Loving the Boss: Gems of Love, #1

By Agnes Canestri

Island Bliss, New Beginnings - Because dodging heartbeats when sparks fly? Mission: Improbable!

Eleni desperately craves a fresh start, much like a mermaid craves Wi-Fi under the sea. Saying 'au revoir' to her ballet career with a dramatic plié, she pirouettes into teaching dance at a postcard-worthy tropical resort. But as her feet touch the island's sands, she finds herself caught in Matteo's gaze – a diving instructor with eyes deeper than the Mariana Trench. Determined to dodge heartache, Eleni plans to resist Matteo's effect like a dieter avoiding the dessert table.

 

Matteo embraces the waves but shies from love's undertow. He's crafting the world's best freediving school, steering clear of emotional currents. Yet, when Eleni lands at the diving center, their certainties float away like a lost flip-flop. Amidst turquoise waters and swaying palms, their hearts waltz like synchronized swimmers. Job ambitions and love's boundaries blur like a beach sunset on Instagram.

 

Can Eleni and Matteo navigate the choppy waters of romance to a joyful finale?

 

Immerse yourself in 'Loving the Boss,' a heartwarming love tale that whisks you on a tempestuous journey. Join Eleni and Matteo as they navigate love's unpredictable waters, spiced with tropical charm and a splash of playful romance!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Agnes Canestri
• Release date: Oct 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9783949202155

Book preview

Chapter One

(Matteo)

The darn plane had decided to be fashionably late. Seriously, of all the times for a flight to play hard to get, it had to choose today?

I shuffled the paper sign from my left hand to my right and shot a glance at my watch. Classic me, always early for the party, even when the party was running late.

I couldn't help but wonder why I had let James talk me into this gig again. I wasn't a taxi driver, even if the resort manager seemed to have a different opinion. But here I was, designated chauffeur for the glamorous arrivals on Triquol Island, the place where tourists found paradise and I found a part-time headache.

A vibrant poster at the entrance of the waiting area practically sparkled with smugness. A scene of a pristine lagoon with an empty hammock, all lit up like it had just won the lottery. On top of it, there were these golden letters that had probably been sipping champagne while they were designed, declaring: "Welcome to Triquol Island, the place you’ll never want to leave."

I stifled a snort. Yeah, right. They forgot to mention that this paradise came with an expiry date for the workers.

The intercom decided to grace us with the news that the Boston flight had finally landed. Thank the tropical gods. My checklist was a mile long, and I had to whip the diving club into shape before the new season kicked in. Hugo, my trusty assistant (if you can call a guy who can't even swim trusty), was probably botching up the bookings for the upcoming diving escapades. I could practically feel the heat of frustration crawling up my neck.

Hugo might be a friendly bloke, but when it came to business sense, he was about as useful as a fish on a bicycle. Why the heck he had been handed the diving center gig in the first place was beyond me. Seriously, who makes these decisions?

I let out a heavy sigh as I leaned against the wall, the paper sign slipping from my grasp and fluttering to the floor like a discarded secret. I bent down to pick it up, my eyes wandering to the name scribbled on it: Helena Whitemaker. The fresh meat from the animation team, probably another one of those brainless cuties I had the pleasure of chauffeuring last week. There was definitely something fishy with the hiring process at Deep Blue Resort. If it were up to me, we'd have a higher bar for entry.

But, alas, the powers that be didn't consult me on these matters. Time ticked away, and I glanced at my watch again. Five minutes to noon. If Helena could just grab her baggage at superhuman speed, maybe I could squeeze in a quick dive before the sun decided to call it a day. A mental image of the treasure map in my office made my heart race. Maybe today is the day. Maybe today is when I finally uncover the fabled Pearl.

A buzzing sound yanked my attention leftward, and the sliding doors swung open to reveal a slender, blonde figure. She rubbed her eyes like she'd been in a staring contest with the sun, then scanned the area. As soon as she spotted my sign, her face lit up, and she breezed over with not one, but two hefty bags in tow. Stray strands of hair broke free from her tight bun and played peek-a-boo with her cheeks.

