Billionaires: The Playboy

Giovanni was less than forthcoming, though, when Matteo pushed for answers.

‘I just want you to find it for me,’ Giovanni said. ‘I don’t know where to start. I sold it to a man named Roche some sixty years ago. Since then it’s been sold on.’ Matteo could see that his grandfather was getting distressed and knew that this necklace really meant something to him.

‘How did you come to own this?’ he asked again.

‘Don’t ask me how I came by them, for an old man must have his secrets...’ Giovanni said and Matteo gave another half smile.

Now the tale of old made a bit more sense.

‘Matteo, I want that necklace. Whatever it takes. Can you find it and bring it to me?’

He looked over to his grandfather.

How he wished he could open up and tell the old man that he meant something to him, that he understood how hard the years had been on him. But Matteo was incapable of giving anyone more than a loan of that smile or body. His mind was a closed door.

So instead he nodded.

This he could do.

‘You know that I shall.’

Giovanni got out of his chair and walked over to Matteo and wrapped his grandson in an embrace, something Giovanni wished he had done more of all those years ago.

Just for a moment, Matteo let himself be held, but then he pulled back.

‘Come on, then,’ he said, pocketing the picture in his jacket.

‘Where?’

‘Your club,’ Matteo said and rattled his keys but then he changed his mind.

His grandfather was dying.

There was no way that he’d be driving today.

Giovanni called for his driver.

CHAPTER ONE

MATTEO DIDN’T LIKE HIM.

Not that it showed in his expression.

He just sat in Ellison’s study and glanced up at the hunting trophies that lined the walls and then back to the man.

‘Do I look like I need the money?’ Ellison sneered.

Matteo shrugged, refusing to let the other man see that he was surprised by his response to a very generous offer.

He had been unable to find out the designer or jewellery house that the necklace had come from but had found out that Roche had sold it on to Hugo Ellison some twenty or so years ago.

Matteo vaguely knew Ellison from fundraising galas he had attended and he also knew that the man was money and power mad. He had been sure it would only take a generous donation to his political fund to secure the necklace and had set off for the meeting cocksure and confident that he would leave with what he wanted.

Now Matteo wasn’t so sure.

‘It was a gift to my late wife,’ Ellison said.

Matteo knew enough about that marriage to be sure that Ellison wasn’t crying himself to sleep at night over her death but he went along with the game. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said and then stood. ‘It was insensitive of me to ask.’ He held out his hand. ‘Thank you for seeing me though.’

Ellison didn’t offer his hand and when he didn’t conclude the meeting, Matteo knew, even before Ellison spoke, that he held the ace—it was just a matter of time before the necklace was his.

‘Actually,’ Ellison said, ‘it seems a shame to keep it locked up.’ He looked at Matteo. ‘Sit down, son.’

He loathed it when people said that.

It was just a power play, a chance to assert a stronger position, but Matteo knew he had the upper hand and so he went along with it and took a seat again.

I really don’t like you, Matteo thought as Ellison poured them both a drink.

‘How come you’re interested in the necklace?’ Ellison asked.

‘I appreciate beauty,’ he answered and Ellison gave a smug smile.

‘And me.’

Ellison knew who Matteo was, of course. Everyone knew the Di Siones and he knew Matteo’s reputation with women.

Yes, Matteo appreciated beauty.

‘Didn’t you date Princess...?’

‘I don’t date,’ Matteo interrupted and Ellison laughed.

‘Good call. So, how far are you prepared to go?’

‘How much do you want?’ Matteo asked.

‘Not how much, how far?’ Ellison corrected. ‘I believe you like a challenge.’

‘I do.’

‘And from what I’ve read about you, impossible odds don’t daunt you.’

‘They don’t.’

They thrilled Matteo, in fact.

‘See this.’ Ellison beckoned for him to stand and Matteo walked over and they stood staring at a portrait of Ellison and his late wife, Anette, and their two daughters. ‘This was taken at our charity gala some twelve years ago.’

‘Your wife was a very beautiful woman.’ And very rich, Matteo thought. A lot of Ellison’s wealth had come from her family and Matteo privately wondered just how far Ellison’s political career would have gone without Anette’s billions.

