Chapter One #2
‘Oh my goodness!’ She cleared her throat again, her next question coming out as a husky whisper. ‘Why did you do that?’
Impatient with the crazy trajectory of his thoughts—because since when did his heart ever miss a beat over some frumpy secretary’s eyes?
—Vito glared at her. ‘Are you telling me you’re surprised that I’ve let go of such a towering captain of industry?
’ he drawled sarcastically. ‘Ah, I can see you’re reluctant to answer that particular question.
Perhaps you’re worried about incriminating yourself? ’
‘Of course I’m not!’
‘Then I suggest you stop biting your lip like a nervous exam student and sit down so I can ask you a few questions,’ he instructed, his finger pointing towards the chair in front of the desk. ‘Over there, if you like.’
She surveyed the proffered chair warily. ‘Honestly, I’m quite happy to stand. Or…’ She looked at him hopefully. ‘Perhaps I could get you a cup of coffee, Mr Monticello?’
‘It’s Signor Monticello,’ he corrected waspishly.
‘And no, you can’t.’ Did she think he could be placated with a warm drink of some unspeakable brew he had been served so many times outside his native Italy?
‘I drank some on the plane which is always mixed to my particular specification. And what’s more, I don’t appreciate what is obviously a stalling tactic in order to avoid what will probably be a difficult conversation.
Do you understand what I’m saying, Miss Greening? ’
‘I understand perfectly. You have made your position abundantly clear, Signor Monticello.’ She was blinking at him now—those long lashes fluttering over the amazing eyes like a pair of distracted butterflies.
But she slid obediently into the seat he had suggested, her hands clasped together on her lap as she fixed her gaze on him.
‘Okay, let’s begin,’ he said, wondering why her hair was so damp when it wasn’t raining. ‘How long have you worked for Julian Wootton?’
Flora clasped and unclasped her hands, suspecting he already knew the answer to this particular question, but also knowing that she wanted to humour him.
She had to. He wasn’t just drop-dead gorgeous, he was rich and powerful.
He was also her boss and he held her future in his hands.
Oh, why hadn’t she recognised him? But she knew exactly why.
He’d taken over after the death of his father a year ago, just after she’d joined the company, when everything had seemed so new and scarily different after her many contented years in the library.
But that was all she did know about him.
She made it her business to learn the names of everyone who worked in the building—from the cleaners to the executive board—because she liked as many facts as possible at her fingertips and then she liked to file them neatly in her mind.
But during her lunch-break she nearly always had her nose in a book and kept herself to herself.
She certainly didn’t gossip with the other people who worked at the London headquarters of Verdenergia, who might have informed her that Vito Monticello looked like a god.
She knew very well that the other women at the multinational energy company—and the men too, most probably—regarded her as something of a freak, but Flora didn’t care.
Her experience had been so different to that of other people her age.
Her teenage years had gifted her the legacy of feeling like a permanent outsider.
Which she was. But that was okay and she was cool with it.
Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, she prayed Vito Monticello would be gentle with her. That he wasn’t on a mission to catch her out. Would he see her as the tainted ally of the man he’d just fired and dispatch her with similar speed and ruthlessness?
Because it would be easy to catch her out, wouldn’t it?
She certainly wasn’t labouring under any illusion that she was nothing but a glorified diary keeper, who kept all the balls spinning in the air when her boss was too hung-over to deal with them himself.
And yes, recently her conscience had been protesting that she needed to get herself a different job with better prospects which would make her feel more excited about going into work in the morning, and she was planning to do exactly that.
But not now.
Not yet.
Not with Christmas just around the corner.
The money was too good, and there was Amy…
Sucking in a deep breath, Flora willed herself to relax because she wasn’t going to think about Amy.
Not with that granite-faced man scowling at her.
She wasn’t going to risk exposing any of her stupid vulnerabilities to him.
She wasn’t going to risk anything. She never had and never would.
She swallowed. She’d learnt from bitter experience that risk was a fool’s game.
‘I’ve worked here for just over a year.’
‘And before that?’
