Her sicilian arrangement, p.1
Her Sicilian Arrangement, page 1
For my mother, Patricia;
for your never-ending support.
For Kishane Robinson;
you know why.
CHAPTER 1
Meagan sat back in the oversize chair and watched restlessly as the two men stood shouting, what seemed to be total nonsense, at each other. If she hadn’t desperately wanted that job in Sicily, she probably would have walked straight out of the room. Her gaze moved from the tall plump elderly man, the guy she had called her boss or rather ‘Chief’ for five long years, and whom never noticed the amusement he offered the entire staff of the rather bumpy bald spot he tried so hard to conceal with the few strands of hair he had left surrounding it. The other was Miles Hart: her professional enemy! Not that she really liked him anyways. His arrogance condoned anyone who came within ten feet of his presence and he was the pure epiphany of narcissism and wicked. She glared at him as he stood high and mighty as if he was far more than his six feet and brushed a lock of his long blonde hair from his forehead; the rest was caught in a tight ponytail. For a moment, she wondered if he was anything like Samson from that Bible story she had admired so much as a child. There was no doubt that he was nowhere as strong but she had to wonder…was his hair his weakness? She’d caught him too many times, running his hands through it as if it needed minutely care. But seriously, if she was to grab that ponytail and clamp the blades of a scissors over it, would that make him leave so that she could finally start enjoying her job? Her thoughts were childish, yes! But ever since Miles showed up at the firm four years ago, no one noticed her anymore including the Chief. He got the best cases in the best places. And that was why she needed that job so much…she wanted to prove to everyone that she was just as good as Miles Hart and even better too.
“What do you think about that?” the Chief’s voice came.
“See what I’m talking about?” Miles' followed with pure resentment. “Mee-gan over here doesn’t even hear a word that you’re saying. How could you possibly be considering giving her the job over me?”
“It’s Mea-gan, Mr. Hart—Meagan!” she pronounced with emphasis and glared at him. “Maybe I was just busy plotting your murder.”
“Pure incompetence!” he threw back and pointed a finger at the Chief and then back at her. “This is what I have to work with!”
“Hey, just hold your bullets for a moment. The last time I checked I wasn’t running a nursery!” the Chief said in a neutral tone. He then flung his index finger sharply at Miles. “And don’t you forget that I’m the boss around here.”
Meagan chuckled softly as Miles spun around and dropped himself in a chair with anger written all over his features. “I need this job,” she continued. “It’s simple as that.”
“Miles over there says he’s the best guy for the job because he’s been to Sicily countless times and knows his way around well.”
“And I indeed am,” Miles added, grudgingly.
“So what?” she chuckled, hysterically and stood akimbo. “I am just as good as he is and you know it!”
“Not even close…,” Miles muttered tauntingly, staring down at his expensive suit.
She rolled her eyes at him and continued. “Look, Chief. I know that I can nail this assignment and if you give me this one, I promise that I won’t let you down.”
“Kiss up…”
“Miles, will you shut up? Somebody obviously hasn’t gotten laid in a while…,” she teasingly flung at him.
“Okay, that is it!” he responded and jumped up to his feet. “I refuse to mingle with this—this ignorant woman!”
“Hold it…,” Chief said abruptly as he sat at his large mahogany desk. Meagan folded her arms angrily, avoiding both of their eyes him. Miles stood five feet behind. She could feel his gaze burning holes through her back desperately searching to pierce her heart. “Summers, you’re going to Sicily tomorrow…Hart; you’ve got the Hamptons’ murder case!”