‘Anette knew how to play the game,’ Ellison said. ‘We had a terrible fight the day before that photo was taken. She’d found out that I was sleeping with my assistant, but you wouldn’t know it from that photo.’

‘No.’ Matteo looked at Anette’s smiling face as she stood by her man. ‘You wouldn’t.’

Ellison’s revelation didn’t shock Matteo; instead it wearied him.

He peered at Ellison’s daughters. They were both immaculate—one was dressed in oyster grey, the other in beige, and both were wearing the requisite pearls. One had her hair neatly up and the other... A small smile played on Matteo’s lips as he examined the younger daughter more closely. Her dark wavy hair, despite a velvet band, was untamed and her eyes were angry. Her smile was forced and it looked as if the hand her father had on her shoulder was not a proud display of affection, more that it was there to hold her down.

‘That’s Abby.’

Ellison’s sigh as he said her name told Matteo that Abby was the bane of his existence.

‘Look at this one,’ Ellison said and they moved on to the next photo. ‘It must have been...’ Ellison thought back. ‘I think Abby’s about five here, so some twenty-two years ago.’

Abby’s eyes were red, Matteo noted.

Well, they were actually a vivid green but she’d clearly been crying.

‘The only way we could get her to sit in a dress for the photo was to give her a toy car. She was obsessed with cars even then.’

Matteo had no idea where this was leading but he had learned long ago that all knowledge was power and so he let Ellison drone on. He could also see that in the photo Anette was wearing the necklace that Giovanni so badly wanted.

‘Abby was upset because we’d just fired the nanny. Both the girls were terribly fond of her,’ Ellison said. ‘My wife insisted on it though.’

Now they were getting somewhere! Matteo guessed that it wasn’t just the daughters who’d been fond of the nanny.

‘And this,’ Ellison said, moving along, ‘is the last photo I have of my daughter in a dress.’

There Abby stood on a red carpet, with a good-looking blond man by her side.

A man Matteo thought that he recognised.

‘Hunter Coleman ,’ Ellison said and Matteo nodded as he now placed him. Hunter was a top racing driver and had a reputation with women that rivalled even Matteo’s. ‘Abby dated him for a while,’ Ellison explained. ‘Anyway, as I said, she always had a thing for cars. If I couldn’t find her, then she’d be in the garage, pulling apart a Bentley, or taking the engine out of a Jag. I tried to get her out of it—it’s not exactly fitting for a young woman of her standing. She went off to college to study fashion and started dating Hunter and finally I thought that the tomboy in her was gone. The trouble is, unlike her mother, my darling daughter doesn’t know how to stand and offer quiet support. No, Abby, being Abby, had to offer a top racing driver advice on his racing technique.’

Matteo laughed but then it trailed off.

Hunter’s hand was closed tightly around Abby’s, and again, despite the smile, her eyes were...not angry. Matteo looked more closely.

Guarded.

It was the best he could come up with—but no, despite the smile for the camera, that wasn’t a happy young woman.

‘Anyway, she dumped him!’ Ellison sounded shocked. ‘God knows how she thought she could do better, and then she switched from studying fashion to automotive engineering. Now she’s...’

‘The Boucher team!’ Matteo could place her as well now. Well, not Abby specifically, but yes, he knew a little about the emerging racing team.

‘Boucher was my wife’s maiden name.’ Ellison sighed. ‘It’s a very expensive hobby...’

‘I can imagine.’

‘Oh, believe me, you can’t.’ Ellison shook his head. ‘Especially when the owner of the team refuses to play the corporate game and chat up sponsors. As I said to Abby last week, she’s going to have to find the cash. I’m not bailing her out.’

‘Has she asked?’

‘Not yet!’ Ellison’s smug smile returned. ‘But the rest of her mother’s trust fund is tied up till she’s thirty or married. There’s no chance of that girl marrying, which means she’s got no income for another three years!’

‘Why are you telling me this?’ Matteo asked.

‘Because, as you must have heard, I’m on the comeback trail. In July I’m going to be holding my first political fundraiser since my wife’s death. I’ve told Abby that if she comes, and looks the part, and by that I mean she loses the jeans and oil rags, then I’ll give her a cash injection to tide her over.’

‘Has she said that she’s coming?’