Hey, I'm Helena Whitemaker. But you've probably got that memo. Her finger jabbed at the sign, her grin a mixture of charm and mischief.

I mustered my patience and dished out the standard opening line, Flight treat you well, Helena?

Helena was the eye candy I'd anticipated, but there was something extra simmering beneath the surface. Couldn't quite put my finger on it, but she didn't seem like the typical resort crowd. I took a closer look, searching for clues.

Maybe it was the eyes. Not your usual shade, these irises shimmered like a high-end bottle of French champagne, the kind you'd only pop open for the posh parties. My father used to splurge on that stuff during special occasions, like my farewell bash before my grand move to Triquol. Or maybe it was the tiny smile lines etched on the corners of her mouth, like cheerful parentheses that suggested she knew how to enjoy life.

As if on cue, she beamed at me. Landing was a bit rocky, but hey, it's over. By the way, you can call me Eleni. Helena feels like I should be wearing a monocle. She paused, then winked. How about you? Or is that classified information?

Right, I'd been so busy analyzing her that I forgot my own intro. I quickly folded the paper sign and jammed it into my back pocket. Sorry, my mind's in a whirl. I'm Matteo Biagi, and I'm your ride to the Deep Blue Resort.

I extended my hand, and Eleni gave it a firm shake. Her fingers were cool and soft, a stark contrast to my own rough palm.

Pleasure to meet you, Matteo. Your name is Italian, right?

My brows shot up. Good ear you've got. Dad's from the old continent, but I grew up in California. Italy was a yearly pilgrimage during school breaks. We've still got family near Naples, in a charming little village named Casa Bella.

Abort, Matteo. Why was I spilling family secrets to a stranger? Especially about Casa Bella, the town I hadn't mentioned in years, the place I'd spent chunks of my childhood.

Eleni seemed to find my chatter amusing, her lips curving even more. Sounds like a dream. Europe's on my list, but for some future adventure.

Future adventure? Hadn't she just arrived on this island? I shook my head, mentally reprimanding myself for fixating on inconsequentials. Eleni was a new face in my world, so why was I burning brain cells on her globetrotting dreams? My mission was ferrying her to the resort, not dissecting her travel aspirations.

Maybe Eleni wasn't in it for the long resort haul, but me? I was committed—like, until-I-found-that-elusive-Pearl committed.

Got it, I chimed, my tone determined, ready to curb the chitchat. Best of luck with your dreams. But hey, we've got a date with the hotel, so let's hit the road. My car's ready and waiting outside.

Eleni's lips pressed together, a hint of tension in her jaw. Oops, had I brushed off her words too briskly? Nah, I was just being the voice of reason. We couldn't loiter around the airport all day. Not when Hugo was probably massacring my meticulously organized client files and potentially sipping his perpetually drippy OJ right over my precious map.

Eleni grabbed her bags' handles, and a wink accompanied her words. Sure thing, boss. Lead the way, and I'll be your loyal follower.

Crisis averted. With a mental pat on the back, I gestured toward her suitcases. Here, let me take those. They look heavy. You head straight for the main door, and I'll catch up.

Eleni nodded, a smile playing at her lips. Thanks, that's really kind.

As her fingers slipped from the bags' handles, they brushed against my arm's underside. A soft tingle danced across my skin.

First the babbling, now a spark of electricity? What was happening here? She pulled her hand back, as if she, too, had felt the jolt. Then she spun around and marched toward the exit, my grip on the bags and a thousand questions trailing behind.

After a few steps, it dawned on me that letting Eleni lead might have been a questionable decision. Her white pants clung to her hips in a way that made it hard to look away. But ogling wasn't my style. So, in an effort not to be caught staring, I forced my gaze downward, focusing on her shoes.

Thankfully, she hadn't gone for the heels. A sigh of relief escaped me. I still had the image of that brunette, stumbling down the sandy road like a clown on stilts, etched in my memory.

Suddenly, Eleni spun around. What's so funny?

I barely realized I'd chuckled at the memory until her eyes met mine, and my jaw hung ajar. The sunlight made Eleni's eyes gleam, not like my dad's favored treat, but more like the fresh honey my sister Bianca used for her famous biscuits.

