Counterpoints (Counterpoints #1) Read online

  Isabella had never been so nervous. Once she ran for best writer in school and she had had to write several essays and compete with many other students. She had felt sick that day, like never before. The tension had made her almost crazy.

  This time, it was even worse. She tapped her fingers everywhere, on the little tray in front of her on the plane, on her suitcase waiting for passport control, now on the car door.

  Her mind was filled with questions, doubts, expectations, thoughts and so far she had managed to make it through thanks to her self-control.

  To make matters worse, she couldn’t stop thinking of what had happened the night before. Her friends and family had organized a goodbye dinner for her at a local restaurant. The whole town had been there and everyone had been kind enough to pass by and wish her well. The thought made her smile just then, remembering her friends’ words.

  “Salvo is not coming?” her friend from Rome Cristina asked her half way through the night, while they went to get something to nibble, with a glass of Prosecco in their hands.

  “I don’t think so” Isabella shrugged but looked around hoping to see him. Even though they had broken up, even if wasn’t in love with him enough to pass on her career, it didn’t mean that she didn’t care or wasn’t sorry of how things had ended between them. She was not a cold hearted bitch, like her uncle had implied over Christmas. She did have feelings for Salvo, after all they had been together for three years. She cared for him, as a friend at least.

  Isabella pulled down the skirt of her black dress and sighed.

  “I sent him a text message because he is not picking up my calls. He’s probably upset”

  “You did the right thing” her other friend Maria stepped in the conversation. The room was packed and everyone seemed to be having a good time, talking and eating finger food. Another person missing was Angela, her best friend since elementary school, or at least that’s what she had been until recently. Actually, It had all started about the same time she had applied for the job. Strangely enough, Angela had gone from being her best pal to a friend and now to an acquaintance.

  At first Isabella had thought it was probably because of Angela’s new job out of town. Then, as time went by she had realized it was something else. They had grown apart, for no apparent reason, it had just happened. Maybe it was because they had met new people and were hanging out with different groups of friends. Still, they had gone from sleep overs and spending almost every day together, to calling each other once a week. On a lucky day.

  “I know I did. I wish he could see it and not be pissed off at me. I miss being friends with him” Isabella admitted. Salvo and her had been friends before they had started dating. It was such a shame to lose it all.

  “He’ll come around. Meanwhile you have the best rebound job ever” Maria said to her, excited about Isabella’s departure.

  “Never heard of a rebound job” Isabella giggled in her drink before sipping the Prosecco. People passed by and congratulated her before Maria could argue back.

  “You know what I mean. You get to leave and change environment. You’ll meet a lot of people. It’ s so exciting. Soon you won’t even think about the break up” her friend explained. Maria pushed back her dark brown hair and smiled at her boyfriend, Giacomo, who was looking at her from the other side of the room.

  “Think of the hot rebound sex!” Cristina blurted out, causing Isabella to almost choke on her drink.

  “I don’t need rebound sex or a rebound job. We broke up because it wasn’t meant to be and because I am leaving” Isabella’s eyes were wide, she felt the Prosecco bubbles going up her nose. Damn Cristina for making her laugh just then. “And you should watch your language, you are a mommy” she admonished her.

  “So what? I can’t say sex? Or rebound sex? Besides, it’s after eleven o’clock, Isabella” she laughed at her and Maria and Isabella joined her laughter. “You’ll see it’s going to be great”

  “The job or the sex?” Maria enquired with a grin on her face.

  “Both” said Cristina and they giggled again.

  “I’ll miss you two and your nonsense” they hugged and exchanged sappy looks. Then Cristina, the most down to earth person Isabella had ever met, brought them back to reality.

  “No tears. She’s not going on a suicidal mission in outer space, Maria” then she looked at Isabella, her arms still around her. “I will personally hunt you down, if you forget to call us”

  The driver’s deep voice snapped her back to reality, back to windy, cold London town. He told her they had arrived at the hotel, so Isabella thanked him and told him she would take her luggage herself to the front desk.

  Once she had taken her keys, she ran for her room, where she took a nice hot shower and then spent half an hour laying on her bed, her long, straight, dark blond hair spread out like tentacles. What if I don’t make a good impression? A part of her couldn’t help but wondered, if she was suited for the job. This was no little internship or regular job. It was a big deal, the highlight of her career. And Isabella wasn’t naïve either, she knew it would be difficult to work in a men’s world like car racing.

  But the competent, professional, calm side of Isabella, reminded her of one thing: when in doubt, always let the others do the talking first. It usually worked, not to jump in conversations and to listen, smile, nod and analyze when to make a move and expose oneself.

  Her mind kept going back and forth from her doubts about the new role she will be covering, to the party of the other night, particularly to Angela’s absence. She hadn’t even called to say goodbye before she had left Italy. She didn’t even bother to reply to Isabella’s text message, her last attempt to say goodbye to her friend.

  Then her mind gave in to her body and her eyes closed.

