Caroselli's Baby Chase Read Free

sex.
    Oh, well. At least it had been really good cheap sex. And in her own defense, she’d hit the minibar in her room before she had even ventured downstairs and had been more than a little drunk. It was possible that he wasn’t even as good-looking as she thought. Or that great of a lover.
    She wasn’t sure if that should make her feel better or worse.
    She had been in Chicago barely forty-eight hours, and already she’d invited a strange man up to her room, had sex and had gotten dumped. That had to be some kind of world record.
    But Ron—if that was really his name—wasn’t totally to blame. She did have the tendency to come on a little strong, and sometimes men took it the wrong way. Under normal circumstances she was outspoken. Get her a little tipsy and she had the tendency to say things she probably shouldn’t. According to her stepfather, her sassy mouth had been her biggest problem. And his cure for that had always been a solid crack across said mouth with the back of his hand.
    She didn’t recall everything she and Ron had discussed that night, but she seemed to remember some of it being very personal in nature.
    “This is it,” the cab driver said as the car rolled to a stop outside Caroselli Chocolate headquarters. As soon as the contracts were signed, and a timetable set, she would look for an apartment or condo to lease. There was nothing she hated more than living out of suitcases for extended periods of time.
    She paid him, grabbed her briefcase, climbed out of the cab and walked to the revolving front door, the damp cold seeping through her coat, the heels of her pumps clicking against the slushy pavement. She pushed her way inside, into a lobby of glass, stainless steel and marble, and walked to the guard station, the alluring scent of chocolate drawing her gaze to the gift shop at the other end of the lobby.
    “Caroline Taylor. I’m here for a meeting,” she told the guard.
    “Good morning, Ms. Taylor. They’re expecting you.” He handed her a name badge that said “Guest,” which she clipped to the lapel of her suit jacket. “Take the elevator behind me up to the third floor and see the receptionist.”
    “Thank you.” She walked to the elevator, back straight, head high. There was no lack of security cameras, and it was critical to make a good impression the second she walked in the door. Despite her reputation, and her impeccable record for getting the job done, some people, men of a certain era in particular, sometimes doubted her abilities. And this being a family business, she had no doubt that she would be working with several generations of Carosellis.
    As she rode up to the third floor she shrugged out of her overcoat and draped it over her arm. When the doors slid open she stepped out of the elevator into another reception area. A young woman whose nameplate announced her as Sheila Price was seated behind a large desk, and beside her stood an attractive, older gentleman in a very expensive, exquisitely tailored suit. Considering his age, and the air of authority he exuded, she was guessing he was one of the three Caroselli brothers, the sons of Giuseppe who now ran the company.
    She walked to the desk, nervous energy propelling her steps. She hadn’t planned to expand her business outside the West Coast area for another year or two, but Caroselli Chocolate was the largest and most prestigious company to approach her thus far, and when they called, it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Of course, if she botched it up, it would decimate her reputation and probably destroy her career.
    But that wasn’t going to happen.
    “Welcome, Ms. Taylor,” the man said, stepping forward to greet her. “I’m Demitrio Caroselli.”
    “It’s a pleasure,” she said, shaking his hand, a little surprised that the CEO himself was there to greet her.
    “Can I take your coat?” Sheila asked.
    “Yes, thank you,” she said, handing it over.
    “Everyone is waiting for us in the