“Yes!” Meagan squealed and then flung a dirty smile at Miles. “See ya!” And she stormed out of the room, feeling totally victorious and overjoyed. So, she was to leave for Sicily the following day and she could hardly wait. This was going to be the case that would bring her career to its peak. Only three days ago, it was all over the news for about fifteen minutes that the tycoon, Marco Mussolini, had been accused of drug-smuggling in and out of his successful yacht and sail-boat businesses on the northern harbours of Sicily as well as off the coast of Réggio di Calábria in Southern Italy. What made that story so important to the United States was that they were also worried that Marco might be involved in the Cosa Nostra. To everyone’s surprise, the court case had been dismissed hours ago and it was suspected that Marco probably had paid his way out of the lion’s mouth. From her professional point of view, that theory was more than easy to accept but she was only growing wiser and wiser by each case she had worked on; even though she thought him guilty, there was definitely more to the story.
Even before she had gotten notice that their firm was interested in such a popular European story, she had done a thorough research on the Mussolini family and had gathered enough information to start her further investigation in Sicily. Marco Mussolini was the middle child of three children for Alessándria and Torre Mussolini, at thirty years old. Following him by only three years was María, who was already married and had a child of her own. Then there was Felípe; the eldest at thirty three years old and who was considered as the ‘party-animal’ of the family. She had discovered that they all lived in their separate homes in beautiful neighbourhoods scattered over the coastal town of Villabate, just off the capital city of Palermo. But she had not done much research on the rest of the family past that point. She had decided to stick to Marco since that was where key knowledge was needed. Meagan’s primary objectives were to find out as much as she could about Marco Mussolini, gather the facts and make her story in a month’s time for it to be published in the March Madness Edition of their magazine, New York’s Finest.
Meagan slid into the rotating chair at her fairly spacious cubicle and smiled eagerly as she skipped through her notes on the case. The morning after she was to arrive in Sicily, Marco was scheduled at a press conference in Palermo to address his alleged actions to the public…and that was all she knew so far. Well, she had do some serious digging when she arrived there because she had no intention of returning to work without a report that could guarantee her a raise, plus to rub her achievements hard in Miles’ face. Besides, anything happening to the contrary would give him all the more arrogantly chosen audacity to degrade her as a woman and professional. At the firm, she hardly had friends. Well, to be fair she didn’t have any. It was every man for himself like always and everyone ostracized everyone.
The ball-point jell-ink pen slid from her fingers unto the desk and she looked up as she saw someone stop at her tiny entrance.
“So, you got the job, uh?” Miles muttered, resting both hands on either sides of the cubicle, and smiling mysteriously, running his palm over his hair. “We’ll see how that is going to work out.”
She looked up at him and shook her head. “You just can’t accept defeat now, can you?”
“Oh…you haven’t won yet, Mee-gan. This is only getting started. I know for a fact that you won’t get a scrap of info off Marco Mussolini’s head. Not a chance!”
She stood at that point, smoothed out her tight tailored skirt and glared at him. “That’s what you think!” she said, picking up her hand bag, pushed him out of her way and started walking off. She then turned around for a brief moment. “Oh, for the last time…it’s Mea-gan for God’s sake! Gosh, at least get something right for once!”
At that point, everyone turned to look at her and she rolled her eyes and then exited the room. If she wasn’t the type of woman to have her head firmly held on her body, she probably would have gone mad years ago. As soon as she entered the elevator, she released a breath that only she knew the intensity of its true frustration and sighed. At least the classical tune of the elevator music was soothing her riled up nerves to some extent. Nobody said that journalism was an easy career that bore no degree of stress. But why did Satan’s favourite demon had to land in her good old sweet dream-come-true? It was not fair. There was absolutely no explanation for her potential having to be hidden behind the shadow of a mean snobbish man. Oh, she was going to prove him wrong! All of them!
The bottom of her gorgeous black-suede five-inch heels touched the smooth pavement of the pathway as she disembarked the small flight of steps leading down to the sidewalk. She then squinted her eyes as the scorching rays of the yet late afternoon sun temporarily blocked her vision as she looked to the right to locate an upcoming cab. But she was out of luck and she moved towards the bus stop to take a seat under the vacant shed. She looked up the street and then down again when she saw a yellow cab coming her direction. Jumping to her feet instantly, she extended her arm to signal the vehicle to a stop and it pulled up to her feet.
