Cleo Miranda Adams is a part-time clerk at a small antique shop and an aspiring guitarist. Music has been part of her life since birth. After a tough loss, she focuses on building a name for herself and doing what she loves.
Billionaire and perfecti...
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"Perfect," I look in the mirror. My suit was tailored to perfection—a product of Moretti Designs. I stand in front of my mirror, fixing the knot in my tie. I chose a dark grey ensemble with a checkered stitch, and I had every crease pressed and steamed. Add diamond cufflinks and a matching handkerchief.
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Call me crazy, but I pay attention to every detail. I demand perfection in everything. Why do you think my line is so successful? Every piece is carefully crafted to suit my customers' needs.
Thankfully, my home was big enough to host the ball. I was blessed to have a home with everything: a ballroom, gym, jacuzzi, pool, spacious backyard, and a rooftop terrace. I just wish I had someone to share it with.
I made my way downstairs to see my best friend looking sharp. I walked up to him and clapped his shoulder.
"Looking sharp, fratello," the guy actually blushes.
"Thanks, boo," he pinches my cheek. I slap his hand away and glare at him.
"Figlio mio!" I turn to see my mother, Eleanor Moretti, walking towards us with open arms. I smile and hug her. She maintained her curved shape even in her fifties. Her hair was mocha brown, and her eyes were warm and loving with the deep tint of cobalt. Her eyes hold so much light. You would never guess that only two years ago, her heart was broken.
"Ciao mama," I kissed her cheek.
"The decor is gorgeous, baby," she smiles and pinches my cheek.
What is it with people and my cheeks?
My father used to do the same thing before he died. The man was a goof. He was taken away from us too soon by colon cancer two years ago. He taught me everything I know about business and design. His death took a toll on her, as it did the rest of us. They were your typical high school sweethearts.
She greets Mateo, and we finally go into the ballroom. Creme cloth-covered tables surround the spacious dance floor. The chandelier is lit to the correct setting, and the curtains are draped to the sides of antique, arched windows, exposing the gorgeous yard. Everyone was mingling. Some standing and some sitting. Even Carter was talking to one of my models, Cannie. I can see his red cheeks from here. There were about five different media houses here to cover the event, but obviously, I made sure they knew not to get out of hand.
My mother and I stopped for some pictures. She was a natural in front of the camera, striking every pose she knew with comfort and radiating with happiness, unlike me, who loves to be behind the camera. I rather create the art than be the art.
Waiters took their jobs seriously. We had a guaranteed system. I escorted my mother to our table while Mateo was talking, more like flirting, with a redhead at the bar. Apparently, his methods didn't work because he came back pouting. Poor guy. Who could resist him, though?
—
"Good evening, everyone. Welcome to Moretti Designs 6th annual appreciation ball," I stood in front of my beloved, devoted staff and family. My father started this tradition. Just like him, I appreciate the people who spend hours designing and marketing our outfits. "We had a crazy year and a hell of a fight, but we did it. We persevered. My father started this tradition six years ago. He gave credit, where credit was due. Thank you to everyone who is and continues to be faithful to our company. I hope you enjoy what we have in store for you tonight." I raise my glass and make a toast.
Ross, my chairman for tonight, takes over while food is served and music is played. The atmosphere was calm and perfect. Everything was going according to plan.
—
"Ladies and gentlemen, the first dance is about to commence," Ross announced as his hand extended to the dance floor. Everyone paired up when a familiar figure walked onto the stage. It can't be.
But it was. It was her. The angel that I couldn't take my eyes off of from the restaurant. Her body was sculpted for that dress. Her hair was nestled in a curly bun on top of her head. I stared as she sat on the stool and got comfortable. Ready to play. The moment she started, I was greeted by the familiar trance. Her fingers were graceful and light, yet powerful. Her eyes closed from time to time. Muscle memory intact. Couples were dancing and enjoying the lovely tune.
They say food brings people together. That's true, but nothing can do it like music. It creates a different atmosphere. It's like people forget their quarrels with each other, and their problems. I always loved it as a child. My mother used to play the guitar. I would lie down and close my eyes, admiring the sound.
I closed my eyes to enjoy the tune, swaying my head side to side when it happened—a wrong note. My eyes snapped open, and it was like someone flicked a switch in me. My eyes instantly zeroed in on her. She continued playing confidently, but her body language said something different. She looked like she wanted to disappear, and let the earth swallow her up.
She finished her piece and looked up. Her eyes immediately found mine, as if she was searching for me. She looked pale. And that said something. Her complexion was anything but. She gulped and stood up, taking a bow before carefully walking off. The orchestra continued playing.
I eyed the royal blue figure as she walked to the bar. She met a redhead woman at the step with a guitar bag. It looked like Mateo's first conquest of the night. Hmm.
"Don't kill the poor thing," Mateo said when I fired him a warning look. I stood up, fixed my suit, and made my way over to them at the bar.
