Chapter 8
ALEX
What the hell is my mother doing here?
I clench my fist to prevent myself from running a hand through my hair again. She’s the last person I need today. But like the dutiful son, I hug her, my eyes instantly locking on the young woman sitting on the sofa behind her.
Who the hell?
As if sensing my unspoken question, she makes the introductions.
“Sandro, let me introduce you to Brooke. Brooke is the daughter of an old school friend. She’s just moved to New York. I’m taking her to HR.”
Oh fuck! Not another waif and stray!
This must be her latest charity case. Where does she get them from, and does she not understand that we can’t just employ anyone?
I scowl, but Brooke, or whatever her name is, holds my gaze.
Surprising.
She’s confident, although for some reason, she’s trying not to be. I’m adept at reading people, and I notice the slight lift of her chin, a mark of silent defiance.
“Brooke,” I say, stepping forward and holding out a hand in greeting. “Welcome to St Clair.”
Her posture stiffens, her shoulders visibly tightening as she places her hand in mine. She’s tall, with the build of a model.
I mask my grimace.
Not another wannabe model hoping to get a contract by working here.
Her grip is surprisingly strong. Her eyes reveal a level of intelligence I’m not expecting.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr Bianchi,” she says. Her British accent catches me off guard. Is that a hint of sarcasm in her tone?
“Alessandro, please,” I tell her.
“Alessandro,” she repeats, the sound of my name rolling off her tongue making my muscles tighten.
She inclines her head, her eyes never leaving mine as she withdraws her hand slowly. It’s only then that I realise I’m still holding it.
What the fuck?
Callie’s announcement on Friday, a weekend spent torturing myself and today’s shitshow of interviews have thrown me into a tailspin.
I turn to Callie, wanting to end whatever is going on here.
“What time is my next interview?”
“You have an hour. The agency just called to say the candidate will be late. Family issues.”
I run a hand down my face in frustration, pausing at my mouth. “Cancel,” I say, lowering it, knowing my irritation is shining through. “Tell the agency I don’t need someone who can’t turn up on time.”
Callie doesn’t even flinch, simply nods. “I’ll get on it right away.”
“Perfect timing then,” Mother says, stepping forward. “You have time for a coffee.”
I bite my lip to stop my retort. She, of all people, knows how precious time is and how many tasks I’ve had to bump to hold these interviews.
When she was CEO, she couldn’t even be bothered to make time for her children.
But experience tells me it will be less painful to deal with Mother and her latest pet project now.
“Callie?” I say.
“Of course. Can I get you your usual, Sophia?” she asks before turning to her guest. “Brooke, what can I get you?”
“That would be lovely, Callie,” Mother answers, moving towards my office.
“A water, if it’s not too much trouble,” the young woman replies. “I can give you a hand?”
Callie’s eyes flash to mine, silently asking if I want a moment alone with Sophia. I acknowledge her with a blink.
Callie turns, her smile aimed at Brooke. “That would be great,” she says. “Follow me, and I’ll show you the kitchen.”
We watch them leave before I usher us into my office.
“Another waif and stray, Mother? Really?” I say, closing the door behind us.
“Oh, no, this one is far from a waif or a stray,” she says, smiling, but adds nothing further.
“But you are getting her a job here?”
“Why not? Speaking of jobs, what on earth are you going to do when Callie leaves?”
“I’ll get by,” I say.
I have no intention of discussing this with my mother.
“Callie said she’ll be training up her replacement.”
I stifle the groan.
“Yes, she’s kindly agreed to stay on for a couple of weeks to help bring the new person up to speed.”
Callie and her big mouth. She should know better. It’s not like she didn’t work for my mother.
“Maybe you need someone fresh off the line, ready to be moulded into whatever you need, just as Callie was when I first gave her a job,” she says.
“Please don’t suggest Brooke. I’m telling you now.”
I don’t want to think about moulding the young woman I’ve just met. That’s the last thing I need.
“Oh heavens no. I wouldn’t dream of it,” she says, her expression one of horror. “I’m just saying that you don’t always have to go for someone with lots of experience.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes.
There’s a knock at the door.
Both women enter. Callie smiles down at Mother while motioning for Brooke to place the drinks on the far side of my desk. A nice, thoughtful touch, not letting Callie carry them in her pregnant state. I clamp my mouth closed as my mother pats the seat next to her, encouraging Brooke to sit.
