Nika Peas,The Exchange

Published by MEDIAPLEX s.r.o.,
Holečkova 789/49, Praha 5, Czech Republic

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and events portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 Veronika Hrchovcová

Translation: © Michaela Freeman

Cover Photo © iStockphoto miljko

©2012 MEDIAPLEX s.r.o.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, or the facilitation thereof, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the published (see contacts at www.vase-webstranky.com), except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ePub: ISBN 978-80-87720-03-5

Mobi: ISBN 978-80-87720-04-2

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

Chapter 1

What am I going to do? Vivian wondered as she passed famous brand fashion store windows. On any other day, the suits, dresses and high-heeled shoes would have caught her attention. Only her attention, though, given that she had no platinum credit card and only drew inspiration from the world-famous designers. Still, searching through flea markets, she found affordable pieces to create outfits everyone thought were from the main boutiques.

But today she hardly lifted her eyes to such extravagances and walked slowly, dragging her feet along the upscale avenue in Milan.

I do have some savings, but it’s not going to be enough. I need seven thousand and have barely one. Even if I chopped myself to pieces, there’s no way I could come up with that in two days, she thought desperately. Her head was splitting with worry and this was only the beginning of a long, tiresome day.

Maybe I could ask the bank for a loan or call some friends. But they are in about the same shape as me, she thought dismally. The salary of an interpreter was no pittance, but it didn’t provide a high-end lifestyle. On top of it, the Perfect Service Agency she worked for not only required perfect knowledge of languages from its employees, but also a tailored look. Along with a general orientation in politics, economy, culture and arts, it included good looks. Over time, her savings dribbled out to hairdressers, cosmetics and regular updates of her wardrobe. Vivian quickly learned to save and browse shops for discounts, to combine and be original in her improvisations, occasionally even tailoring some piece of clothing at home to get a better fit.

But the longer she worked for the agency and the more her professional prestige rose, along with its more important clientele, the more need to keep up with the latest fashion trends. The circle had turned vicious for Vivian. The only thing that truly made her happy was the fact she was an ace at the agency. Headquartered in London, Perfect Service had branches in Paris, Barcelona and Milan and Vivian was one of the few translators flying regularly to these cities.

Today she was headed to the headquarters of billionaire Matteo Fabbri and tried to solve her money problem now, so she wouldn’t stress over it all day and could focus on work. But the closer she came to the modern glass building, the more desperate she became. She shook her blond head and fought off tears.

This is it. I have to call the bank, there’s nothing else to do and, taking a deep breath, walked in to the cool shade of the marble reception area from the steamy Italian sultriness. The regular clatter of her high-heeled sandals forced her to concentrate.

“Vivian Jones, to meet Mr. Fabbri,” she announced to a receptionist in a perfect suit.

“They‘re already expecting you. Tenth floor, second door on the left, the conference room,” the receptionist replied with a smile and pointed a manicured finger toward the elevators.

As the elevator silently rose to the tenth floor, Vivian quickly tied her loose hair into a bun and secured it with three pins in a reflex move. She checked her look one last time in the mirror and, with a sigh, stepped out of the elevator. Vivian had never been the thin beauty queen of magazine covers, missing required model height by an inch or two, although she filled the bill across the chest and hips. But she‘d learned to live with that a long time ago, content with what mother nature gave her. She dressed smartly in skirts, blouses and dresses that that hid her curves, while highlighting the evenness of her body, slim legs and beautiful face. But because of her money problem, she been in no mood to stand long in front of the wardrobe this morning, so she grabbed the first thing she felt good in – a gossamer knee-length yellow dress, with small flowers. She‘d slipped her bare arms into a white jacket and accented the look with white strap sandals.

“Good morning. Vivian Jones?” an attractive young woman disrupted her thoughts.

“Yes, I’m here to see Mr. Fabbri,” she smiled at the ultrathin brunette who led her to the conference room.

“The meeting will start in a few minutes, they‘re a bit delayed. But Mr. Fabbri left you some material to look over.” The brunette handed her a heavy file and disappeared elegantly from the room.