“Queen’s Street, please!” she said as soon as she entered the car. She saw the driver nod slowly and then the vehicle moved on.
Meagan stared out the window at the buildings as they passed by. She could remember as a child, whenever she behaved well enough, when her mother would carry her on her fortnightly grocery shopping-sprees. She would have always counted the street-light posts as well as every SUV she saw. SUVs…yep, she had admired them terribly as a child…she still did. So, it was fair enough to say that it was her dream car. But her current po sition in her career could not afford her one…her main goal at that point was to save up for a house…she was getting tired up renting apartments that sucked most of her salary out of her pocket.
In an instant, she felt her cell phone vibrating in her hang bag and unzipped it quickly searching through its contents frustratedly until she found it. “Hello?” she answered. “Yes, I am on my way home right now…no, I’m sorry; I won’t be able to make it…of course I am not making a sham...I will be in Europe for a month and I’m leaving tomorrow. Okay…I will see you then.”
Meagan slid the phone into her bag and sighed. It was Ryan; she could not figure out entirely what relations she had with him exactly. They weren’t friends…and they sure as hell weren’t dating either. She could not even remember how they had met in the first place. But ever since then, he hadn’t stopped calling her to invite her to events that she had no idea about or just showing up at her apartment at random and absolutely odd hours. He wasn’t a bad guy, she enjoyed his company…she admired his designer work and his sense of humour but quite frankly, he wasn’t her type. Well, she did not know if she had a ‘type’ but she was sure that she wasn’t attracted to him. Some guys are just best left as friends.
She had to admit, he was cute with those deep blue eyes and short dark-blonde hair with the swag and body of a model, but to be honest, she could not yet figure out his sexual orientation. She could not grip a conclusion on whether or not he was straight, gay….or a mixture of both. She tried as best as she could not to be judgemental because she had met a many guys who weren’t afraid to expose their feminine sides that had turned out to be just straight around all the edges. At that point, she was in no position to make a call on Ryan’s sexuality so she might as well just wait until she knew for sure.
The cab pulled up to the apartment building on Queen’s Street and she slid out of the car, walking around to the side-front of the car with her purse in her hand. She pulled out a ten-dollar bill and handed it to the driver. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. This won’t do…yellow cab fares have been raised.”
“What?” she exclaimed. “Since when?”
“Since Saturday…didn’t you hear? It was all over the news too…”
She let out an exasperated breath and pulled out another bill. “Here…I had no idea. I hardly watch any TV.” The driver handed her two quarters in change, muttered a polite ‘Thank You’ and then drove off. She stood in that position for a few more moments and then turned on her heel to towards the pavement ascending to the building. She walked slowly, buying some time, because she knew that Ryan would arrive there soon just as he had promised. She was about to pushed the large rotating doors open when she heard the familiar rumble of a Porsche, followed by a call.
“Meagan!!” she heard him say as he jogged up to her, dressed in a gorgeous tailored suit with a Burberry scarf flung around his neck. He then came to a halt right next to her. “I’ve missed you.”
She smiled and then ushered him through the doors, waved at the doorman and then entered an elevator. “So…what have you been up to, Ryan?”
“A little of this and that,” he admitted, looking up at the floor-meter as it changed from two to three, and three to four. “I am putting on my fourth show in two weeks and you would not believe where…”
“Sounds exciting.” she exclaimed as the elevator doors slid open gracefully and they stepped out unto glistening marble floors. “Where?”
“Just guess,” he said in a voice that would bring anyone out of a state of sadness.
“Let me see…” She pulled out her keys and unlocked her door. They both entered immediately and she placed her bag on a table where she kept a small basket to hold her keys. “Paris?”
“Close…,” he muttered, his blue eyes lighting up the room as if they were generating electricity. “Try again.”
“Rome?”
“Closer.”
