Easton may smear Girasoli in the press. Lex could destroy his current business-to-business supplier company and any hopes for starting his consumer brand.
The last time Massimo and the judge saw eye to eye was a decade ago when his father had embezzled his savings and family inheritance. That was back when Massimo gave up his rights to become king. He’d much rather have the publicity focus on his lifestyle—creating fictitious rumors—versus his business affairs, which may run the truth for a change.
Easton would bring to the surface Tittoni’s legal skeletons he’d worked hard to bury.
“Mi scusi?” Massimo sighed. His flesh itched as he struggled not to kick the table. Don’t do this, bella.
She leaned forward, issuing him a smile. A glossy, near perfect, white beam—one which uttered something a Manhattanite would threaten. “You heard me!”
Chapter Three
Divine Secrets of a Fashionista
Stay calm. Do not flip the table. Dropping his chin, he extended Lex his full attention. “For what? Not sending fabric to a company which can no longer afford them?” This blonde girl became unbelievable. He’d be happy to give her the keys to his yacht. She could sail her sweet kiwi smelling self back to Sicily by herself, tonight.
“I don’t think you ever deposited Easton’s check or ran my credit card.”
Massimo tucked his hands into his pockets and corrected, “The certified letter included a returned check copy from our bank as well as a credit slip for the authorization’s decline. You have no grounds to sue—no grounds. Niente.”
“You’ve stolen my ideas and are now preventing me from doing business.”
Massimo defended, “My lawyers will tie you up in court. You will never get another fashion show off the ground, let alone an entire collection.” He did not care to play hardball, not with a woman. Preferring she’d back down, disappear, it would make life easier and benefit his company. He reached for the chilled Bellini pitcher from the bullion ice bucket and held it up to Lex’s flute.
“Even a judge with a half-baked brain and one good eye can see I invented the way for those fabrics to be worn on the human form. Not you.”
“Bellini cocktail?” he persuaded, hoping some alcohol would make her more agreeable. She wouldn’t be successful in a lawsuit against Girasoli. Easton didn’t have a legal leg to stand on. Lex violated the agreement first, making it null and void.
“No thank you, I don’t want a Bellini cocktail. I want my fabrics.”
He poured himself a glass, trying to salvage the situation. “Invented by Giuseppe Cipriani in the Thirties, the Bellini is a Prosecco and peach puree blend. Italy’s signature drink from Venice for all occasions, sì?” Have a drink, bella. You need one.
“Stop patronizing me. It won’t work. No, grazie. You can toast to your lawsuit if you wish.”
“Sì.” He gulped the fruit nectar and set his glass aside to speak. “I suppose we could go to court.” Massimo would rather die than live through another legal scandal. Nevertheless, he’d play her game. “I am sure the judges in Milano or New York could put something on the books in say—six months from now. When did you say your fashion show started again?”
“In eight days!” Vivid eyes wide, she slapped the table—twice. The rattling china and crystal clatter didn’t prevent her from arguing. “If you prevent me from having my seasonal launch, I’ll add another forty million in lost net sales and damages to the lawsuit. Don’t think I haven’t calculated the numbers. I’ve endured half a day stuck on two airplanes and a sardine tugboat to decide what I’d do if you didn’t give me my materials. I never in my darkest thoughts expected Girasoli, my supplier, whom I trusted, to topple me. Fashion hell has been raised Massimo—hell!”
He swallowed hard against her threat and muttered, “Meaning?” Do not react, do not react, do not react.
“If Saks carries the line, we’ll clear over one hundred million in gross.”
All this money talk coming from an alluring blonde made him dizzy. He thought about buying Easton outright, shutting her up and taking her under his wing. He’d prefer to take her under his body.
Power. Authority. Strength.
She offered an unexpected flirtatious glance—one lacking any sincerity. Trying to turn her demise around, she promised, “Lawsuit off the table for a sec. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work—whatever you want.”
“Such as?” He speculated if she’d sleep with him. Massimo wanted her. Sitting on his chair’s edge, he waited for her response, and the lingering expectation grew excruciating. What could she give him? Tell me, bella.
“I’ll pay fifteen percent more than the original sticker price.”
Having you in my arms may be worth more than fifteen percent, bella. “If Girasoli ceases plans and reverts to supplying Easton the fabrics, how will we be sure you will pay on time?”
“I’ll sign whatever guarantee you want me to.”
“The last contract graced your signature and did not work for you.” He didn’t favor uncertainty, not in this economy.
“Please—I can’t go home without this shipment.” Her eyes filled with the realization he didn’t intend to give in. Maybe her legal bite was a bluff. “I’ll be forced to close my doors and lay off my employees.” Lex’s pleading made her proposal tempting, but he couldn’t.
“No. Taking another risk on Easton is bad business practice for Girasoli. This is nothing personal.” His company remained number one in Italy for textiles. At year’s end it would be the top manufacturer in Europe, and the year following, the world. He could not do business with some fly by the seat of your pants clothing company.
“You’ll never be able to get your label off the ground,” she snapped. “Not without knocking me off.” She raised her chin in confidence.
“Are your fashion wits telling you Girasoli is copying your designs?” Massimo had heard the term “know it all,” but he’d never met a “Lex.” In her stretchy slacks, she’d given new meaning to the term “sassy pants.”
“Damn straight!”
“Easton’s designs are, how do you say—frumpy.”
Her jaw dropped. “Frumpy?”