  The phone rang and it startled her. Had she fallen asleep? The light outside had faded and through the white thick curtains, Isabella could see the street lights on. Before answering she checked the time. Six fifteen pm. She had one hour to get ready. Fuck, shit, oh god!

  “Hello?” her voice a little shaky.

  “This is the front desk, madam. We were told to let all our guest attending the dinner tonight, know that dinner will be served in one hour”

  Isabella thanked the woman over the phone –if she could have, she would have kissed her forehead for giving her a call- and ran to her closet and then did the most woman sounding thing she could possibly do. Isabella asked herself which of the ten dresses she had brought with her, was the right one. What sort of impression did she want to make? She thought about it for a minute and then looked at herself in the mirror. That sweet smile and young looking face of hers had cost her over the years, until she had found a way to turn it around in her favor. That honest smile on her full red lips made her look young, too young and people tended to underestimate her.

  This meant she had to prove to be twice as good, at all times. At the last company she had worked for –a very popular sport magazine based in Rome- Isabella had put heart and soul in trying to get the consideration she truly deserved. It had meant working extra hours, long afternoons of brainstorming and concentrating to come up with the best solutions, the best articles, the best work a brain could produce. It had paid off in the end.

  So, what she needed to do now was dress to look older, but also keep her face and make up as natural and as fresh as possible. Without thinking twice, she pulled out a fitted, knee length white dress, sleeveless, with a v neck and a silk drape that wrapped around her neck and then fell down her back. Classy and particular enough to draw attention, in a positive way.

  Isabella styled it up with black, high Maryjane’s and, after straightening her dark blond hair, she tied them up neatly behind her head. She looked at her watch: fifteen minutes to go. Time was a bitch when you needed it more than ever.

  When she had finished with her hair and makeup, she darted for the door and dashed to the function. She hated being late and this was not the sort of event you wanted t
o be late for. First impressions were important.

  The butterflies in her stomach reminded her how exciting this new life of hers was going to be. She tapped her fingers on her small black handbag, as her eyes stayed on the floor number the elevator was at. Two more floors to go and her heart was pounding so hard, she could hardly hear the annoying elevator music in the background. Thank God!

  This moment, this moment right there was exactly what her life was going to be like soon. Dinners and VIP events, she would meet important people, increase the number of connections and learn so much more about PR and press management. Breathe, breathe, she reminded herself in the lift ride to the fifteenth floor. That’s where the dinner was being held, in the Olive Garden Roof Restaurant. Just before the doors opened, Isabella checked her reflection in the mirror once more and silently cursed at herself for not applying enough lipstick on her lips.

  When she stepped into the room, Isabella’s eyes darted left and right. There were fifty, maybe sixty people just in the foyer, waiting to step in the room and more were arriving every minute. The function was held by a famous bank sponsor of the MB team and their color logo, blue, was used to decorate the entire room. All around her were tables and waiters with drinks and canapés and, at the far end of the room, were large windows that offered a splendid view over the city -London’s shining lights in the distance.

  Isabella made her way to the registration table, where she bumped into Hillary, head of Communication and Marketing and press agent for the MB team, also her boss for the next twelve or so months. They would be working side by side on the new project.

  “It is a pleasure to see you again, Isabella. I hope your trip went well” she smiled at her genuinely. Hillary was the woman that sat through her last interview at MB, before getting the ‘welcome on board’ phone call. Then, they had seen each other once again at a meeting in London, weeks before it all started, just after Christmas. Isabella was sure she had won her over. Her kindness showed that she liked Isabella and she had a six sense about her new boss, that they could do great things, working side by side.

  Hillary was an African British woman in her forties, with a killer body and smart, big eyes. For a moment Isabella felt self-conscious: she wasn’t skinny like a top model. She was Italian alright, slim but curvy and average height. The white dress suddenly didn’t feel like a good idea. She covered her cleavage with a hand, while bending over to get her name tag and seating arrangement.

  “Your table is number five. I’ll be there too, sitting right next to you during the presentation. In the meantime have a drink and relax. And mingle. I’ll be right with you, as soon as I make this phone call” she winked at her “I’m loving the dress, very chic”

  Isabella thanked her and made her way to the bar, feeling a little bit more comfortable. If a veteran like Hillary had just complimented her on her look, It must account for something.

  Looking around, she recognized some of the people she had seen in sports magazines, which she had bought the minute she had applied for the job. There was the owner and head of the MB racing team, Mr. Johnson, and his wife and kids, very composed, very sociable and surrounded by people. Also she spotted managers, agents of the drivers, a few journalists, actors, singers and two photographers who were taking pictures of everyone on this sort of red carpet set.

  The room was filled with murmurs and laughter and fabulousness, all of which was framed by crystal glasses and shiny cutlery, lights and high heeled women with expensive jewelry.

  Isabella couldn’t find a better moment to thank the person who came up with high heels. At least she looked as tall as the rest of the women in the room, if only THEY hadn’t wore heels. What a twisted thought, only a woman could have.

