Ruthless Perfection (The Rosa Legacy #1) (3 page)

“I also expect a willingness to collaborate and take direction,” he added. “There may be some moments that I won’t want displayed, as this business is competitive.”

“What type of moments?” Isabel held his gaze.

“Giving feedback to employees comes to mind.” He was probably a horrible boss.

“While I would welcome your input and knowledge, I need to have creative freedom over the content of the film,” Isabel said.

She watched as his jaw tightened and he ran a hand through his short, black hair. “For me to allow this film to be made, I need to have control over the content. I’ll be allowing you into the inner workings of my business and I’m fully aware that you could decide to either showcase my company or find fault with it.”

A brief silence passed between them. Isabel knew that this was a deciding moment and she would need to bend in order to secure his permission.

“Mr. Santoro, I’ll work exceptionally hard to deliver an outstanding film. I know that I can get it right.”

Marc glanced at the clock on his desk and said, “I’ve a conference call in a few minutes so I’ll have my housekeeper show you to the guest house.” He met her gaze and said casually, “The last ferry leaves at 11:30 p.m. Stay for dinner and we’ll discuss the project further.”

Isabel hoped this meant that she had his agreement. Following his housekeeper outside through a Japanese- inspired garden, they went down several stone steps, passing a massive slate in-ground pool to a detached guesthouse.

“Dinner will be served on the patio at eight o’clock. If you follow the path through the hedges it will lead to a private beach or you could use the pool. Do you need a swim suit?” the housekeeper asked politely as she waited for her answer.

“No, thank you.” Isabel shook her head as she privately acknowledged putting on a swimsuit wasn’t an option for her.

Once inside the spacious guesthouse, she felt on edge. She hadn’t let herself consider her next step, as getting Marc Santoro to agree to this project was challenging enough. She noticed the living room overlooked the ocean, as did the two adjoining bedrooms, each with a marble-tiled bathroom.

At loose ends for a few hours, she changed into a simple white sundress she had placed in her bag that morning and ventured down to the ocean. Isabel easily followed the path through manicured bushes to a wooden staircase. The beach below was completely deserted with large rocks scattered along the coast with patches of clear, white sand.

She left her sandals and colorful scarf on the bottom of the staircase so she could find her way back and began walking. The sun warmed her skin and she walked along the edge of the water to cool her body. She contemplated the dinner ahead. It felt like going into a second round of a fight after almost being knocked out. Marc seemed polite on the surface, but she knew that he wouldn’t be easily swayed. He seemed so remote.

Thinking about his natural appeal, she guessed he must have a significant other. Alberto hadn’t mentioned anything about his personal life. She dismissed any speculation her brain wanted to come up with and reminded herself that she had no interest in Marc Santoro beyond the project. Even if she met him in different circumstances, she would never let a man dominated by perfection see her flaws. She knew in the industry he had a reputation for demanding the absolute best. He was never satisfied with a project; he always wanted more.

His pursuit of perfection unnerved her. She trembled slightly as she allowed her mind to consider her own imperfections. The memory that popped into her mind was the last time she wore a revealing beach outfit. Her family had met at a park outside the city to celebrate Father’s Day. It was nearly ninety degrees, so she had worn a pink tank top and short floral skirt. She was the last to arrive and smiled when she noticed her two young nephews squirting each other with water toys. Her father and brothers were already fishing in the nearby stream while her mother organized the picnic table.

The memory of her mother asking her to cover her scars washed over her, humiliating her.

When she replied that it was too hot, her mother said “Please, Isabel, it will upset everyone to see you like that.” Her mother handed her a large beach towel and insisted that Isabel use it to cover up her scars. Since that time, Isabel hadn’t bothered to wear summer clothes, instead preferring to avoid summer outings altogether.

As she continued to walk along the deserted beach, she pushed the unwelcome memory from her thoughts and instead focused on filming in Carrara. She needed to convince Marc Santoro that she could do the work.

