Counterpoints (Counterpoints #1) Read online

Of course, Isabella knew Prosecco was very unlikely at these sort of events –as champagne was usually the most popular kind of sparkling wine- but surely she hadn’t imagined she could only have Champagne or Champagne cocktails.

  The barman had looked at her like she was from outer space, understandably. Again, who says no to champagne? A top quality champagne like that one?

  It wasn’t that she hated it, it was just too dry, too bitter for her taste.

  She rarely went for sparkling wine but, even if she did, Prosecco was more like her. Prosecco wasn’t as pungent, it was fresher. Anyway, mojito beats them all.

  She brought the glass to her lips and smelled the pink, reddish drink in her crystal flute. It smelled like fresh strawberries and lemon, but the smell of Champagne was still very strong. Isabella made a face and lowered her glass again.

  “I was kind of hoping he would say yes to your mojito, so I could have one too” she heard a voice say.

  Isabella turned quickly a little surprised and saw driver Christopher Taylor standing right behind her. She managed a smile, even though she found it impossible to swallow or articulate anything comprehensible for the following five seconds. Christopher Taylor, son of driver and three times world champion Jeremy Taylor, was a thirty-three year old man with dark green eyes, the perfect five o’clock shadow. He was wearing a perfectly fitted white button up shirt, under a designer dark green suit. He wore the shirt slightly open at the top, just enough to see where his neck ended and his shoulder begun. No tie.

  His hair was a little long and messy in that cute “I’m wild” kind of way. Hot. And he seemed to know it too and enjoyed every minute of it through Isabella’s eyes.

  “Unfortunately, he denied me one” she said after clearing her throat.

  She smiled and did her best to recover from her temporary muteness and turned around, so she could fully face him. She pushed her back to the bar and managed to have a decent, confident posture, her small bag in one hand and the pink cocktail in the other.

  Even if her legs felt like marshmallows, she told herself it was all about his presence, for how important he was in the racing field.

  That was what was destabilizing her.

  Must have been that, because Isabella had been around good looking athletes before, without almost losing her ability to speak.

  “Then what chances do I have, if he denied a request made by a beautiful woman like you?” Christopher smiled to the side, in that intriguing, innocent, flirty kind of way.

  Isabella was smarter than that, she knew he was anything but innocent.

  “Probably none” she flirted back “But maybe you are in luck, he might like guys”

  “I don’t think so, not from the way he was looking at you” he placed his arm on the counter and looked at her carefully, as if he was examining every little detail of her face.

  “Oh” Isabella lowered her eyes, overwhelmed by his intense stare. She looked back up and met his deep green eyes and she was speechless, again. “Well, I should have batted my eyes better then. Maybe that would have gotten me a mojito”

  A wide smile spread across Christopher’s face then. He loved a women with wit.

  “How are you finding your strawberry champagne cocktail? Not good?” he asked pointing at her untouched drink.

  “I haven’t tasted it yet, but hopefully it won’t taste like Champagne” she said and bit her lip, waiting for the expression of astonishment to appear on Christopher’s face.

  “What was that?” he smiled amused.

  “I don’t really like…Champagne that much” she hesitated. Isabella was probably saying the wrong thing that night.

  First of all, she was surrounded by elegant, classy, very important people who loved champagne like every normal human being on the face of the earth. Secondly, it was that evening’s sponsor. Another good reason to stop saying I don’t like champagne to random people.

  “Why is that?” Cristopher insisted curious to find out why.

  This was a definitely a first. He had never met a woman who had turned down Champagne. Actually, he could remember quite a few situations in his life, where Champagne and strawberries had been consumed during his encounters with women.

  “It’s too dry for me, too bitter” she had caught his attention alright. He smiled, his eyes never left hers.

  “I see. I take it you are not British” he kept his eyes on her the whole time, mesmerized by their color. Where they brown? Hazelnut? Amber?

  “No, I’m Italian” she paused “Why, do all Brits like Champagne?” she wondered.

  “British people like to drink. Period. We like everything that has alcohol inside” he grinned when he saw her smile back. “I think it needs more strawberries, though. And Maybe some raspberry juice. Let’s ask the barman, so it will taste sweeter” he added, talking about Isabella’s cocktail. Christopher was already turning towards the bar.

  “Oh, I don’t want to cause him trouble..” she began to say but Christopher interrupted her.

  “Don’t worry, I am sure my good friend here can help us”

  “Oh, do you know him?” Isabella asked surprised. Maybe he knew the barman- who’s stare had gone up and down her cleavage a couple of times. The twat!

  “Never saw him before in my life, but he serves us drinks. I like him already” he laughed a little and Isabella smiled back, as she watched him lean on the counter and gesture to the barman.

  “Excuse me Sir, is it possible to have more strawberries in the ladies’ cocktail? And possibly some raspberry juice?” he asked politely.

  “Mr. Taylor…” he looked at him and gave a little nod, a nod of recognition “Sure, right away” The barman gave Isabella another look, from top to bottom. He then turned around and headed quickly to the other bar station, where he spoke to another man, before returning with a large crystal cup of fresh strawberries and a jug of deep red, raspberry juice.

