Read Lonzo: Book 1 (Tycoon Series Book 1) for Free Online Page A

position paper without even meeting the woman! I can’t believe you really despise womenfolk like that.”
    “I don’t hate them. I’m no misogynist. They are thoroughly enjoyable in another exercise. See, I just happen to know them too well. I know how they operate. Unlike some people I know, I will never allow a woman to take the reins.” There was finality in his voice when he said every word. “You should know better, my friend. Run. Now. There’s still time.”
    Rocco just sat there grinning as he listened to Lonzo’s rant.
    “Never say the word never, man. It may bite you in the end,” he said with a smirk. “I should know. It bit me.”
    “You wish, you ass. Okay, I’ll be at your shackling ceremony. Not for your sake but for your madre .”
    Rocco’s grin grew bigger.
    “Don’t forget to wear a monkey suit. My bride insisted and Mama concurred.”
    “I already said I’ll be there! Now get out of my office before I call my security guys and have your sorry ass thrown out.”
    Rocco was too pleased with his acquiesce, whistling on his way out of Lonzo’s office.
    “You will be singing a different tune a year from now. By then, you’ll come to your senses and will be begging me to give you Capolinera’s number,” Lonzo called out, referring to the best divorce lawyer in Rome.
    But it seemed that no amount of insult can knock that stupid, happy look on Rocco’s face. He had seen that exact same look on the faces of his unsuspecting male friends who were hypnotized into marriage.
    “No, by next year, I will be the one ribbing you for putting on the shackles, my old friend. No doubt about it. And Lonzo, please don’t be late. You won’t be upsetting my dear old Mama, will you?” Rocco was really squeezing every drop of enjoyment from his visit.
    “Go fuck off,” Lonzo said in a parting shot.
    He heard Rocco’s loud laugh from outside his office, reinforcing his assumption that his friend’s head was whacked.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
    She flew in from London yesterday just for this shoot and after toiling ten hours under the bright studio lights, Jordana was happy it was over. Another Vogue cover to add to her already thick modeling book.
    Anna Wintour herself came to preside over the entire affair—her vision of Zen elegance captured with each still she bestowed with glacier approval.
    Wintour was such a taskmaster. Everyone on the set were jumping on her command, and that included the photographer. It was no wonder her previous assistant so loved and hated her that the same assistant wrote a semi-autobiographical book about the legendary Vogue editor. Regardless of her reputation as a she-devil-in-Prada, Jordana respected the mercurial fashion editor. She’d like to think that Anna felt the same about her. Francesca said it was always Anna who’d asked for her. That she considered her over fellow supermodels and A-list celebs spoke volumes.
    She gave a sigh of relief when the rented limo took her back to the hotel.
    She was exhausted. While she managed to snatch several hours of sleep in flight, she was still jet-lagged. Her whole body ached. Even her skin felt tight from fatigue.
    She took the private lift to her assigned floor. She was almost asleep on her feet as she swiped the electronic key card of the room.
    After a quick shower, she hit the sack and was sleeping soundly when her phone rang just before midnight. It was Francesca. Jordana was tempted not to take the call but changed her mind.
    “Sugar, you’re still up?” the other woman asked.
    Jordana grunted an unintelligible reply.
    “Listen, Albert Mulroney of Calvin Klein called. It’s kind of urgent. They are launching Aurora next month. Oh, it’s their new signature fragrance for women. FYI.”
    “What’s it got to do with me, Francesca?” she asked grumpily. She was dead-tired and in tremendous need of a good night sleep.
    Francesca appeared or pretended not to notice her crabbiness.
    Her