Marc ended his overseas conference call and his mind began to consider Isabel Neri. She had touched something deep within him when she spoke about gaining her family’s respect. He knew firsthand how difficult it was to prove to a parent that an opposing vision or idea was valid. But he also knew that opening his quarry up to a documentary was inviting disaster. There was no telling what an inquisitive filmmaker could uncover given a few weeks in Carrara.

This was further complicated by her grandfather refusing to back down. Even though the man was bankrupt, he held on to the conviction that he had promised Isabel he would help her secure access to Carrara’s quarries. Somehow the project seemed to smooth over the failure of his quarry. Along with the business clients Santoro Designs had taken on, Alberto had insisted that the grant to document the life of the quarry worker had to be honored. Maybe this was the old man’s way of memorializing himself.

Marc caught sight of Isabel coming up the steps to the veranda. She had placed her hair up and her skin shimmered with a light bronze sheen. He didn’t make a sound as he watched her approach, deep in thought.

This project was the last thing he wanted right now. As it was, he had to push himself to return to the quarry twice a year. He would rather spend his time traveling the world and acquiring more assets than stepping back into the past. Unfortunately for him, he did owe Alberto this kindness.

“Did you enjoy your solitude?” He held her gaze just long enough to feel the attraction building. He knew he shouldn’t encourage a flirtation but he felt inexplicably drawn to her. What was it about her that was so intriguing? He should be running the opposite way, not encouraging her.

“I don’t often get the chance to be the only one on a secluded beach.”

He pulled out a chair for her and, after she was seated, poured a crisp chardonnay into her glass.

She carefully lifted the glass to her alluring lips and took a sip. “I hope your conference call went well.”

“I own the majority shares of a mine in Indonesia, but I can’t say it is going particularly well at the moment.” After a brief silence, Marc added, “I hope the wine is to your liking?”

“It’s delicious. Thank you for inviting me to stay.” She was guarded with him. Did she know he wanted to deny her request?

The housekeeper arrived and placed a chilled salad plate in front of each of them.

Marc knew she wanted an answer but decided to put off the inevitable a little longer. “What made you decide to create documentaries?” he asked as he watched her closely.

Her body relaxed slightly as she took another sip of her wine. “I’ve always been good with my hands. Alberto had given me my first camera when I was seven. Even then I was driven to capture compelling images on film.”

Isabel looked at him intently for a moment, seemed about to say something, then changed her mind. He made a mental note to keep her at a distance, as he had no intention of becoming one of her subjects.

The conversation stayed agreeable as they discussed a variety of topics. He offered her more wine, but she declined.

The housekeeper placed a plate of seafood risotto in front of each of them.

“I’m not inclined to make my quarry accessible to a filmmaker. It goes against every instinct I have, frankly. So if you have a convincing argument that you have held back until now, I think you should share it.”

Isabel took a sip of her wine. “I understand your reluctance. Part of creating a documentary is getting a subject to trust you. I’m not an expose journalist out to create sensational bylines.” She let a moment pass before continuing. “A large part of creating a compelling documentary is to figure out how to encourage or allow the subject to tell their story. It’s about showcasing or revealing a way of life. If it’s done well, the subject is immensely proud of the final product or film. Ultimately, that is the goal.”

He watched as she toyed with the stem of her wineglass. “The process must be complicated by having a variety of viewpoints.”

She smiled at him and he could feel his blood pressure rise. “Having differing viewpoints adds interest and depth.”

He reminded himself not to be drawn to her. “Why would I want to allow this film?”

Isabel placed her fork down. “I think any time you cast a spotlight on an industry or way of life, you have the opportunity to increase understanding or support. I would think that would be good for business.”

He was surprised by how easily the conversation flowed between them. “So you think the public relations aspects of this project are enough to convince me to override my natural sense of privacy?”