What really threw me off wasn't just the chameleon-like quality of Eleni's irises, but the way they resurrected memories of my family. I cleared my throat, masking my bewilderment. Oh, nothing. Just reminiscing about a time when I had to pick up one of your colleagues. Poor girl wasn't exactly dressed for a tropical stroll.

Eleni arched an eyebrow. And I am?

Her question practically dared me to give her the once-over. So I obliged, taking my sweet time.

Eleni blushed and waved her hand dismissively. You know what? Don't answer that. She scanned her surroundings. So, where to from here?

I pointed across the road at a vibrant red Suzuki Jeep. Our chariot awaits.

Getting to the car, I attempted to cram Eleni's oversized bags into the trunk, only to discover they had no intention of cooperating. Hadn't I told James about this? Should've just sent the shuttle.

Frustration bubbling, I yanked out the heavier bag and let it thud onto the pavement. Looks like you've brought half your closet. You sure you're here to work and not vacation?

Eleni's brows furrowed, but she didn't respond. Instead, she swung open the car door, grabbed her bag from the ground, and pushed it onto the backseat. There, with just one, you'll manage. She climbed into the car, slamming the door.

I scratched my head, my lips twitching. Eleni was definitely not your average animator type. I'd misjudged her, let her job title cloud my perception. Despite her stunning appearance, she packed more sass and spirit than I'd initially thought.

Stuffing her other bag into the trunk, I sealed it shut. Sliding into the driver's seat, I watched as Eleni stretched her arms above her head and waved her hands, as if she could capture the island's essence through her fingertips. This place is enchanting. The scent… She inhaled deeply, eyes closing. It's almost intoxicating.

I stole a glance at her, my lips curving into a smile. There was a time when I had that same wonder in my eyes. Over the months, I'd become accustomed to the island's magic, but I still felt a twinge of appreciation for its unique beauty. You haven't seen anything yet. Just wait until we're at the resort. They don't call it Deep Blue for nothing.

The Deep Blue, Eleni mused, savoring the name on her tongue. Her eyes sparkled as she opened them, beaming at me.

Her enthusiasm warmed my insides. Despite her bag-laden priorities, there was something more to Eleni than met the eye. An image of my sister's freckled grin flashed through my mind. Bianca would've given me an earful for jumping to conclusions.

Then, a beastly growl reverberated through the air, followed by a primal howl.

Eleni shivered, her fingers latching onto my arm. What was that?

My eyes dropped to her hand, her touch catching me off guard. Just a howler monkey. You'll get used to it.

She looked down, releasing her grip as if she'd just realized she was clinging to me. Her cheeks flushed, and she mumbled an apology.

Most animator girls at the resort had nerves of steel. Some of them had mastered the art of flirting on autopilot, a skill set tailored perfectly for dealing with wealthy guests who were usually three drinks deep and loaded with suggestive comments and wandering hands.

It was the ideal job for someone like Rosalie. But Eleni, she had an air of authenticity about her. I couldn't quite figure out why she'd joined James' team. But hey, we all had our reasons. Just like me—here because of the resort's paying guests, not some burning passion for guest entertainment.

With that in mind, I turned the ignition key. Ready to roll?

Eleni inhaled deeply. Absolutely, let's do this.

Chapter Two

(Eleni)

The Jeep gave a jerk that pressed me against the seat, and I had to rearrange my balance like a tipsy gymnast. I swiveled my head slightly, sneaking a peek at my road companion like a covert agent on a mission.

Matteo gripped the wheel like he was holding onto life itself, laser-focused on the road. My gaze traveled up his arms, taut like over-stretched elastic bands, to his strong jawline, and finally up to his hair—black strands shimmering like a freshly oiled raven under the blazing tropical sun.

Good grief, talk about easy on the eyes. I swallowed hard and chided myself for letting my focus wander. I wasn't here to swoon over the first handsome stranger that came my way. Those tingles earlier? Probably just my body's way of telling me jet lag had hit with a vengeance.