“Oh, just tell me already!” she giggled as they moved into the kitchen. “Uh…Milan?”
“Yes! Awesome, right? This is what I have been working my ass off for…Ralph Lauren is interested in my spring and summer collection. They want me to work for them!”
“I’m very happy for you, Ryan, you have no idea!”
“I know. You are my best friend,” he said sweetly, pulled her in a tight hug and then released her. “Hey, maybe I can visit you while you’re in Sicily sometime.”
“I was just thinking about the same thing,” she lied and opened a bottle of champagne that she had just taken from the refridgerator. “Let’s drink to your success…and to mine in Sicily.”
Ryan winked at her and took a couple glasses from the cupboard. After watching the smooth pink beverage getting poured into the glasses, Ryan took up his and hit it against hers gently. They then both took large gulps of the drink.
“Well, I wonder who I’m going to meet while I’m there,” he said, staring at the glass blankly.
“Lots of important people, I have no doubt.”
“Yeah!” he uttered in that voice again that had the same intensity of joy as a four year old child who had just discovered a cookie jar. “Can’t wait to get my hands on some Latinas!”
Meagan almost choked on her drink as she grabbed a napkin immediately to wipe her mouth. She then blinked rapidly and stared at him as if she had seen a ghost. “Latinas?”
“Yeah, Latinas,” he smiled and shook his hips playfully. “Italian women! What?”
“Oh…,” she murmured and then giggled. “I thought…never mind.”
“You thought what?” he asked, looking at her narrowly.
She felt as if she was stuck in a maze that she could not find her way out of. “Nothing important.” And she attempted to turn away from him, hoping that he would forget about the issue.
“Come on, Meg,” he said and chuckled. Meg? No one called her ‘Meg’. “We’re friends. You can tell me anything…anything!”
She sighed loudly and then faced him again, placing the glass down on the counter. “I—I kind of thought that…you were…gay?” she said, turning her statement into a question, trying to lessen the possible effect of her words. To her surprise, he raised an eyebrow at her and shook his head, laughing as if he had just heard a hilarious joke.
“Are you serious? I mean, look at me,” he laughed, spinning a whole 360 degrees before her. “How the hell could I be gay?”
A chuckle escaped her lips and she covered her mouth quickly. “I’m sorry—I didn’t know. It’s just that—how you dress and you always look so…perfectly coordinated. And I’ve never heard you speak of a woman.”
“Perfectly coordinated?” he laughed. “I would have preferred ‘fashionably inclined’. I’m a designer, Meg. I have to look the part. Anyways, enough about me. What time are you leaving?”
“Five o’clock…I have to leave on the earliest flight so that I can get enough rest to not fall asleep at that conference the following day.”
“Hmmm,” he muttered and nodded. “I remember when you were going crazy about this case and now you finally got it. Marco Mussolini is always a fashionably attired man—I’ve seen him in a couple magazines—maybe you can yell out a few, you know, tips about me!”
Meagan could not help but succumb to his amusing personality and she smiled. “That’s if I even get close enough to him.”
“Are you kidding?” he smirked at her. “Look at you…if Marco Mussolini doesn’t fall dead in his track when he sees you, there’d be only one explanation for that.”
“What?”
Ryan turned both ways, dramatically, as if he was in a crowded scene and put one hand beside his mouth. He then whispered to her in a childish voice, “Gay.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” she chuckled and put the remaining bottle of champagne back in the fridge. “You are something else.”
“Well, am I lying?” he questioned, prolonging the conversation on purpose.
“About what?” she said, moving into the living room and then took off her heels, grabbing them up in her hands at the same time. Ryan trotted behind her slowly.
“About you having a kick-ass body…”
“I’d rather not talk about that right now, Ryan…” And she moved into a hallway leading to her bedroom and then stepped inside. She then stopped at the door and held both hands up to block his entry. “Now that I’ve found out that you aren’t gay…I certainly don’t want to talk to you about stuff like that.”