“Not entirely. My relationship with my grandfather should convince you that I intend to portray the best the industry has to offer. He struggled his entire life to keep his quarry afloat. Finally in some small way I’ll be able to honor his contributions. And there must be countless others who have worked exceedingly hard without any recognition. By allowing me to create this film, you’ll be giving back to the men who have helped shape Carrara.”

It was impossible to ignore her captivating smile and engaging demeanor. He knew that he could speak with her for hours without getting bored or restless. But he had to be careful not to be tempted by her. She had tradition written all over her and he knew Alberto was clamoring for her in the background. While she may be skilled at producing documentaries, he didn’t want to become her next subject. He much preferred to live his life in obscurity.

“If I decide to allow you access to the Santoro Quarry then it must be with the understanding that I have final approval on all elements of the work—images, content. Everything.”

He watched as her eyes sparked with frustration. “This won’t work if you intend to force-feed the information to me. It needs to naturally evolve.”

He attempted to placate her. “You’ll have the vastness of the canyon at your disposal. But as I’m giving you access to my employees and work environment, I need a measure of control or oversight.”

Isabel tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and shot him a look of disbelief across the table but remained silent.

“We’ll need to travel and work closely together over the next six weeks, so I have a few other ground rules. I’m willing to have you spend time at the quarry and conduct interviews, but I’ll not allow others to travel there.”

“I work with a team. Often the collaboration is what sparks new ideas,” Isabel said.

“Those are my terms. You can send work back to your colleagues for editing, but travel to the quarry will be limited to you.”

He gave her a moment to adjust to the idea before saying, “We’ll leave by the end of next week. You can begin right away at my design firm in Boston. Several of my employees have come from Carrara and work here on commissioned sculptures.”

After a brief silence, Marc continued. “I’ll have my assistant put together a cocktail party next week to officially announce the project.”

Isabel met his gaze. “This all seems to be moving at such a fast pace.”

He nodded. “Alberto may have helped you gain access, but you’ll need to prove yourself. I expect you to work exceedingly hard to produce a high quality film.”

He watched as her eyes darkened. “You won’t be disappointed.”

He asked his housekeeper to call the driving service and led Isabel outside through the front foyer. They spoke for a few minutes about Carrara, and when the car arrived he said goodnight and watched her walk down the path.

He knew that if he were being rational he wouldn’t have given her permission to film in his quarry, but there was something so captivating about her that he didn’t want to deny himself the pleasure of seeing her again. Still, he reminded himself to keep her at a distance or she would want him to reveal his family’s tragic past—and he had no desire to go down that road. The past was best left buried.

Chapter 2

Isabel hurried into her parents’ delicatessen late after a sleepless night. The lunch crowd had already poured into the small space, forming a long line almost to the door. Keeping her head down, she quickly maneuvered past the crowd and slipped behind the counter.

As she tied a crisp, white apron around her waist, she could feel the displeasure radiating in waves from her mother. Her family didn’t support her new career as a filmmaker. Even completing her master’s degree with top honors didn’t impress them. They thought producing documentaries was too uncertain of an occupation.

“I’m sorry, Mama.”

“It would be better if I hired a stranger. Maybe they would show up on time instead of chasing after dreams,” Carla Neri said as she rang up the next customer.

Her older brother, James, was busy making sandwiches while keeping up a steady, playful banter with each customer. Isabel washed her hands and began placing the ordered sandwich along with the antipasto or olives on each plate and handing it to the customer. She tried to stay conscious of the orders being called out, but her mind kept wandering to filming in Carrara.

As her body went through the mechanics of preparing and serving food, Isabel listened for her brother to give her directions. She carefully prepped each salad and arranged the green picholine olives or fresh mozzarella on the plate, working with her brother, often smiling back when he winked at her in silent acknowledgement.

She could hear a man conversing with James in Italian and looked up in surprise. It was a rarity when her grandfather would come into the deli. Turning her attention back to the plate she was preparing, she heard him say, “Isabel,
espresso, per favore
.”