  Isabella stood there, next to Christopher trying to control the butterflies she felt in her stomach. He’s handsome, get over it! She kept telling herself.

  It was definitely his confidence, the way he looked at ease but never arrogant, that captured her attention. He had been polite with the barman and never presumptuous. Isabella wondered if he was exactly how the tabloids pictured him, a ladies man with great charm and personality.

  He sensed Isabella’s eyes on him and turned to smile at her.

  “Would that be all, Sir?” the barman enquired, as he finished pouring the fruit in Isabella’s glass.

  Christopher turned to look at a stunned Isabella and said:

  “Is that okay, Signorina?”

  “Y-yes, thank you” she stuttered a little.

  “Great, then I’ll have a glass of Champagne, please”

  Isabella played with her necklace and tapped on the small, light blue crystal pendant.

  She watched as Christopher took his glass and moved to the side a little, his eyes on the room full of people.

  “So, do you hate Champagne because there is like a rivalry between the Italians and the French for who makes the best sparkling wine? Or do you hate each other because of football?” he asked handing her back her drink.

  “Both” she laughed a little “but actually, the rivalry is between you two, the British and the French” she corrected him with a smile on her full red lips.

  “Yes, you are right. Why is that? I never understood why” he looked at her again, amused by her smart mouth.

  Isabella lowered her stare and set her eyes on her drink before answering Christopher’s question. It looked delicious now, so rich and fruity.

  “I think French people have a very long memory and are quite resentful. You really should do something about Trafalgar Square, it is a mockery of their defeat”.

  They both laughed, genuinely laughed then, still looking in each other’s eyes. Here he was, famous Christopher Taylor, speaking to her, Isabella, a nobody, in a room full of people, full of somebodies.

  Why was he the
re? Surely, there were more interesting people to talk to and yet, he was interested in her.

  “And the weather, they definitely envy our weather. Cheers” their crystal flutes clanged and they drank a little.

  The sweetness was the first thing that hit Isabella’s palate, the lightness of the bubbles followed. It actually tasted great that way, the sweetness of the freshly squeezed raspberry juice was perfect with Champagne.

  The cocktail suddenly reminded her of when she graduated and celebrated with her friends the same night, out and about by the seaside near Rome. Images of her and Angela walking barefoot on the shore, after a fun night spent in several clubs, flashed before her eyes.

  What had happened to them? What had happened to their friendship? She pushed away those thoughts immediately, not wanting her past to ruin that fantastic night, that fantastic first night of her new life.

  The drink made her light headed just after two sips. She hadn’t had anything to eat since lunch on the plane.

  “I’m Christopher Taylor. And you are?” he read the seating tag in her hand “Isabella Bresciani” he said “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  They shook hands and Isabella felt a shiver run down her back, just as her skin touched Christopher’s. Get a grip, she kept telling herself but it was impossible to suppress her thoughts.

  He was so hot - the way he looked, the way he spoke, the way he moved- that it was impossible not to fantasize about Christopher. She drank in the sight of him and began to feel a warm feeling in her stomach.

  His question though snapped her back to reality.

  “So what brings you to this dinner?”

  “I’ll be working with you this year”

  “Oh, really?” here was that killer smile of his again, a very sly, to the side kind of smile.

  It was exactly as she had thought. According to the latest gossip - which she had read, while researching who she was going to be working with- Christopher Taylor was quite a ladies man.

  He had had a number of top models as girlfriends. Apparently, he had been going out with Russian model Natasha Kanenskij, until four months ago and was recently spotted with recurring fling model Giselle Thorpe.

  Isabella never believed everything she read, but she liked to keep an open mind about things. This was a gossip she didn’t find hard to believe. She was finding it hard herself to resist his charm.

  “Thanks for helping me out here with the drink, as a British you are an expert” she teased, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.

  It was incredible how she’d managed to keep control of herself, even though she was anything but calm right now. His presence had a weird effect on her, she noticed. It was like she could feel every vein in her body pulsing. It suddenly felt too hot in the room.

  This was possibly the best looking man she had ever spoken to, who loved to drive cars that sped at 300 km per hour. It was all extremely exciting.

  Stop being so girly, the sarcastic side of her demanded. Men so good looking are usually douche bags.

  “No trouble, anytime” he played with his glass a little. He was looking at her straight in the eyes, making it hard for her to catch her breath. The whole time they had been near each other, his stare had never slipped below her shoulders, but it had lingered a few times around her full red lips.

  This wasn’t a good start. She could not let a gorgeous man have this kind of effect on her at work.

  Get a grip. He is just a man. Just a man. A man with deep green eyes. A man with a killer smile. A man who lives for extreme sports. A man with fantastic hands.

  Yes, while his eyes had gone to her lips, HER eyes had lingered over his hands. Isabella always checked out hands when it came to men. And Christopher’s were perfect –big and strong.

  “So, what exactly are we going to do together?” he asked.

  Isabella looked puzzled. Her mind felt disconnected. What was it that he had just asked? Her cheeks went up in flames. God those eyes…

  “You mentioned we would be working together…” he added. He moved closer to her and stopped, only to leave a few centimeters between his shoulder and hers. His back was now against the bar too and they both looked around the room.