Vivian looked around the spacious office, a veritable male paradise –glass-topped metal table on thick black carpet, each of the twenty chairs covered in soft black leather which, as Vivian quickly found out, was utterly comfortable. Instead of paintings, the walls displayed wide screens and at the end of the room, by the three leather sofas, was a glass-cased and perfectly equipped bar. But neither the generous size of the windows nor the view of the city picked her up her spirits. Sighing, she laid the file on the table and briefly leafed through it – Matteo Fabbri was introducing his Star Dreams company, that essentially held a monopoly on the distribution of luxury goods for the upper class. It offered the best champagne, caviar, cigars, cars, races, accommodation, leisure... simply everything a multimillionaire might need in a network of shops and hotel complexes all over Italy, Spain and France. The second half was a proposal from Ryan Maclachlan, who wanted to introduce his brand of whisky into the Fabbri network. There were dozens of pages of production history, distribution and quality control, followed by the vision of both businessmen for a merger of product.

Tired, Vivian pushed the file aside and pulled her cell phone from her purse. I need to make check again that the amount is so astronomic. Perhaps they made a mistake, she thought, as she listened to the ring tone.

“Hello? This is Vivian. I’m sorry, could you please put me through to the director? Yes, I’ll wait… Good morning, Mrs. Morris, I realize you are very busy, but I’m calling to confirm that the amount of the invoice you sent me is correct.” She began with hope in her voice, which soon disappeared. “No change? Oh, I understand. No, I definitely didn’t think you‘d counted it wrong, I just had a moment of time and wanted to make sure. Oh, yes, of course, I’m busy as well. Thank you.” She put down the phone and closed her eyes against tears.

Why didn’t I think of it earlier? I should have assumed something like this and made at least some financial reserve. When it comes to money, nobody has mercy. She lowered her head in despair. At that moment, the door swung wide and fourteen men, all perfectly attired, strode into the conference room.

Vivian jumped from her chair and surveyed the group to pick out her new client, Matteo Fabbri. The agency had given her a client file, but the photo seemed much like a middle-aged playboy at an all night party. As she observed the men who slowly turned toward her, she began to realize they all had a similar look.

Goodness! What kind of a company is this? Do they pump everyone here with extra testosterone? she wondered and tried to think what was so interesting about her that all the men stared.

The last two to arrive froze in the doorway.

“Who is she?” Ryan Maclachlan whispered to his future partner.

“Our entertainment for the days to come,” Matteo Fabbri grinned slyly and seeing Ryan’s clueless look, he added, “An interpreter.” Then his glance slid back to the woman standing with her back to the window, unaware of the show a combination of bright sun and thin summer dress provided them...

Hmm, that’s no little girl. She knows how to flirt without words, Ryan thought to himself as he lingered over the pretty blond in front of him. The tight jacket barely hid her luxuriant breasts and the see-through fabric of the dress showcased well formed thighs and seductive hips. If she‘d showed up in a swimsuit, she couldn’t have made the men in the room hotter. Vivian interrupted the embarrassing moment of staring.

“Good morning, my name is Vivian and I’ll be your interpreter for the next month,” she said, stepping toward Matteo and extending her hand. She refused to look at Ryan, standing next to him. Her heart beat so loud she was afraid everyone heard it. This was completely unlike her, used to working under pressure, interpreting sometimes ten hours a day. She didn’t mind all male environments, but this seemed more a collection of stallions with perfectly masculine leaders. She was quite ready for Matteo Fabbri, thanks to her agency and a quick internet search. Tall, evenly proportioned, forty-something, face with a long straight nose and deeply set eyes framed by wavy black hair, naturally and perfectly trimmed in the latest fashion. But the man next to him was like a creature from a romantic TV series. With hypnotic brown eyes, Vivian was aware only of his height and beautiful face.

