Mistress of the Game

The general assumption was that that person would be Max.

But in the new economic world order, assumptions were made to be broken.

Within a week of starting work in the Internet division, Max knew he had made a mistake. During the summer of his and Lexi’s last internships, it had looked like the Internet sector was about to enter into a second period of rapid growth. Real estate, by contrast, was long overdue a correction. This combined with the fact that it had always been one of Kruger-Brent’s least dynamic businesses was what had prompted him to railroad Lexi into it.

Unfortunately, by the time the cousins graduated from business school and joined Kruger-Brent full-time, the market had performed another of its disconcerting backflips. Jim Bruton had done his best to stem the tide of losses. But when Max showed up for his first day at work, Kruger-Brent’s Internet division was hemorrhaging money so fast, he was plunged into twenty-four-hour damage control.

Meanwhile, Lexi and August Sandford had galvanized the sleepy real-estate division and were making money hand over fist. Under August’s guidance, Kruger-Brent extended its reach into Europe and Asia. While Max was locked away with auditors in a windowless office in Manhattan, Lexi was flying all over the world, to Tokyo, Paris, Hong Kong and Madrid, clinching deal after deal in property. She made sure the press knew about every one of her successes.

Lexi knew that media interest in her could be a double-edged sword. On the one hand, of course, it was flattering. When she was a teenager, paparazzi followed her everywhere. She was America’s sweetheart: brave, beautiful and blessed. Her face was on the cover of countless magazines. All across the country, large numbers of baby girls were being christened Alexandra. Lexi could not remember a time when she hadn’t been famous. She could not imagine what that might feel like, although she tried: to be anonymous, just another face in the crowd. Sometimes it seemed an appealing prospect.

Lexi was well aware that her fame had almost cost her her inheritance. Max had successfully used it against her, painting her to the Kruger-Brent board members as vacuous and a lightweight. It girl. Party girl. They had seemed like innocuous nicknames at first. But when Max outmaneuvered her for the Internet job, Lexi woke up with a jolt to just how damaging they could be.

I already have two strikes against me. I’m deaf. And I’m a woman. Three strikes and I’ll be out.

From that day onward, Lexi worked hard to redefine her relationship with the media. Like all American heroines-all the ones who lasted, anyway-she was a mistress at the art of reinvention. Just as Madonna had gone from crucifix-wearing nymphomaniac to patron saint of Kabbalah in a heartbeat, so Party Girl Lexi was erased from America’s memory and replaced by a new creation: Businesswoman Lexi. Her face was still on the covers of magazines. But instead of InStyle and Us Weekly, Lexi now gazed down from newsstands from the cover of Time and Forbes.

Max tried vainly to raise his own profile, but it was no good. He hadn’t been kidnapped as a child. He hadn’t fought back bravely after losing his hearing in an explosion. In America’s eyes, he was just another rich, handsome trust-fund kid. Lexi was the star of the family, and her star was rising. Suddenly all the goodwill that Max had built up at Kruger-Brent in his teens seemed to count for nothing. Lexi had turned the tables, apparently without even trying. Unless something drastic changed soon, she was on course to become the firm’s next chairman.

Antonio Valaperti handed Lexi a solid silver Montblanc pen and watched her sign the contract. A gratified smile spread across his face.

Such a beautiful girl. It’s almost a shame to watch her signing away a fortune.

Almost…

Antonio Valaperti was the biggest property developer in Rome. Bigger even than the Mob. In his midsixties, with a vulpine face and small, watchful hazel eyes that missed nothing, he liked to boast at dinner parties that the last Roman to own as much of the city as he did was Julius Caesar. Antonio Valaperti had torn down slums and bulldozed churches. He had burrowed deep into the city’s ancient earth to build parking garages, and redefined her skyline with his apartment and office buildings. Half of Rome admired him as an innovator and visionary. The other half loathed him as a vandal. Antonio Valaperti was arrogant, brilliant and ruthless. He was tight with money, but enjoyed the good things in life: fine food, fast cars, beautiful women. He did not like Americans. But in the case of Lexi Templeton, he was prepared to make an exception.

“Now that our business is concluded, bella, perhaps we can turn our minds to pleasure?”

His eyes crawled over Lexi’s body like lice. She was wearing a formfitting Marchesa suit that did full justice to her voluptuous figure. Her cream silk blouse revealed the merest hint of lace detailing on her bra. Antonio Valaperti thought: She wants me. I’ve seen it a thousand times. She’s young, but she’s turned on by power. Perhaps that’s why she’s been so foolish with this deal? She’s too concerned about getting her pussy licked.

Lexi watched the old man across the table and suppressed the urge to laugh out loud.

There’s no fool like an old fool. He actually thinks I’m attracted to him!

After all the hype about Antonio Valaperti-the way August Sandford talked about him, you’d have thought the man had magical powers-Lexi was almost disappointed by how easy it had been to outsmart Rome’s answer to The Donald. She had just sold Valaperti what he believed to be highly valuable land just south of Villa Borghese Park, in one of the city’s most upscale residential areas. In fact, the forty-acre parcel was about to become all but worthless. With a few well-placed bribes, and the help of her trusty low-cut blouse-they should really put my cream silk Stella McCartney on the front page of Forbes, she thought. It’s saved Kruger-Brent a lot more money on this trip than I have-Lexi had discovered that all development permits within a kilometer radius of the Spanish Steps were about to be rescinded.