At The Italian's Command
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Sophie stuck her chin up, but her fingers were curled painfully around the handles of her executive briefcase. ‘Everyone has their own fear zones.’
‘According to…? Whom? Sophie Frey, psychologist?’
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic, Rafe.’
‘There’s every need to be sarcastic when you start trying to analyse me. You can follow me around and report factually on what you see. Wafting off into some airy-fairy land of speculation isn’t going to work.’
Sophie didn’t say anything and he frowned at her, fingers tapping restlessly on his leather briefcase, which was still shut.
‘Nor do I intend to allow your personal feelings for me to colour whatever you write.’
‘My personal feelings for you? I haven’t got personal feelings for you! I happen to know you…no, I take that back…I happen to know who you are because our mothers have been friends for ever, but that’s as far as it goes!’
‘Which doesn’t go a long way towards explaining that remark you made when you walked into my office this morning.’
‘What remark?’ There was wariness in her voice as she dredged her memory bank to try and recall what he could be talking about.
‘That this business was arranged without your consent. Implying that you didn’t want to be here any more than I wanted it. My reason is purely the nuisance factor of having you or anyone else around walking two paces behind me. What’s your excuse?’
Sophie felt patches of tell-tale colour flood her cheeks. Her fingers were now gripping the briefcase so tightly that she feared they might have to be forcibly unhooked by the end of the drive. It took effort to remember that she was a grown adult, a woman of twenty-seven, who had been to art college, had had boyfriends and had worked alongside other people for the better part of three years. Those eyes on her and that powerful, sexy, charismatic face were not going to reduce her to the nervous teenager she had once been in his presence.
‘My excuse is that I don’t believe in pulling strings. Sure, I’ve landed a coup in kicking off this new departure for the magazine by shadowing you, but I would have preferred to have done the groundwork myself, found someone who actually might not have minded having me around for two weeks!’ She glared at him.
So, he thought, the awkward mouse has teeth.
‘If that’s the truth, then fair enough. But whatever you write about me has to be unbiased.’
‘And when you read what I’ve written, you have to read it with a fair eye!’
‘I am a very fair man. Ask any of my employees.’
‘I take it that you’re giving me permission to talk to them about you?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you might not like everything they have to say.’
‘In which case I’ll have the little beggars hung, drawn, quartered and then fed to the tigers I keep at the bottom of my garden specifically for that purpose…’ He smiled slowly at her and Sophie felt her breath catch in her throat. She became acutely aware of exactly how small the back seat of a car was, even the back seat of a big car.
‘I guess it’s the only efficient way of dealing with detractors,’ she said lightly, voice normal even though her heart was beating thunderously inside her. ‘Tell me, does there ever come a time when you just feel you want to crash out? I mean, you seem to be on the go permanently.’ There, much better, get the conversation back to basics.
‘I enjoy what I do. Why would I want to take time out?’
‘Because it’s exhausting?’
‘I don’t tire easily.’
‘Can I ask you how you got involved in your business? I mean, I know you inherited quite a bit when your father died years ago, but you’ve expanded…’
On firmer footing now, she could actually relax and listen to him as he gave her a potted account of his rise to his virtually untouchable status.
By the time the car was pulling up in front of a small but prestigious-looking building south of the river, she had pretty much got the factual backbone of her story mapped out in her head. A tale of a boy born into privilege, with a brain that entitled him to strive for his own goals and the burning ambition to do it. A fair bit of the story she already knew, having grown up in the same village, but it was nevertheless interesting to see his take on his situation. While he admitted to his moneyed background, it was something he obviously simply took for granted. He had never been drawn towards an excessive lifestyle, although he had not spurned the doors his family wealth had initially opened. He had taken the reins of his father’s company when the time had come and from there had begun his process of branching out.
‘And what will you be doing here?’ Sophie asked, clambering out behind him, making sure to keep up with his long strides.
‘Discussing the possibility of buying a small IT company, which I might actually hang onto for longer than usual because I think it has potential.’
‘Meaning…?’
‘Meaning that you are now entering a silent zone. You’re to be seen and not heard. Got it?’
Any thaw in him had been brief. A salutary lesson in realising that information imparted would be solely on his terms. And the occasional smile was not an invitation to familiarity. Never had been. When she was a kid, he had viewed her as a pest. As an adult, she was far removed from his league and trawling around behind him, still a pest.
‘Of course,’ Sophie said neutrally.
