Chapter One #3
Marshalling the unusual direction of his thoughts, he went to stand by the window, staring down at the street below which was just beginning to get busy.
Workers were streaming from the nearby Tube station towards the offices and shops which awaited them, and lights were twinkling in the windows.
Far more lights than usual, he concluded grimly—for the kaleidoscopic display cutting through the grey of the December morning could mean only one thing.
Christmas.
Vito’s jaw tightened.
It was a festival he had never enjoyed, because of the slew of messy memories which accompanied it.
The inevitable fight between his parents about whose ‘turn’ it was to have the boys.
The parties and alcohol which made his mother’s behaviour especially unpredictable after the divorce—so that it wouldn’t be Babbo Natale who Vito expected to see on Christmas Eve, but strange men creeping down the staircase of their villa in Rome, carrying their shoes.
At least as an adult he had found a surefire escape route during the holidays, saying a silent prayer of thanks for skiing.
For the thrills and danger, the black runs and hard, physical exercise which left him no time to think.
Once he had concluded his business here, he would be free for the holidays, which he would spend as far away from civilisation as possible.
The garish bright lights of Christmas would be replaced by the pristine beauty of Gstaad and afterwards he would return to Italy, to a quieter world.
Turning back, he saw the secretary watching him closely, those astonishing eyes half shaded by her long lashes, her hands still clasped in her lap.
‘So you had absolutely no idea that Wootton was failing to do his job properly?’ he demanded.
‘I…’
He saw the look of indecision which flitted across her face and felt the flicker of challenge.
‘Let’s get one thing straight, shall we, Miss Greening?
’ he suggested softly. ‘You should forget about displaying any misplaced loyalty towards Wootton. I see little point in this interview progressing, unless you intend being scrupulously honest with me.’ He paused.
‘Were you or were you not aware that he was failing to do his job properly?’
Flora felt as if she were on a dissecting table, being filleted by Vito Monticello’s laser-like gaze and the cutting edge of his words. She wanted to tell him that her boss’s transgressions were nothing to do with her and surely she shouldn’t be expected to deliver a verdict on his capabilities.
But if she didn’t cooperate, then Vito Monticello might sack her and that was the last thing she could cope with, and not just because Christmas was an expensive time of year.
Imagine having no job to go to. A world with no structure, or demands on her time.
Just empty days, alone with her thoughts—and the long, winter nights ahead.
‘Obviously, I was aware that Mr Wootton sometimes arrived late and occasionally took longer for lunch than some of the other directors,’ she offered stiffly.
‘And you covered for him?’ he demanded.
‘Of course I covered for him!’ she protested. ‘That’s part of being a secretary—making your boss’s life run smoothly.’
‘Even when he’s abusing his position?’ His blue gaze was cold. ‘You didn’t think of mentioning it to someone else? One of the other directors, perhaps?’
Suddenly Flora had had enough of this hostile interrogation. The Italian billionaire was obviously working up to getting rid of her, so why not speak the total truth, which he claimed he wanted to hear?
Drawing her shoulders back, she met his accusing gaze.
‘And how would that have worked?’ she demanded.
‘Should I have requested a meeting with the CFO to tell them that, with my vast experience of one whole year in the business, I thought the chief executive wasn’t up to scratch?
Don’t you have any understanding of the concept of hierarchy, Signor Monticello, and how it works? ’
Unexpectedly, he laughed—as if her response wasn’t what he had been expecting. But then his handsome face darkened again.
‘Colpa mia, but I haven’t been paying proper attention,’ he said, half to himself and for a full half minute he seemed to be totally preoccupied with his thoughts, before narrowing his intense gaze at her so that his eyes resembled slivers of blue glass. ‘Look, do you want this job, or not?’
Flora took a moment before answering. ‘I need this job,’ she said carefully. ‘At least until after the New Year, when I might be able to find something which suits me better.’
He didn’t react or ask why, and she was grateful for his indifference because how pathetic would it have sounded if she’d blurted out the truth?
My baby sister is getting married and going to the other end of the world and I’m going to miss her like hell.
It sounded pathetic, even to her.
‘Okay. So let me tell you what’s going to happen,’ he said softly. ‘If you work for me you need to know I have certain rules. You work all the hours I tell you to work, and you will be compensated accordingly. If you’ve got a date and I need you, you cancel it, understand?’
No need to tell him she didn’t have a cat’s chance in hell of having a date. Instead, Flora nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘You never talk to the press and you never put them through to me. If they have a query about the company, direct them straight to the PR team. Understand?’
‘Yes,’ she said again.
‘Someone from one of my other companies is arriving later to take over the day-to-day running of the company, while I find a permanent replacement for your boss. In the meantime, I intend to let everyone know that things are going to be very different from now on.’ His eyes narrowed.
‘I assume you know everyone who works here?’
‘I do.’
‘Good.’ He nodded his jet-black head. ‘I want you to fill me in about every single employee in the building, and then I want to meet them. Afterwards you’re going to take me through the diary, page by page. Is there anything particularly pressing I should know about?’
Flora nodded, feeling on slightly safer ground now that he’d stopped firing out a series of demands.
‘There’s the new advertising campaign for household insulation coming up, and of course, the opening of our new wind farm,’ she added, unable to keep the note of pride from her voice because she had organised the entire thing.
‘When’s that?’
‘On the twenty-third of December, sir. I know it’s very close to Christmas—’
He silenced her with a wave of his hand. ‘Si. I can fit that in before I fly out to Switzerland,’ he observed, almost thoughtfully.
Flora sat up straight, because maybe he would value initiative as well as honesty. ‘Or you could always send the CFO in your place?’ she suggested.
‘That isn’t going to happen because I’ve sacked him too.’ He gave another wolfish smile. ‘So I’ll be going to Scotland and you will be coming with me.’
‘Me, sir?’
‘Si. And don’t call me sir,’ he instructed testily. ‘My name is Vito. Got that?’ He gave a dismissive nod of his head. ‘You can go now.’
He plucked a vibrating cell phone from his suit jacket and flicked it a quick glance, replacing it without answering it, and she had just reached the door when his next silken words halted her. ‘Oh, and, Flora?’
She turned around, wondering what else he was going to ask of her. ‘Yes…Vito?’
His handsome face had darkened with irritation and he was jabbing an accusing finger towards the sapphire tinsel which was draped extravagantly around the front of the desk. ‘Get rid of these damned decorations, will you?’