I took a lungful of the air, rife with a blend of exotic scents. And here I was, after all the chaos, finally on this island, ready to give my life a makeover.

Sure, did you mean totally screw it up?

My best friend Laura's sassy voice echoed in my head, punctuated with her classic brand of cheeky realism. She had a knack for calling a spade a spade. Or in my case, a misadventure a total disaster. Not that I was bitter about her calling this escapade "the worst decision of my life. Nah, it probably topped even my stepmom's elegant label of a hurried decision made in a moment of desperation."

The sandy dunes drifted by in a lazy blur, each grain a reminder of the road ahead.

Would this tropical gig be my ticket to happiness? The jury was still out. But thanks to Connor's mind-boggling betrayal, I was pretty much stuck on this island. Had to escape the ballet school, the gossip mill, and the sympathetic glances.

Plus, Laura couldn't exactly play the objective card—she was Connor's sister after all. But then again, my family wasn't a paragon of impartiality either. They believed they knew what was best for me. Yet, it wasn't their confidence I had to rebuild from scratch; it was my own after getting blindsided by betrayal.

I snorted, squaring my shoulders.

Matteo's brow arched. Did you say something?

Instinctively, I clamped my palm over my mouth. Had my snort been too conspicuous? Oh, no. Just, you know, marveling at the... I glanced around for something noteworthy. The dunes.

Matteo barely contained a chuckle. Right, they're quite the sight when they're all sun-kissed yellow.

Fidgeting with my seat belt, I couldn't help but wonder if he was poking fun at me. There was something about this guy—part cynic, part charmer—that made my brain race with fantasies while simultaneously raising my internal alert level.

So, Matteo, part of the resort crew, huh?

Yep, he affirmed, pointing at his chest, where the hotel's logo adorned his white shirt.

Official chauffeur?

Matteo's jaw stiffened, his tone going frosty. Driving you, yes. Official driver, no.

Oops, engage brain before opening mouth. Gotcha. Sorry about that. My bad. So, you're also in the animation crew?

He looked like the textbook definition of the future colleagues I'd soon be rubbing shoulders with—fit, healthy, and easy on the eyes. But judging by his expression, he wasn't buying into my mental casting.

His lips tightened into a thin line. Nope, not quite. Seriously, do I come across as the cheerleader type to you?

Well, that was blunt. A smirk tugged at my lips. Apologies if my upcoming gig offends your refined sensibilities.

His gaze softened. No, I'm the one who should be sorry. Didn't mean to be rude. It's just that prancing around all day with a fake smile for the rich and pampered isn't exactly my cup of tea.

No kidding. That didn't sound like my dream job either. But then again, my role was a tad more specific than being a human glitter dispenser. Ah, no worries. Animators have diverse roles. My task involves taking care of kids in the club and teaching them some dance moves.

His eyebrows danced upward. Really? Well, brace yourself for disappointment. We hardly get any guests under thirty.

Wait, what? No kids? The guy on the phone had sworn I'd be knee-deep in little rascals, too occupied to even breathe.

I raised my chin. Maybe the resort's diversifying its clientele?

Matteo leaned back with a smirk. Sure thing. Maybe I've missed the management memos. You could be their secret weapon to tap into the family market.

I'm sold. A flutter of doubt tugged at me, but I pushed it aside. Still, I didn't need a handsome stranger's skepticism before even setting foot in the resort. I mean, who wouldn't have reservations about flying off to a tropical island to work in a high-end hotel with zero experience in the hospitality business?

Matteo grinned with a touch of mischief. Well, that settles it then.

Without warning, I retaliated with a poke to his ribs. Take that for making fun of me.

He roared with laughter. Once he'd caught his breath, he reached over with a mischievous glint. Payback time.

His fingers brushed my shoulder, sending an electric shock across my skin. Nope, this wasn't the jet lag's doing. My natural defense mechanism kicked in—a high-pitched squeak—and I scooted to the edge of my seat, a safe distance from his tickle zone. No, no, no! I'm crazy ticklish!

His dimples deepened with a genuine smile, the first one since we met. His eyes