and her infatuation was comically unwelcome.
She had avoided him ever since. When she had seen him, usually at one of his mother’s Christmas parties, which she was obliged to attend, she had made sure to keep out of his way. Not difficult, as Claudia Loro’s parties were not small affairs.
She couldn’t imagine what her mother had been thinking, getting her involved in this exercise, but then Grace had always seen him as a nice young man who had made something of himself and not rested on the laurels of that golden spoon that had been firmly wedged in his mouth the day he had been born.
She watched the busy hum of people working fade behind her as she followed Patricia towards the directors’ muted, tasteful offices. The building was short and squat, interestingly fashioned around a central courtyard. The sheer size of the place made it a goodish distance to where Rafe had his office, because the directors’ quarters were located on the same level but another wing.
‘Brought you the long way,’ Patricia was explaining. ‘I thought you might be interested in seeing other sides of the company. What we left behind is the financial department.’
Sophie nodded, dazed by the opulence and dreading her destination.
Her heart was thumping by the time they finally arrived at a closed door, with a simple gilded plaque on it bearing Rafael’s name.
‘At least you’re a family friend.’ Patricia smiled. ‘You’ll probably lift him out of his black mood.’
Sophie considered that a seriously misguided statement. She had a sinking feeling about what had instigated the black mood in the first place, and she wasn’t surprised, when she was at last ushered into his hallowed office, to be greeted with an atmosphere that could freeze fire.
‘I’ll take it from here, Patricia,’ he said, giving a fast-quailing Sophie the full brunt of his devastating stare.
He had amazing eyes. She had always thought so. A vivid memory of being a young teenager, and fantasising about those eyes being directed at her, filled her cheeks with a bloom of uncomfortable colour. Green eyes, dramatic against his swarthy colouring and black hair. His father’s eyes, because the rest of him was all his mother’s Italian ancestry. The dark hair, the olive complexion, the strong, aggressive, uniquely foreign features.
She gathered herself quickly, although she didn’t move any closer into the room, just remained where she was, hovering as the door was quietly shut behind her. Patricia had taken her coat from her and pegged it in the outside room. Without it, she felt inadequate and suddenly vulnerable under that intense, unflinching gaze.
‘Sit down, Sophie,’ he said finally, nodding to the chair in front of his desk.
As soon as she was sitting, he leaned forward, linking his fingers together, and spoke in a very soft, razor-sharp voice.
‘I won’t beat about the bush,’ he told her. ‘I don’t want you here and the only reason you’re sitting on that chair in front of this desk is because I was railroaded into it by my mother. I am an extremely busy man and I have no time to take care of someone walking in my shadow for a fortnight, but I had no choice.’
Sophie refused to shrink under those cool eyes, even though at this point she could think of nothing more enjoyable than being swallowed up by the ground.
‘I realise that it’s inconvenient for you, Rafe, but this whole thing was arranged without my consent either.’
He gave a short, disbelieving laugh, but let it drop.
‘My schedule is intense.’ He shoved a piece of paper over to her and Sophie’s eyes flicked over it. A timetable that seemed to leave little room to breathe. ‘You can follow me into my meetings, although I really can’t see what the point of the exercise is. I work hard, but that is information I could have provided for you in the space of a five-minute meeting.’ Rafe sat back and proceeded to look at her with an unreadable expression on his darkly handsome face.
Same old Sophie. Gauche, tongue-tied and dressed in the same unfortunate style as her mother. Still. He had made his position clear from the onset. He wasn’t going to babysit her simply because of the connection between their parents.
‘I already knew that you’re a workaholic, Rafe—’
‘I work hard. Quite different from being a workaholic.’
‘I’ll make a note of it.’ Her blue eyes clashed with his own and he was impressed to see that her gaze was as steady as his. Must be desperate for her job, he thought. Anyone with a semblance of pride would have ditched the venture by now.
‘How are you, anyway?’ he asked, changing the subject, and was irritated to see that her cool expression didn’t thaw even fractionally in the face of this attempt at pleasantries.
‘Is that a meaningful question? I mean, are you really interested in my well-being or are you just being polite now that you’ve told me how you feel about my presence here?’
‘I’ll get back to you on that one, shall I?’ He stood up, expecting her to follow suit, which she did. ‘Meetings call. First one is on the other side of London with a couple of directors from a company I’m planning on buying.’ He strode across to a cleverly concealed sliding walnut door, which she had barely noticed when she had entered his office, and extracted his coat, which he proceeded to shrug on. ‘I move fast,’ he said, briefly turning to her, ‘and I don’t intend to slow down so that you can catch up. If you insist on this ridiculous venture, then you either keep up or get left behind. I won’t come looking for you.’
‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’ Well, things had got off to a predictable start. He found her irritating and she disliked him. Put the two together and you were hardly going to get an easy ride, but in a way she decided that that made her job simpler. She would be able to detach herself and write a completely honest report without having to think about treading on eggshells out of consideration for him.
With that in mind, she snatched her coat from the peg in the outside office, making sure to keep on the move while she put it on, and kept pace with him, asking no questions, letting her impressions take the driving seat.
He talked, walked and reacted like a man accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. This came as no surprise. He had been like that even as a young teenager. She watched the reactions of other people as he strode through the offices, the way they involuntarily altered their body language in his passing presence. His towering personality radiated outwards like a forcefield, inspiring respect and possibly fear.
‘Are your days normally so hectic?’ she asked, once they were in the lift down.
‘Where’s your notepad? Shouldn’t you be writing down all my answers?’ The cool, velvety voice sent little prickles racing down her spine.
‘That’s not how I intend to handle it. I’m going to write up a report at the end of every evening and then when it’s all over, I’ll compile the real thing and submit it to my editor.’
‘Which would be after you show it to me. Correct?’
‘Naturally, nothing would go to print that hadn’t been given the go-ahead by you.’ Frankly, she hadn’t really thought about that at all, and now that he had mentioned it she wondered how honest an account she would be able to give. No one liked themselves displayed, warts and all, for the world to examine. The lift juddered to a stop, they emerged and it was only when they were inside the chauffeur-driven Jaguar, that she had the chance to continue the conversation. She resolutely ploughed on in the face of him opening his briefcase and extracting a wad of papers that he clearly intended to peruse for the duration of the trip, never mind her questions.
‘But I intend to write quite a detailed and frank article. Would that frighten you?’
For a second, Rafe wondered whether he had heard correctly. He snapped shut the briefcase and turned very slowly to look at her. ‘Would that frighten me? Do I look like a man who scares easily?’
Sophie