Resisting the desire to suggest it might be simpler if he simply read her CV, Flora met his piercing blue gaze. ‘I was a classroom assistant, and then I worked in a library.’
‘Si?’ he said softly, his ebony gaze sweeping over her. ‘That figures. You look like a librarian.’
Flora tried not to react to his drawled comment because she knew exactly what it meant.
The term was code. A subtext. It implied she conformed perfectly to the stereotype of a buttoned-up woman.
The sort who would never say boo to a goose, or worry if her skirt was the wrong length to ever be fashionable.
But she didn’t really care because she was that woman, and so what?
Life was safer if you had a protective shield to hide behind.
And what right did he have to judge her past?
‘It was a very fulfilling job,’ she added defensively.
‘I’m sure it was.’ He ran a slow thumb over the curve of his jaw, drawing her attention to the faint shadow which made him look so darkly virile. As if she needed any reminding!
‘I’m just surprised, that’s all,’ he continued. ‘Stamping books and imposing fines doesn’t seem a natural pathway to becoming a personal assistant to the chief executive officer of a large, energy company.’ He paused. ‘What made you leave the library if you liked it so much?’
She shrugged. ‘It was shut down.’
‘Why?’
As Flora met his uncomprehending stare, a sense of exasperation rose within her.
What would he know of the plight of ordinary folk—this suited and booted billionaire, who had probably been born with a silver spoon in his mouth?
Shouldn’t she enlighten him about the ways of the world before he silkily informed her that her services were no longer required?
‘Cuts,’ she informed him briskly, her voice growing a little unsteady.
‘The government had to reduce their spending—and said they could no longer justify funding the local library because more and more people were using screens.’
‘But you didn’t agree with them?’
‘Of course I didn’t agree with them!’ she declared and all the pent-up emotions she’d been trying so hard to suppress for weeks now came bubbling to the surface.
‘Yes, screens are in the majority these days but nothing ever beats the magic of a book. Yet some children are brought up in households where they never even see one,’ she added, unable to keep the outrage from her voice.
‘And libraries are a lifeline to people who can’t afford to buy them! ’
Vito’s eyes narrowed, unexpectedly impressed—and surprised—by her impassioned outburst. It seemed the mousy secretary had fire.
And substance. He knew about her background of course—he’d flicked through her CV on the plane over, when he’d been examining the activities of her boss.
Apparently she was extremely diligent and hard-working, and her worthy defence of the underprivileged seemed genuine, and commendable.
She looked—and sounded—like the kind of person he would instinctively trust.
But Vito had spent much of his life surrounded by people who were not what they seemed.
Who pretended to be something other than what they really were.
And that, along with the ridiculous amount of wealth he had acquired and which had turned him into a target for so many wannabes, made him naturally suspicious.
Especially of women, whom he had always found to be particularly disingenuous.
He chose his words carefully, his gaze steady as he delivered them.
‘Were you aware that Julian Wootton was totally incompetent?’
She sat up very straight. ‘It’s not my role to judge my boss.’
‘Perhaps you colluded with him?’ he continued, his silky tone inviting confidence and—possibly—indiscretion. ‘I’ve heard that he was unexpectedly popular with the ladies.’
Her apple-round cheeks were bright with indignation. ‘I find that a very offensive accusation, Signor Monticello.’
He let her heated words bounce off him, with a shrug. ‘It would be remiss of me not to enquire.’
‘I suppose so,’ she agreed reluctantly.
‘So as far as you were concerned, he was an efficient boss, under whose guidance this giant industrial ship sailed without mishap through the choppiest of waters. Ah! I see that you are biting your lip again, Miss Greening—something which I observe you do when feeling a little uncomfortable.’
‘How on earth could you possibly know something like that?’ she questioned, her cheeks becoming even more flushed. ‘When we’ve only been acquainted for a manner of minutes!’
‘Because I am good at reading people,’ he murmured. Especially women. Although possibly not a woman like this, he conceded to himself, as she brushed a damp strand of hair away from a flushed cheek totally devoid of make-up.