“Good morning, Vivian and you call me Matteo. This is my business partner, Ryan Maclachlan,” Matteo disrupted her dreaminess and pointed to the well-built nearly six foot two Maclachlan.

When Vivian tilted her head back, their eyes met and she lost both words and breath. Large brown eyes, full of genuine interest, looked at her from a well-tanned face. The romantic-hero look was even stronger because of his dark brown hair that dropped over his eyes in disobedient curls and ended on his shoulders in the back. A gently amused smile formed around his lips, disappearing in his purposeful two-day stubble.

“Good-good morning,” she half-whispered and without pause, immediately attended to Matteo. “If you are ready, Mr. Fabbri, we can go ahead. I expect to be interpreting from Italian to English. Would you prefer simultaneous or consecutive translation?” she sputtered nervously and looked nowhere but at her new boss. As Matteo established the details and others settled around the table, Ryan took his time to look carefully at his interpreter, head to toe.

Is she trying to catch my attention by pretending to be flustered? Or is she actually nervous? It was such a welcome change after the mobs of crafty huntresses he kept running into, he thought, already seated at the table, leafing through the materials he‘d brought.

So what? Even if you are an immaculate virgin, who cares? I’m not here for entertainment, I’d best get to work. And with this in mind, he attended to Matteo’s fluid speech and the interpreter’s voice.

With each passing moment, Vivian felt more solid ground under her. She focused on perfect tone and a friendly manner.

Over the next few hours she gained a complete overview of the company. Beside Matteo, the director, there were twelve division directors, each in charge of a hotel and a network of stores in their assigned region of Italy, Spain or France. The screens showed presentations of the individual regions. Although Matteo himself spoke perfect English, his twelve directors weren’t as apt, especially when it came to technical terminology. And, apparently, Italian wasn’t Ryan Maclachlan’s cup of tea either. Vivian carefully interpreted and occasionally smiled or gestured to emphasize the explanation. The day flowed smooth as a river and before she realized, the sunny morning had slid into the soft shades of early evening.

“I think that’s enough for the day.” Matteo stretched in his chair. “Let’s take a two-hour break and then get together in my penthouse to celebrate the merger.”

He turned to his subordinates and slipped into rapid Italian to sort out the details with them. Only now did Vivian learn that Matteo had changed the program and instead of a month of interpreting at headquarters, they would spend the time traveling to all the branches of Matteo’s empire! But before she managed to object that she wasn‘t ready for such a thing, much less traveling from store to store, a shadow fell across her and she was surrounded by manly perfume. As in a dream, she turned her head to realize she was being watched by Ryan Maclachlan’s hazelnut eyes. In a moment of conversation elsewhere, he settled in the chair next to her.

“Are you looking forward to the business trip?” he asked in a deep voice. Vivian was glad she was seated because her knees begun to tremble. His penetrating eyes watched her every move with unconcealed interest. He gently touched her elbow, as if by accident. The distinctive perfume resembled the sea, with an undertone of exotic wood and fresh, clean men’s skin, robbing her of what remained of her concentration. Losing control entirely, she drowned in Ryan‘s eyes and wanted nothing more than the presence of this tall man, instinctively wanting to curl in his arms. Time stopped – his eyes, so beautiful, with long lashes. The strong features of his face, softened by full lips, widened to a slight smile that created a fan of amused wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Vivian swallowed and, unaware, touched her dry lips with her tongue. She felt Ryan’s long and slender fingers soothingly fondle her hands.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I’m sure you’ll have fun. It’s obvious you weren’t ready for the trip, but I’d be happy to be your companion,” he said again in a seductive voice.

Goodness! He’s speaking and I’m staring at him like some little girl pressing her nose on the candy store window. She immediately glanced down and felt her cheeks burn.

“All that depends on Matteo’s scheduling. I don’t know if he will allow me enough time,” she whispered quietly.

Ryan leaned toward her, his lips nearly touching her ear “Leave that up to me, he whispered. I’ll make sure you won’t be bored for a moment.” Then he eased out of his chair and left the conference room, with long strides.

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