‘Not yet,’ Ellison said. ‘But I need her to be there. Image is everything in politics and I don’t want there to be even a whiff of discord. Annabel, my eldest daughter, will do the right thing but I want Abby to be here too. I want my daughter, at my function, wearing her mother’s necklace. I want her looking like a woman for once...’

She looked all woman to Matteo.

‘Can you manage that?’ Ellison asked.

‘Sorry?’ Matteo frowned.

‘You said that you like a challenge. You like women—see if you can sweet-talk her and get Abby to show up here, looking the part. If she does, at the end of the night, the necklace is yours.’

‘How am I supposed to persuade her if you can’t...?’ Matteo started but then, guessing Ellison’s intent, he shook his head. ‘No way.’

Ellison just laughed. ‘I’m not asking you to seduce her. I don’t think you’d get very far. Rumour has it my daughter isn’t particularly interested in men.’

No, Matteo really, really didn’t like this man.

‘She hasn’t dated anyone since Hunter and it hasn’t gone unnoticed,’ Ellison said, frowning at the photo. ‘I want that rumour quashed. I want Abby here, dressed like a woman and with a handsome chap by her side.’ Ellison returned his gaze to Matteo and continued. ‘You could be a potential sponsor, considering investing in her team.’

‘It’s April,’ Matteo pointed out. ‘Your fundraiser isn’t until July. How long am I supposed to be considering investing for?’

‘I’d be giving you the necklace for nothing, perhaps the money you’ve earmarked for it could go towards convincing my daughter that you want to sponsor the team.’

‘And if she doesn’t come to your fundraiser?’

‘You don’t get your necklace.’

Matteo could cheerfully have knocked Ellison’s lights out but instead he watched as Ellison went over to the safe and took out a gleaming polished wooden box and handed it to him.

Oh, my God, Matteo thought as he undid the intricate latch and saw the necklace firsthand.

Not even the photos did it justice.

How the hell had his grandfather come by this? Matteo wondered, and he could see now why he would want it back.

Jewellery had never really impressed Matteo.

This piece couldn’t fail to.

‘I doubt it’s possible to get Abby here,’ Ellison said.

Matteo looked over to Ellison and then back to the necklace and he took Ellison’s words as a dare—which was something he never said no to.

And his grandfather wanted the necklace so badly.

No, he could never be the man his grandfather wanted him to be but this he could do.

‘Can you give me your daughter’s contact details?’ Matteo asked.

His mind was made up—he would get this Lost Mistress back to where it belonged.

CHAPTER TWO

ELLISON HAD BEEN right about one thing—his daughter Abby really was terrible at the corporate stuff.

It had taken two weeks for her to reply to Matteo’s email and at best her response had been lukewarm.

Of course Matteo had looked into the Boucher team more closely by then.

He was a risk-taker by nature, but they were, even by his standards, more of a gamble than one should take.

It was their second year in competition and their best was a fifth place last year. Frequently, they placed last or second last. Now they were competitors in the Henley Cup—a prestigious international event, held over three races.

They weren’t considered a mention.

Matteo finally decided to call Abby but effusive wasn’t a word that had sprung to mind when she told him that no, they couldn’t meet, given that she was on her way to Dubai.

‘So am I,’ he, on impulse, had replied.

‘Excuse me?’

‘I’ve got a couple of racehorses that I want to look at and my sister Allegra is holding a charity event in May... Hold on.’ Matteo checked his calendar. ‘Yes, that’s on Saturday the seventh. How about lunch on the Friday?’

‘I won’t be able to get away for lunch.’

‘Dinner, then?’ Matteo persisted and she returned his offer with a long stretch of silence. ‘Breakfast?’

‘Just stop by the track.’

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll look forward...’

She had already rung off.

* * *

The heat was fierce in Dubai.

And as for the humidity!

Suffice to say, with the hangover Matteo had, he would far rather be in the airconditioned comfort of his hotel than in the goldfish bowl of a racetrack. The sun seemed to be coming at him from all angles as he made his way to the Boucher sheds.

Matteo had been in Dubai for three days and what an amazing three days they had been. The first had consisted of a wild welcome on board his friend Sheikh Kedah’s yacht.

