Also, I have to admit that I was curious to check out the home of Alessandro Lamberti, the world-renowned painter who was worth billions. I was sure it would be grand.

“Great!” Rachel said. “Now, you’re more than welcome to pose nude, of course, but if you’d rather not, we have plenty of fabric in all weights, textures and colors to drape over Alessandro’s subjects.”

I couldn’t help but let a little laugh squeak out. The thought of me posing nude for the Alessandro the Hottie! Yeah, that was not going to happen.

“Can’t I wear my own clothes?” I asked.

“Of course you can, if that’s what you’d prefer,” she replied. “You can do whatever you like, but I would advise you not to make up your mind until the session actually begins. Bring a few different options with you, and you and Alessandro can decide together what will work the best.”

“Okay. That sounds good.”

“Excellent. And just to clarify, you’ll be available for the entire day, correct?” she asked.

I frowned. “Well, yeah, I guess. Does it really take all day for him to paint somebody’s portrait?”

“No, not as far as the actual painting goes, but Alessandro likes to spend a significant amount of time with his subjects before the actual session begins. In fact, he won’t even consider a portraiture session with someone he knows nothing about. It’s been a problem. There was an incident with a certain princess…”

At that moment, I felt a deep affinity for Rachel. I could totally relate as a fellow assistant to an insanely wealthy boss who had business dealings with other insanely wealthy people.

“I hear you,” I said. “Well, it won’t be a problem with me. I don’t have anything else planned for the day.”

“Great!”

Rachel gave me all the necessary details and arranged to pick me up on Sunday from the bus stop where the Hampton Jitney would drop me off. When I hung up the phone, I found I couldn’t stop smiling. I was actually looking forward to having my portrait painted!

* * * *

“Not bad, huh?” Rachel said, grinning at me as I gaped at the gorgeous mansion before me.

Built in traditional style, it had a sloping roof with turrets and cupolas and decks and balconies and at least three chimneys popping up out of it. It was just so grand. And so pretty! It looked like it should have been hidden in the Italian countryside or something.

“Yeah, I suppose I wouldn’t mind living here,” I said to Rachel, which made her laugh.

We’d bonded in the short time it took us to drive from the bus stop. She was hilarious. Barely hitting five feet in terms of height, what she lacked in stature she more than made up for in attitude. Spunky and sassy, she was the kind of woman you couldn’t help but like.

“I know, right? I’ve stayed here plenty of nights—which is nice, don’t get me wrong—but it would be so wonderful to wake up one morning after a night here and
not
work. It’d be so great to just spend the day lounging around in this beautiful old house, listening to the waves crash.”

We exhaled a dreamy sigh simultaneously, which of course brought on a fit of the giggles. After we recovered, Rachel led the way into the house.

I did my best not to look like an uncivilized halfwit as she led me into the grand foyer with its massive, vaulted ceilings and then through gorgeous room after gorgeous room. All the windows were open, and the sea breeze blew in to liven up the place with a salty, sunny scent. The amount of light in the place was astounding, and I noticed that there weren’t any curtains in the windows. Only shutters and blinds, all of which were opened to let in as much sunlight as possible. Not that I knew much about decorating, but in my humble opinion, the décor was the perfect mix of old world detailing with modern conveniences.

Rachel stopped when we reached an octagonal-shaped room at the far end of the house. It was the most impressive room yet because instead of eight walls, the room was comprised of only two regular walls. The rest of them were windows—it was sort of an indoor patio. The room featured a vaulted ceiling, gorgeous tiles in earthy colors and a chandelier that looked like it had been lifted from some castle in Europe.

“Have a seat,” Rachel said, nodding to indicate the black wrought iron table and chairs in the center of the room. “I’ll go get Alessandro. It was so nice to meet you, Lila. Let’s get together for coffee sometime back in the city.”

“I would love that. So great to meet you too, Rachel.”

We exchanged one last smile and then she was gone. A couple of minutes later, I heard footsteps on the tile floor, and I turned to find the handsome artist approaching, carrying a tray of tiny sandwiches and a salad, and he had a bottle of wine and a bottle of water wedged under his arm.

“Ms. French,” he said, setting the tray and the bottles on the table and taking my hand in both of his. “What a pleasure it is to meet you. May I call you Lila?”

“Um…sure. Of course,” I replied, mesmerized by his staggering good looks.

He had jet-black hair and chocolate brown eyes, and his tan had a hint of gold in it. And then there were his razor sharp cheekbones. And then there was his sculpted body. And then there was his towering height. Honestly, I don’t think I’d ever seen a more gorgeous man before in real life.

“Fantastic,” he said, giving my hand a warm squeeze. “And you must call me Alessandro. I hope you’re hungry for lunch!”

“I am, and this all looks delicious. Thank you!”

“You are more than welcome.” He smiled, and oh! What a smile. It was warm enough to melt butter.

He motioned for me to take a seat, which I did. I was actually hungry for lunch. Rachel had clued me in that Alessandro would want to feed me when I first got to the house, so I’d planned my meals accordingly.

Alessandro went over to a low cabinet by one of the windows facing the sea, opened it, and returned with plates, glasses and all the necessary utensils. He quickly set a place setting for each of us.