  Isabella made her way to one of the bars in the room and patiently waited in line to get a drink. A nice drink would calm her nerves a little, just the thought of having something to hold and sip made her feel better. Calm down, she kept telling herself, but she couldn’t help that smile on her face. It was so exciting and it felt so big, bigger than her, the whole situation was still absurd to Isabella. She was part of a top event, no, actually not just that. She was part of a top company in the racing industry. Half of these people there made one of the fastest, luxurious, top cars in the world and the other half were important enough to be part of that world. Isabella was probably good enough to be part of it, too.

  That’s what she kept reminding herself, to get it together and don’t mess it up. If she had been chosen for the job, it meant that she could handle it.

  On the other side of the room, there was a man in particular who was surrounded by people. Several CEO’s of important companies and quite a variety of good looking women, had come up to speak to him. Half an hour into the evening, all he kept hearing were things like: ‘you should think about it, think about doing this and that together….’ Always business.

  Also, women kept coming on to him, wondering if he was free to go out sometime. Even if it was all so flattering –and despite what it had been said about him in the tabloids- Christopher wasn’t looking for someone to spend the night with.

  He had recently ended a fling with a model he had been seeing on and off over the past year, because it was all about the looks, the parties, the gossip, the popularity. It had all become so boring to him. All of a sudden, he had lost his interest in her.

  Maybe he was seeing the wrong kind of women. Sure they were all beautiful, insanely beautiful- tall and leggy- but their relationships were so superficial, it never went a notch higher than good sex and a little fun. He hadn’t wanted anything more than that anyway, nothing more than sex.

  In his relationships, Christopher had always been honest from day one: no dating, no sharing his private life. If somebody ever asked him what he had learned from his experiences with women- one thing only- it would be to separate his sex life from his private life. He had learned it the hard way some time ago. He also never wanted his relationships to be exclusive, he was very clear about that, too.

  When he wanted a fling, he had no trouble finding a pleasant women to spend some time with.

  Christopher’s problem was just that and he was well aware of it: he didn’t want to get too involved but then he lost his interest in his partner easily.

  Just as a model named Virginia Redwood was telling him about this party she had been to the night before, he noticed someone near one of the bar stations.

  It was impossible to miss her, as her silky, white dress was like a breath of fresh air in a room full of dull blacks and blues.

  The young woman was waiting for her turn at the bar and from where he was standing, he could see her bare shoulders and the back of her head, but every now and then she would turn to scan the room, with warm, honey brown eyes and a breathtaking smile on her full, red lips. Whoever she was, she wasn’t an habitué, he had never seen her before. He would have remembered that smile.

  As the minutes went by, between a chat with a person and another, Christopher’s eyes kept going back to the woman at the bar. He just couldn’t avoid it, there was something in the way she looked that constantly caught his attention.

  Every time she moved, he would look her way. Her beauty was anything but obvious, it was very unique, sophisticated. Her features were delicate and simple, but there was an unusual light in her amber, brown eyes that was so attractive to Christopher, he couldn’t help but look her way.

  She looked anything but the kind of person who would attend that sort of event. She wasn’t a model – her body didn’t resemble a skeleton- she wasn’t wearing a ring so she wasn’t the wife of somebody there – he had checked her hands.

  It was probably just curiosity, Christopher told himself, but he had to find out who that beautiful woman was. He kept looking her way, waiting for the right time to walk over and speak to her.

  When she had reached the head of the queue, he excused himself rather hastily and walked over to the bar.

  “What can I get you, Miss
?” the barman asked, when she finally made it to the bar station. Isabella caught his stare trailing from her eyes to her cleavage.

  “Could I have a mojito, please?” she asked, giving him a dirty look for checking her out so blatantly.

  “No, I am sorry. We only have Champagne or Champagne based cocktails, made with juice and fresh fruit” the guy told her, smiling to the side.

  He pointed at the menu on the counter, that read there were five kinds of cocktails made with Champagne, one of which was with strawberries. “The Champagne is one of the sponsors tonight…” the barman added.

  “Oh” Isabella said making a face.

  What an idiot she must have looked like. Of course, the name of the champagne was everywhere, how could she have missed it? It was on the stools, on the counter, on the tables. Isabella had been too busy gawking at the celebrities and at their designer outfits, to notice. “So just champagne?”

  “Just champagne” the barman smirked.

  “Not even a Prosecco?” she grinned.

  The barman shook his head and gave her a sly smile “I would make a mojito for you darling, if I could”

  “Which one tastes less like champagne?” she asked pointing at the drink menu, avoiding his eyes, but smiling kindly.

  She saw the barman do a double take, hers was an unexpected question, Isabella realized. Who doesn’t like Champagne? Besides me, I mean?

  “The strawberry one is very sweet…”

  “Perfect. I’ll have the strawberry one, please”

  As she moved to the side, so that others in the line could step up to the counter and take their drinks, Isabella thanked the barman and took her glass.

  While in the queue, she had waited patiently for her turn, eager to have something to drink but also something to hold in her hands and avoid fidgeting. It didn’t occur to her that she wouldn’t be able to have her favorite cocktail.