Kedah seemed hell-bent on returning the wild week Matteo had given him on a recent trip to New York City. The second day had been spent galloping at breakneck speed with his friend along a beach. Matteo had taken a tumble and dislocated his shoulder. The sheikh had called for his private physician to put it back. With Matteo’s arm strapped and a little out of action they had hit the racetracks and placed a few bets on a camel race. The potential two years’ jail time for illegal betting had only served to give Matteo an extra high!

It had been a giddy introduction to Dubai but now he had crashed back to earth—the smell of oil was nauseating and the sound from the track had his molars aching. He’d lost the sling that the physician had provided and so his shoulder was killing him.

And Abby Ellison was nowhere to be seen.

It was after four and he wondered if she might have finished for the day. A group of guys were watching as Pedro, the Boucher driver, put the car through its paces. He knew it was Pedro because Matteo recognised the deep green of the Boucher car.

Matteo had done some further research on the team, of course.

They had entered in the prestigious Henley Cup. A series of three races—Dubai, Milan and Monte Carlo. The final race took place in July a week before Ellison’s fundraiser.

As newcomers the Boucher team wasn’t being taken seriously, especially because the owner was a woman. Just a little rich girl playing with her daddy’s money seemed to be the general consensus.

Pedro Sanchez, their driver, was someone who was being watched seriously though, and there were a couple of other teams who had their eye on him.

The group of men all ignored him and that suited Matteo just fine. He just drank from a large bottle of cola and idly watched.

Or rather, at first, he idly watched.

Matteo had never really been in to cars and not just because his parents had died in a crash. His father had once taken a five-year-old Matteo for a joy-ride.

There was no joy in that memory!

Still, this was different—Pedro was really putting the car through its paces now, hugging the bend, belting it down the straight, and the roar of the motor was, as it flew past him, a bit of a turn-on.

‘Whoa!’ one of the guys shouted as the car lost traction, but then Pedro skilfully righted it and Matteo watched as the car again sped down the straight and then slowed down as it came towards them.

‘Hey...’

Matteo turned as someone greeted him and blinked in vague surprise. ‘Pedro...’ Matteo shook his hand; he recognised the young man himself from his research. ‘Sorry for the double take. I thought that I was watching you out there. I didn’t realise there were two drivers.’

‘No, no...’ Pedro said. ‘Soon you’ll get to see me drive. That’s Abby—she’s just checking out some adjustments that she has made.’

Matteo looked back at the car and, sure enough, climbing out from it, dressed in tight leather, was no man, and the vague turn-on Matteo had felt before was rather less vague now.

He hadn’t known that he was in to leather either!

The racing world was looking up, he decided as she took off her helmet and the fire guard and then shook her long dark hair out.

She was tall enough to wear her curves well, and if she only smiled he would return it with the best of his. And Matteo’s smile could melt. But then he remembered he was not here to seduce and so he kept his business expression on.

‘So,’ Pedro said, ‘I hear that you have a meeting with Abby.’

‘I do.’

‘Good,’ Pedro responded and he could hear the slight edge to the man’s voice. ‘Then I guess it’s time for me to show you a little of what I can do.’ He looked over to Abby, who had reached them now. ‘How is she?’

‘Oh, she’s running like silk now.’

They spoke as if the car was a person!

‘I’ve warmed her up for you,’ Abby said and then, as Pedro headed off towards the car, she finally acknowledged Matteo. ‘Di Sione?’

‘Yes.’ He smiled. ‘But you can call me Matteo.’

Abby didn’t return the smile.

Instead she blanked him and turned her attention to Pedro, who was climbing into the car.

Was she always this polite with investors? Matteo pondered.

‘How long has Pedro been out here?’ Matteo enquired, wondering how long he’d had to acclimatise to the hot and humid conditions.

‘Long enough,’ Abby said and then carried on ignoring him as Pedro started to do some laps.

‘Why don’t we...?’ Matteo started but his voice was drowned out by the sound of the engine and he had to wait till Pedro had passed before continuing. ‘Why don’t we go somewhere we can talk?’

Still she ignored him and watched the track intently and then, when Pedro had finished a few laps, she turned and finally answered him.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I don’t need an investor who wants to pull me away.’

‘But Pedro’s finished.’

‘I’m watching the competition,’ she said.

‘And you do need an investor,’ Matteo said.

Not this one, Abby thought.

She knew the Di Sione name, of course she did, and she had looked Matteo up.