Callie’s eyes widen, her gaze meeting mine over their heads.
“I’ll go and call the agency, see if they have any other candidates they can send over.”
I frown. “Are there no more lined up?”
I could have sworn I’d selected at least ten from the list she sent me.
“Mrs Donnelley was number five,” she says, and I can’t miss the twinkle in her eye.
She thinks I’m being pedantic.
“Call them and let me know ASAP,” I say.
The problem with wanting someone now is that I only have a limited pool to choose from. And with Callie agreeing to perform a handover, I need to take the stress off her as quickly as possible. I can’t expect her to stay indefinitely.
She nods and leaves, closing the door behind her.
“Brooke, why don’t you tell Sandro a little about yourself?”
My muscles tense, and I rub my jaw.
She picks up her glass of water and takes a long swallow, her slender throat bobbing.
“I don’t think he’s interested in hearing about me.”
She looks up, and it’s then that I realise how young she is. She must be in her early twenties.
“How old are you?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Our eyes lock, and I’m surprised to find no intimidation there.
“I’m twenty-four,” she says.
Young.
“Are you enjoying your trip?”
She pauses, then nods. “I am. I want to work to get some money behind me, so I can enjoy the rest of my travels.”
“And your timeframe?”
“I don’t have one. If I get a job and I’m enjoying it, I’ll stay as long as my visa allows. I can use vacation days to visit places.”
Her tone is serious, as if she’s choosing her words with care. She could have tried to feed me a story about desperately wanting to work for St Clair, but interestingly, that’s not the story she’s going with. I wonder what my mother has told her about me?
“And previous work?” I ask.
My mother scowls, her lips pinching.
This is fun.
Brooke looks between us, remaining quiet until I lay a hand on the desk and wait.
She raises her chin slightly. “I’ve held down a number of part-time positions,” she says, her voice even. “I’ve worked in a hotel on reception. I was responsible for their booking system and dealing with customer complaints.”
“Were there a lot?”
She looks at me.
“Complaints?” I ask.
“Not too many. More things like weak water pressure, hard pillows or scratchy towels.”
“Nothing worse than scratchy towels,” I say under my breath, watching as her lips twitch, but I’m impressed when she maintains a stoic look. “What did you do?”
“Fixed their problems wherever possible. No one likes a scratchy towel.”
She picks up her glass of water, her eyes meeting mine over the rim, almost daring me.
I give myself a mental shake. Let HR find her something in the basement. I don’t need some inexperienced woman testing her skills in my office. I need someone like Callie who can read my every emotion and prioritise my workload without needing to be micromanaged.
“Any other experience?”
The question slips out before I can reconsider.
She leans to the side and picks up her bag, pulling out an envelope.
“My CV,” she says. “If you’d like to see it.”
Part of me wants to ask her why she thinks I’d be interested, but then curiosity takes over.
She places the double-sided paper in my outstretched hand.
I scan it. Mediocre grades and the couple of part-time jobs she mentioned.
“No further education?”
She flinches slightly but recovers quickly. “We lost my father just as I was about to take my exams. When I return home, I’ll be looking to enrol in university.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say.
I wonder if this is why Mother has taken her under her wing. She’s not usually sentimental, though, so I doubt it.
“It was a long time ago.”
It’s impossible to miss the hint of pain that breaks through.
“Well, it was lovely seeing you, darling,” Mother says, getting up, her coffee untouched. Snatching Brooke’s CV from my hand, she passes it back to her. “We need to get going, or we’re going to be late,” she says, moving towards the door. “Good luck with finding a new PA.”
Brooke pauses, slides it back into its envelope and places it in her bag.
“It was nice meeting you. Thank you for the water,” she says, taking her glass with her before picking up my mother’s coffee cup. “I’ll return these to the kitchen.”
I raise an eyebrow, and she smiles, causing something to flip in my chest.
“Save Callie a job,” she says.
“Thanks,” I say. “She’ll appreciate it.”
She moves towards the door, and in the blink of an eye, she’s gone, leaving me standing and staring at the now-empty room.
Callie knocks and enters.
“The agency says they have some more applicants, but they won’t be available for another month.”
I drop into my chair, placing a hand over my mouth. I exhale deeply.
“Thanks.”
She nods and exits.
I pick up my notes on each candidate before throwing them aside and running a hand down my face.
Back to the drawing board.