“I hope you like the food,” he said. “I made three different kinds of sandwiches—first there’s prosciutto, red pepper and balsamic on ciabatta. And then we’ve got tomato, provolone and pesto on focaccia. And finally, there’s salami, mozzarella and pepperoncini relish also on focaccia. The salad is nothing too special—just some mixed greens and seasonal vegetables, but the dressing is an old family recipe. It’s got an olive oil base.”

“You made all this yourself?” I asked.

“Of course.” He smiled. “Why do you ask?”

“Um…” I had no idea what to say. Sorry, Alessandro, I assumed because you live in this big, fancy house that you don’t know how to look after yourself and feed yourself like a normal person has to?

“I love to cook,” he said, generously letting me off the hook. “Always have, always will. My earliest memories were of playing on the floor in my grandmother’s kitchen, always with the smell of tomato sauce with plenty of oregano simmering on the stove. Now, Lila, would you like a glass of pinot bianco, a glass of water or one of each?”

“Um…one of each, please.”

“You got it.”

I watched as he expertly opened the bottle of wine, and poured us both a glass, and then repeated the process with the bottle of water. I have to say: it was a novel sensation, being waited on by such a handsome man, and I was absolutely eating it up. No pun intended.

“I think we’ve got everything we need,” Alessandro said, his eyes sweeping quickly over the table. He took a seat next to me and held up his wine glass. “Salute.”

“Salute,” I said, clinking my glass with his.

“To my beautiful new muse,” he said with the most gorgeous smile you could ever imagine. “Anyway, dig in!”

His beautiful new muse? I couldn’t believe Alessandro Lamberti just called me “beautiful.” It didn’t seem possible. For a second there, I thought maybe he was talking about some other woman he’d just met—a slim little goddess with bedroom eyes and giant (natural) tits. But, no. He was actually talking about me.

I rationalized this jarring fact with the theory that he was just trying to be nice. Plus, he was a charmer by nature. Although he was born and bred in the States, Alessandro was a first generation Italian American, and so all that natural charm was in his blood. The fact that he made Adonis look like troll probably didn’t hurt his game either.

Anyway…

The sandwiches were cut down almost to finger food size, so I happily selected one of each, along with a nice helping of salad.

I started by sampling the tomato, pesto and focaccia one. It was absolute heaven, and I told Alessandro so.

“I’m so glad you like it,” he said. “Now, Lila, let me just tell you a bit about how the day will go. I know Rachel mentioned it briefly to you over the phone, but it’s very important that I get to know you before I start working on your portrait.”

“She did mention that,” I confirmed.

“Good. Now, how this works is that I’ll be asking you a lot of questions today. They may seem pointless to you, and you may feel like I’m asking you to reveal things that are way too personal and none of my business.”

I gulped. I hadn’t been expecting
that
.

“Obviously, you can refuse to answer my questions if you don’t want to, but I should mention that the deeper we go, the more powerful the portrait will turn out in the end. I’ve been doing it this way for years, and I know exactly how my process works.”

“How interesting,” I murmured.

And it really was. Although most everyone I knew had their own creative outlets (including me—I enjoyed knitting and scrapbooking) I’d never really known anyone who made his or her actual living in the arts, and I was looking forward to seeing Alessandro in action.

Alessandro in action… Mm.

Everything about him enthralled me. I watched him chew his sandwich; the powerful muscles in his jaw moving up and down were absolutely mesmerizing. Luckily, I quickly reined myself back in and focused on the food on my plate. I really did not need Alessandro to catch me mooning over him like I was some kind of love-struck teenager.

Over lunch, we made some small talk. He asked what I did for a living, how long I’d been working for Pepper, did I like it, did I enjoy the Cartwright Foundation dinner, and other stuff like that. He assured me that these “surface” questions weren’t the sort of questions that would give him whatever insight he needed when it came to painting my portrait.

I already knew the basics on Alessandro, thanks to a lengthy Google session the night before (not to mention what I’d read about him in magazines). He was the oldest of three children, born and raised in Brooklyn. His teachers knew he was gifted from an early age, and he started winning prizes left and right, earning himself a free ride to the Art Institute of Chicago for his bachelor’s degree and to the Sorbonne for his master’s. He was discovered at an exhibition for graduating students of the Sorbonne by an art dealer from New York and the rest is history. Since achieving overnight success and stardom, he’d become involved in a lot of charities, and by all accounts he hadn’t let his newfound wealth go to his head (and I could vouch for that). As of yet, he hadn’t been linked romantically to anyone, which had the fluff media speculating on the state of his love life.

“Well, that was delicious,” I said, wiping my mouth daintily with my napkin. “Thank you so much for lunch, Alessandro.”

“My pleasure.” He smiled as he stacked the tray with our dirty dishes. When he finished that, he turned to me. “Now, how about a walk around the grounds and a chat?”

“Sure,” I said, trying to appear cheerful.

I knew what was coming. He was going to try to get inside my head now. The thought was a bit terrifying.

“Great,” he said, and if he had any clue about how I was feeling, he didn’t show it.

I followed him out of the octagonal room, and through a few of the rooms I’d walked through with Rachel before we cut through one particular room (a game room perhaps—pool table, juke box, round table with four chairs) and turned into a corridor which led outside.