She had planned on taking notes, but in the end was held captive by the force of his personality. A little over two hours and she felt drained by the driving energy he imparted. Points were raised and debated, columns of figures were looked at and picked over, until several of the directors were squirming in their seats. Alongside Rafe, two of his lawyers followed proceedings, interrupting when relevant but leaving the bulk of the business to be manoeuvred by him.
She wondered whether he was typical of any man in a position of power or whether this was his unique style.
Lunch turned out to be something grabbed en route to another meeting, and by the end of the day she felt as though she had been thoroughly put through the mill.
How on earth could anyone continue to function day after day on such high levels of adrenaline?
It was the question she put to him when, at a little after six, she was getting ready to leave. The last hour had been relatively restful, at least. She had had an opportunity to chat with Patricia and to begin writing up some of her report, escaping from him into one of the empty offices further along, which she had been allowed to use temporarily.
Rafe looked up from what he had been doing and frowned. ‘I thought you’d gone. What are you still doing here?’
‘I was on my way out. I was just curious to know if your energy levels ever run dry.’
‘You’ve asked me that one already. You should take notes of what I say, then you won’t run the risk of repeating yourself.’
Sophie felt like a child whose welcome had expired. She knew her image matched the feeling. Her hair had spent the day struggling to be freed from its clip-bound hell and had mostly managed to succeed. Whatever rudimentary make-up she had donned for the day had disappeared and she had done nothing to replenish her lipstick, which meant that that too would have vanished. Her clothes, at least, had been functional given the nature of her day, but she had been all too conscious of their lack of appropriateness. In fact, at two of the meetings, several of the younger men had looked at her curiously, as though bemused by her oddity. Rafe, in all fairness, had said nothing, but she knew that he was thinking the same. And now it was time for her to leave.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise how packed your timetable is. The reality just seems a lot more driven than some entries made on a sheet of paper.’
‘Like I said, I won’t be slowing my pace to accommodate you.’
‘And as I’ve said, I won’t be expecting it.’ She hovered irresolutely by the door, wondering how to take her line of questioning one step further without it backfiring onto her.
Watching her, Rafe sat back and folded his hands behind his head. She had proved less of an irritation to him during the course of the day than he had expected, but then again she had, apart from that fleeting conversation in the car, spoken very little. He assumed she had watched him, but most of the time he had forgotten her presence altogether.
She was beginning to irritate him now, however, because he could sense her eagerness to discover something more personal about him, more than just the nuts and bolts of how someone ran an empire. That sort of information was predictably easy to acquire. It usually boiled down to hard work and gritty determination in the face of possible setbacks.
But if she was fired up with a mission to get to a personal level, nuts and bolts of company running wasn’t going to be enough. He allowed her to squirm for a few more moments.
‘If you’re finished for the day, then I would really like to get back to work,’ Rafe said politely, masking his distaste behind a veneer of politeness. ‘Unless, of course, you want to watch me pouring over these reports in silence.’
‘No.’ Sophie flashed him an awkward smile. ‘Shall I come here at the same time tomorrow morning?’
‘You can if you want to, but I won’t be here.’ He flicked through a palm-held device. ‘I have a breakfast meeting at seven at the airport with some international bankers. More of the same as today, I’m afraid. Maybe you could utilise your time more efficiently by having a look at the company from the inside. I’ll tell Patricia to show you around.’
‘Oh, right. Yes. That sounds a good idea.’
‘Fine.’ On that note, he sat forward and devoted his attention to the papers in front of him. He was aware of her presence, still hovering like a spectre by the door. ‘Run along now, Sophie,’ he said, flicking her a brief glance. ‘I have a lot to get through before I go out tonight.’
‘More clients?’
Rafe made a point of looking at his watch. ‘And the time is…nearly six-thirty. I would say your day of shadowing is resoundingly at an end, wouldn’t you?’
‘I was just trying to formulate a picture in my head of someone whose work life never ceases. I know you probably think that I’m being nosy, but for me to get a complete picture—’
‘You mean as opposed to the one-dimensional cardboard cut-out one you’re currently nurturing? Workaholic with an addiction to money-making?’ Rafe sat back and gave her a long, lazy look. ‘Well, sorry to blow your preconceived notions, but no clients tonight. Would you like to come along and sit in on my dinner date? See how the power-obsessed tycoon enjoys his leisure time?’
He was actually smiling with satisfaction at her discomfort when she shut the door behind her.
