The rocky shores of St Jean Cap Ferrat were shimmering in the morning sun. A new day was beginning on the most exclusive resort of the French Riviera.
Cap Ferrat was the pride of those owning a property there, which could only result from a family inheritance as properties there had not been for sale since generations, and the envy of the jet set partying in other Mediterranean resorts but who could not, for all their millions, own but a suite at one of the two hotels of the island.

The family estates were big stone houses with private access to the sea through stairs carved in the rock. Bare footed and slightly shivering in the April breeze cooling her body still covered with water pearls, N. walked up the stairs leading from the pool to the mahogany deck in front of her house. The pool, filled with heated blue water spilled over the far edge into nothingness. When in that pool, N. had the sensation of being poised in the sky, or that she could swim until she reached the shores of Africa

The night before she had worked hours to prepare the board meeting of the Italian fashion design company of which she had recently been appointed CFO.
Marcello had offered her the Head of PR position, which she had declined ; she was already too exposed to public curiosity on account of her modeling job, even if the latter had become a part- time occupation over the last few years.

Concentrating on figures had prevented her from thinking too much of D.'s odd behavior the other night. When she had come to his office with the genuine intention to celebrate as friends she thought they had become, she had no anticipation of the arousal the gentle kiss she had given him, almost a fraternity kiss, would trigger. Actually, she would not have minded if they had made love then, in his office, on the wide polar bear rug stretching over the whole room.

However, D.'s reaction had been so weird. First returning her kiss, in a more passionate, almost hungry way, he had brutally pulled himself away as though grabbed by an invisible claw had put his hands over his face. His whole body was shaking as if he was sobbing, but no sound was coming out.
After he finally unburied his face, N. was shocked by his mixed expression of despair and anger. "You don't understand, do you?" he begged. "No, I don't". Having said that, N. had left the office, the building and three hours later, she was flying her private jet to Cap Ferrat.

At the very moment N. was making her way to the board meeting, staged at the Palermo head office, D. was himself departing from the Bourget airport.

He could not take N. out of his mind. He was still feeling queasy after what had happened that night at his office. The woman he loved was giving herself away to him, and he had turned her down. In the haze of his despair he wondered whether she could ever comprehend this was about safeguarding his self-determination, his peace of mind being long lost to her anyway. She had bewitched him body and soul, and if he gave up control over his desire, he would break the commitments he had taken to his company, to his board, by pledging to dedicate himself to the business and having no private life. It would be a betrayal to the values that had guided him to the top of the corporate world.

He arrived at Marcello's office. Marcello, the intriguing Italian businessman who had first stabbed him in the back and was now offering cooperation and access to a huge pool of cash, a move he did not understand and for once in his life, preferred not to dwell on.

"Mr Donough Ferrero will meet you in a couple of minutes", cooed a tall girl who looked more like an entertainer in a jet set night club than a top executive's personal assistant. "He is just finishing the board meeting of Dulce & Habanita". D. nodded politely. He knew that Marcello's conglomerate empire comprised very profitable fashion companies but had never been interested in that kind of stuff. Donatella, the PA, seemed to take her duty to heart as she was making conversation to D. "This is the first board meeting with the new CFO", she added, "everyone is very excited"

D. was distracted as his thoughts kept bringing him back to N. Where was she at that moment? Certainly on another glamorous photo shot. He did not see for that matter why a board could be excited about a new CFO. This was all business as usual. An outburst of applause brought him back to reality. Those Italians were funny people indeed ; never had he heard board members cheering. Soon the heavy door opened and men with extravagant suits and even more astounding ties were ushered out by Donatella's clones. Leading the small crowd, a fair haired woman, demurely dressed in a dark trouser suit, was outshining all their fashionista outfits.

Marcello was holding her arm, a large smile on his more than naturally tanned face. He stepped towards D. "May I introduce Miss N., who has just unveiled the most remarkable financial results since I founded this company. Indeed a job well done".