Heartbreak in Rio

Sidney helped herself to a glass of lukewarm water from the pitcher sitting on the credenza against the wall. She was about to take a sip when she heard two men talking, their voices coming through the slightly open door. She froze with the glass halfway to her mouth and angled her head to hear better. One of the voices was heart-wrenchingly familiar.

She couldn’t understand the words, but there was no mistaking the tone; a sound she’d never be able to forget for as long as she lived.

It can’t be him, she thought even as her heart hammered a rapid beat under her ribs. Surely her ears were playing tricks on her.

The men continued talking but their footsteps came to a halt somewhere down the hall. With ears perked up and heart thumping wildly, Sidney stood frozen, clutching the slender glass. It had to be some cruel trick of the mind. She simply hadn’t expected to see him. Wasn’t at all prepared to see him.

The men started moving again and they came closer, and closer, until they pushed open the door and her stomach bottomed out. Her fondest dream and worst nightmare stood only a few feet away.

Rodrigo stood by the door talking to Gilberto Ribeiro. Both men were so deeply engaged in their conversation that they didn’t notice her standing by the window. Finally, Rodrigo happened to look in her direction, but still she couldn’t move. Dark eyes nailed her in place and she suddenly stopped breathing.

He had the kind of look that made women swoon and men envious. His swarthy skin, naturally tanned, was even and smooth. With a symmetrical face and prominent nose passed down from his Portuguese ancestors, he looked as though he should be on the covers of magazines.

Slowly, Sidney set her glass on the credenza. “Hello, Rodrigo.” Was that her voice, sounding faint and breathless?

“Sidney…?” His voice echoed the same shock that filled her.

Before she could respond, Gilberto rushed forward. “Ah, Senhora Altman. I apologize for keeping you waiting. But it seems you are good, yes?”

Rodrigo came toward her, his steps measured, his eyes never leaving her face. His movement was graceful, fluid. The type of movement that came not only from his affinity for sports, but from the quiet confidence that whispered of growing up with copious amounts of money at his disposal and all the privileges that came along with it.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Senhora Altman is a sales representative from Haute Moderne, a small New York fashion house,” Gilberto answered, looking confused by their reaction to each other. “They have the line I mentioned we were interested in purchasing.”

“You never told me the fashion house was Haute Moderne.” His words were meant for Gilberto, but he continued to stare at her in disbelief.

He spoke with perfect diction, hinting at his affluent background and years in private schools where he’d learned to speak Spanish, English and French in addition to his native Portuguese. The cadence of his cultured voice sent heat feathering across her skin, and it was all Sidney could do not to close her eyes and indulge in the sound.

Her nose caught a waft of his cologne, a very masculine scent that was a mixture of amber, citrus and sandalwood. You couldn’t get it in the States. You couldn’t get it anywhere, in fact, because it had been specially created for him. That was the kind of life he led, where manufacturers of cologne would create a signature scent for him that no one else could have. Her heart constricted painfully at the familiarity of it. She’d done so well since they’d said goodbye to one another, but her hard-won composure threatened to desert her with his unexpected appearance.

He inspected her from head to toe, the leisurely stroll of his gaze generating heat wherever it lingered. On her waist. On her breasts. On her throat where she swallowed nervously to maintain some level of control over the out-of-control response of her body.

Rodrigo was not the kind of man to hide his appreciation for the female form, and he had a habit of doing just that, appreciating. It was typical of men of his culture, to offer such a frank appreciation of women. His perusal had always made her feel deliciously feminine, and the same tingly sensations resurfaced in the pit of her stomach.

“You look well,” he said, a grudging note to his voice.

“Thank you. You look well, too.” Her voice softened as she tried to maintain her professionalism. “You do business with Belo?”

“You could say that.” His cryptic answer gave her pause.

Gilberto spoke up. “In the past few weeks, Moda and Belo have become partners. We haven’t made a formal announcement to the media yet, but we feel this is a good marriage. Moda bought all our stores and now, with their high-end fashions and our everyday clothing lines, we are most certainly the largest retailer in Brazil.” Gilberto’s smiling face indicated that he had no idea of the devastating news he’d just delivered.

“You…you’ve been bought by Moda?” She squeaked the words out.

“Yes.” Gilberto nodded vigorously. “We were concentrated in a few key cities in the country, but now Haute Moderne’s clothes have the potential to be in stores all over Latin America!”

His excitement was palpable but not contagious. A wave of panic seized Sidney as she realized what was happening. If Moda had taken over Belo Fashions, that spelled trouble for the deal she was trying to strike with them. There was no way Rodrigo would agree to the sale—not when he knew that she was involved. From the smug look on his face, she knew he’d connected the dots.

Still in disbelief, she had to ask to make sure. “You own Belo now?”

“That’s correct,” Rodrigo said.

No, no. This can’t be happening.

“I will be sitting in on this presentation,” he continued with deliberate slowness, “and we’ll have to make sure the line is a good fit for the stores before any contracts are signed.”

Sidney felt the deal she’d been so confident about only moments before quickly slip through her grasp.