Of course she had.

Reckless, wild and debauched, she had read, but looking at the photos of him and finding out a little more about her potential sponsor, it didn’t take long for her to work out that he was also as sexy as all hell.

And Abby didn’t like sexy.

It terrified her, in fact.

Abby had seen and recognised Matteo the second she had stepped out of the car. He was even better in the flesh and her stomach had curled in a way she would prefer it did not.

She had also seen and felt his eyes roam her body as she had walked towards them and had felt her cheeks turn pink from that fact.

‘Can I get earplugs?’ Matteo asked. Another team was taking their car out and his hangover was making itself known again. ‘I guess we can resort to sign language if we’re not allowed to go somewhere decent to talk.’

‘Decent?’ Abby frowned. What sort of a sponsor was he? Didn’t he get that she lived trackside?

She watched Evan put his car through its paces. She had been waiting all day to watch this. Evan Lewis, driver of the Carter team, was one of the Boucher team’s toughest opponents. Her friend Bella, who she had studied engineering with, worked for the Carter team and had told Abby that the engine, along with the driver, were poetry in motion. Yes, she had waited all day to see this but as Evan in the aqua-blue car tested the track, she found that she couldn’t concentrate.

Matteo stood beside her, swigging from his bottle, which made her thirsty, and as she licked her lips he offered her a drink, as if they had known each other for months.

She gave him a terse shake of her head and he moved forwards and leaned on the rail and bent over a little.

And she noticed.

Oh, she tried to watch Evan but her eyes kept flicking to Matteo’s long legs and to a white, slightly crumpled shirt that, despite the heat, wasn’t damp. He had a bruise over his left eye and she wanted to know where it had come from. He put down his bottle and in her peripheral vision she saw that he was undoing his shirt.

What the hell?

He turned then and gave her a smile as he popped his hand into the gap he had made in his shirt. ‘I’ve hurt my shoulder,’ he briefly explained.

She didn’t return his smile, nor did she comment.

Instead she walked off.

Matteo had had enough. He’d just have to work out another way to get his grandfather the necklace because if this was the way Abby dealt with sponsors he could just imagine her reaction to him suggesting what she wear to her father’s fundraiser!

‘Guess what,’ he said as he caught up with her. ‘You’ve just lost possibly the most hands-off sponsor you could have ever hoped find...’ He looked into the green eyes that would not meet his. ‘I’m going. I’ve decided that I don’t want to do business with you. You’re rude,’ he said and then saw that, just a little, she smiled. ‘You’re not very nice.’

‘I’m not.’

Now she met his eyes and, with contact made, he changed his mind; maybe they could work together after all.

‘That’s okay,’ Matteo said. ‘I’ll settle for polite.’

Abby gave him an assessing look. She liked it that he had said he’d be hands off—that had been one of the main issues with their previous sponsor; he had demanded so much of Pedro’s time. And she liked, too, that Matteo had addressed up front the issue—she’d been rude.

‘I can manage polite,’ she said.

‘Good.’ He drained the last of his cola. ‘I do need to get something to eat.’

She said something then but it was drowned out by the roar of a car and he couldn’t make out the words.

He just watched her mouth.

‘I can’t hear you,’ Matteo said and she had to watch his mouth now. ‘Dinner?’ he suggested. Finally there was a lull in the noise and he said it again. ‘Dinner?’

‘Here?’ Abby checked and Matteo looked around. The race wasn’t till next week and so the corporate caterers weren’t here yet.

‘Well, I’d prefer a nice lazy meal back at my eight-star hotel but if you insist on here, then I guess it will have to do. Do they have hot dogs in Dubai?’

Abby nodded to a van. ‘Not hot dogs exactly...’ She took a breath; they were about to talk big business and a takeaway back in the shed really wouldn’t cut it. ‘When you say your hotel...’ She saw him frown, but no, she would make very sure where they would be eating before she agreed to go back to his hotel. ‘You do mean the restaurant?’

‘What the hell did you think I meant?’ Matteo grinned. ‘Of course I meant the restaurant. Don’t believe everything you read about me, Abby—I’m fast but not that fast.’

She laughed.

Matteo had no idea what a rare sound that was.

‘Do you want to meet there?’ he suggested, assuming she had a car.