Poor little Sophie. Might have been a bit different if he hadn’t known her from way back when, if he didn’t still see her as the awkward kid who had never been able to say boo to a goose. She was a bit more sparky now than he remembered, but it was hard to drop the preconceived impressions. With a little shrug, he returned to his papers and within five minutes any thoughts of Sophie Frey had been completely forgotten.
CHAPTER TWO
WINTER, as always, was living down to expectations. No one living in London reasonably expected snow, although it might have been nice, but neither did they expect a relentless deluge of freezing rain.
Rafe, more or less inured against the vagaries of bad weather thanks to the convenience of having his own private chauffeur, was absent-mindedly contemplating those less fortunate outside when he picked out a familiar figure struggling along the pavement, head downturned, hands stuck into the pockets of her coat.
For a few seconds he toyed with the idea of pretending that he hadn’t seen her, then with an impatient sigh he instructed his chauffeur to pull over to the kerb.
Sophie, bracing herself against the rain and wishing to God that she had had the sense to travel with her umbrella, almost crashed into the open car door before she realised that it was there.
‘Get in, Sophie.’ Rafe leaned across the seat and suppressed another little twinge of annoyance as she bent down and peered into the back seat. ‘What the hell are you doing out without an umbrella?’
‘Making my way home,’ Sophie retorted. ‘Along with the rest of London.’
‘Well, you might as well climb in.’ He drew back and was aware of her dripping her way into the back seat of the car.
‘I’m sorry. I’m soaking wet. Are you sure it’s all right? I mean, I wouldn’t want to damage the upholstery of your car.’
‘Close the door behind you. You’re letting the rain in.’
Sophie slammed the door shut with a feeling of exquisite relief. Anything to be out of that driving cold rain. She shrugged out of her coat, trying to ignore the cool green eyes on her, and then stuffed it on the floor well at her feet.
‘Thank you.’ She turned to him and tried a pleasant smile on for size. ‘I didn’t realise that you’d come back to the office. Patricia said that you would probably go straight home from your last meeting.’
‘One or two things to do.’ The rain had dampened down the curls and turned the copper-red colour to an odd sort of brown. Her face, devoid of make-up, was pale and damp. He wondered whether she ever looked in a mirror at all. ‘Where are you staying?’
Sophie gave him the address, which was on the outskirts of London, and Rafe frowned.
‘I haven’t got time to drop you there. You’ll have to drop me off first and then George will take you to where you live.’
Sophie opened her mouth to argue the point and then nodded her head. She had to get out of the habit of feeling awkward in Rafe’s presence, at least if she were to do her job with any level of competency. She had to will herself to talk to him so that she could find out what made him tick. He treated her like a kid because his mind was stuck in that groove, but that gambit only worked if she allowed herself to be treated that way.
‘That’s fine,’ she said coolly. ‘Did you have a productive day?’
‘The forecast is good on several fronts,’ Rafe said, sitting back and leaning against the door so that he could watch her more thoroughly. ‘What about you? Did you manage to make the rounds of the office and get hold of any juicy titbits about me?’
‘It seems you’re the perfect boss, Rafe. No one had a bad word to say about you, but then I don’t suppose they would have felt inclined to pour their hearts out to a virtual stranger.’
‘So, disappointment on that front, then.’
‘I admit my editor might have enjoyed some gossip,’ Sophie told him truthfully, ‘but it seems that you pay well and treat your employees fairly. Group meetings on a regular basis so that they can let off steam, pay reviews biannually, membership of a sports centre, bonus packages at the end of the year, the list goes on.’
‘What did you expect, Sophie? A tyrant who chained his workers to their desks and deprived them of everything but the basics?’
‘Of course not! But I’ve worked in an office. I know that there are always grumblings of discontent around if you look hard enough.’
‘Is that why you left your job? Because of the office politics?’ He realised that, although they had met socially off and on over the years, he knew very little about her. She had stuck in his head as someone who hovered on the sidelines, always standing out like a sore thumb but not for the right reasons. ‘You did a degree in Art,’ he remarked, remembering one piece of throwaway information his mother had given him at some point. He recalled thinking that that was exactly what he would have guessed she might have done, given her appearance.
‘How do you know that?’
‘My mother must have told me at some point. Why the jump from art to office work?’
‘Because finding a job that involved my art degree was impossible,’ Sophie informed him shortly. ‘Why do you think you weren’t content on simply taking over your father’s business? It was extremely profitable. Why did you feel compelled to expand it to the extent that you have?’