  Everyone was having a good time, making conversation and sipping their cocktails. It was a Fashion designers’ parade. To Isabella, it looked more like a fashion show, than a sports dinner.

  “Guess. What do I look like?” she teased.

  He turned to face her, he was intrigued. She liked to play games, well so did he. He was all about games, he was the master of ceremonies when it came to playing games.

  “You want me to guess?” he asked surprised.

  She nodded and dared him to figure it out.

  Isabella kept her eyes on the crowd and drank more of her cocktail. Her stomach rumbled and she laughed in the inside a little. If her friends could see her getting tipsy on a single drink, they would have been making fun of her for the rest of her life.

  “You are a mechanic” he blurted and laughed as soon as he said it. She turned and gave him the “seriously??” look. Not that she had anything against being one, but surely it was sort of rare to see a woman mechanic, especially in First Category racing.

  “Therapist?”

  She shook her head. “Why do I look like a shrink?”

  “You look like you are a good listener” he replied.

  “I am not a therapist. You have one more shot.”

  “Okay… are you a driver? Like a test driver?”

  “I’m sorry but I would never get in a car, actually more like a bullet with wheels, at 300 km per hour” she looked at him then.

  She just couldn’t stop smiling and neither could he. From the outside, she bet they looked like two idiots, smiling all the time.

  “If we get to spend some time together, I’d like to change your mind on that”

  “Not a chance, I won’t change my mind. I’d rather jump off a plane, than get in a car at that speed”

  “I’ll take your word for it” he mumbled and then sipped some more Champagne, keeping his stare on the crowd, suppressing a smile. What did he mean by that? Isabella looked at him puzzled.

  “Here you are. Hello Christopher I see you’ve met Isabella, our new assistant press agent and blogger. Can I have a glass of Champagne, please?” Hillary had pushed herself through the crowd and reached the bar where the two had been standing for the past ten minutes. She got her drink and looked at them both

  “Have you been properly introduced? Isabella is going to make wonders here. She passed the whole interview process with her eyes closed. Did you know she was a manager at a top sports magazine based in Rome? And she worked for two famous Italian sportsmen? She is also a great photographer and that will come in handy this year, with our new project and all”

  “I had no idea” he was having fun now, seeing Isabella’s cheeks go red.

  She was blushing and he could see from how her body responded to Hillary’s compliments, that she was hoping for a change of subject. Christopher liked that in a woman, not wanting to be at the center of the attention. It seemed that all people wanted nowadays was fame and to be adored and envied.

  “Well, I am here to learn. This is a whole new experience for me…” Isabella said, feeling a little uncomfortable.

  She touched her earrings while she spoke to them. Don’t fidget, it makes you look nervous, her mother used to say to her when she was growing up.

  It wasn’t easy to look cool on the outside, when inside Isabella had mixed emotions about it all. She was scared, excited, happy and worried at the same time.

  To make matters worse, she always reminded herself that deep down she was still the shy, modest teenager she once was, only now life had toughened her up a bit and she was good at keeping her worries under control.

  “Don’t be so modest” Hillary interrupted, as if she had been reading her thoughts. “I have seen your work, you are a very talented writer and you will make a good
assistant. And don’t worry, we are going to be together in this. It will be fun, fun, fun” Hillary reassured her. She patted her shoulder.

  Out of the blue a voice welcomed everyone at the function and asked them to take their seats. Dinner was going to be served shortly. And so they all began to move in line towards the dining area. Isabella waved at Christopher, as Hillary took her arm and walked her to the table, explaining what the night was really all about.

  Chapter 2

  The rest of the night flew by. They had a three course dinner, then speeches from heads of the sponsors and heads of the MB team. Then more speeches from the team’s executive manager.

  By the time it was over, Isabella had met two famous actors, a bunch of engineers, one of her favorite fashion designers and many other interesting people in the racing field. She had also met Noah, the other driver for MB. He had crossed the room to say hi to Hillary and meet Isabella- who by the way seemed to have done her homework properly: Noah was a thirty year old driver. He was French but he also had Italian ancestors, which was why he knew a little Italian. Also he had been on the Italian team, the Chiellini, for quite some time. He looked shorter in real life and his features were definitely more French than anything: pointy nose, brown eyes and long, thin jaw. After a five minutes, he had wished Hillary and her good night and had returned to his table.

  While Isabella was enjoying herself, someone from the other side of the room seemed a little bored. She had caught Christopher looking at her a few times. That was when he had smiled, but his attention had always been diverted to someone else. He had been speaking to people all night. Everyone seemed to want a piece of him. Especially women, lots of women.

  Or maybe he had been staring at Hillary and it had been all her imagination. Why wouldn’t he? Hillary was beautiful and a force of nature. She turned out to be lively and welcoming and really seemed a great partner to work with.

  “We’ll discuss work tomorrow in my car, as we head to the track near the MB factory. Meet me in the lobby at eight o’clock, okay?” they had said goodnight and parted when the function had ended, at two in the morning. Christopher and Noah had both left by then, hours before, actually. They both would have an even earlier start, as their day began with a good couple of hours of training.