Rafe recognised the ploy. She was uncomfortable talking about herself and so made her answers as brief and monosyllabic as possible before changing the subject. He couldn’t blame her. When had he ever shown the slightest interest in her? But since they were cooped up with one another for two weeks, what normal human being wouldn’t show some level of interest?
‘Ah. The fascinating question of motivation,’ Rafe drawled. ‘What do you think?’
‘I can’t write an article on what I think about you. I have to write an article based on what I observe and what you tell me about yourself.’
‘No one likes to rest on inherited wealth. I branched out because I had to flex my own intellectual muscles.’
It was an answer within a non-answer. Yes, it provided facts in a nutshell, but that fascinating question of motivation that he had mentioned earlier remained unanswered. And Sophie got the feeling that he was all too aware of the fact and was not about to do anything about it. He was very private and any excavating of his character, which really was what her editor would want to see, would have to be done very carefully.
She would have to make him feel relaxed in her company and maybe then he might let slip the odd remark that would reveal something about himself.
It helped that he saw her as nothing more than an irritating kid who had grown up. Despite any surface interest he expressed in her and what she had been doing with her life, he honestly didn’t care.
She tried not to feel vaguely hurt and insulted by that. In a way, she almost preferred the dismissive hint of impatience, the glancing look that barely took her in, to the look he was giving her now. Green eyes coolly detached, as though she just happened to be something sexless and characterless that had happened to stray within his line of vision, thereby forcing him to react in one way or another.
In this case, pretending to show an interest in what she thought. Sophie decided that she didn’t much care. The object of the exercise was to get him to open up.
‘Well, it’s always good to set challenges for yourself,’ Sophie she said, hoping her voice had attained the right level of cosiness and warmth. ‘Actually, that’s what I told myself when I ended up working in an office.’
Rafe’s voice was polite and only mildly interested. ‘That your dreams of being the next Picasso were nothing compared to the challenges of mastering the filing system and coming to grips with PowerPoint?’
His wryly sarcastic response immediately had her hackles up. ‘Actually, I never had dreams of being the next Picasso. My degree wasn’t in fine art. I studied graphic design and illustration.’
‘And I take it the office where you worked had no available department that could make use of your skills?’
Sophie smiled reluctantly. ‘Not many legal offices do, although I did acquire a very sound knowledge of the basics of family law.’
Her face changed when she smiled. There was something graceful and cautious and very appealing about it.
‘We’ll be at my place in five minutes,’ he said abruptly. ‘I recommend you come inside and get into something dry. I don’t want the responsibility of sending you home in soaking wet clothes so that you can come down with pneumonia.’
‘In that case, I’ll take the responsibility away from you by telling you that I’m fine to make my way home and change when I get there. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t usually walk around with a spare set of clothes in my handbag.’
Rafe wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or amused by her. She certainly wasn’t the silent little thing he had expected. On the other hand, he was in a hell of a rush and in no mood to listen to someone trying to have a meaningful conversation with him on the subject of life choices.
‘We’re here.’ The car had pulled up outside an exquisite mews town house, and Rafe was already pushing open his door. ‘I don’t intend to have a debate on the subject. I have spare clothes that my mother leaves from time to time when she visits. Granted, they may not be the height of youthful style, but I’d say you would be better off in them than enduring another forty minutes in soaking splendour. I’m due out this evening, and I’m running late. George can drop me off to the theatre and then take you home. Make your choice.’
Common sense won over pride. She felt hideously uncomfortable. Her clothes were sticking to her like a layer of ice-cold cling film and Lord only knew what was happening to her coat on the ground by her feet. Probably developing a nice coating of mildew even as he spoke.
‘Thank you very much,’ Sophie said, quickly shifting out of the car while he strode ahead of her. The driving rain had become a fine, sharp drizzle and she flung her coat loosely over her as she ran to keep pace with him.
George, with whom Rafe clearly had a close rapport, took himself off in the direction of what she supposed was the kitchen and she was left dripping in the hallway.
‘Follow me,’ Rafe commanded, barely bothering to look around.
It hardly gave Sophie a chance to appreciate her surroundings, but what she glimpsed as she raced behind him was impressive and a little surprising. She had expected chrome and wood and the expensive furnishings of a bachelor living in the fast lane. Lots of leather everywhere, perhaps, and abstract paintings on the walls. Instead, she was surprised to see that his house was warm and lived in, without a hint of chrome anywhere. The floor was wood, certainly, but deep, rich wood with the patina of time showing in it.
She would have liked to have had a look around some of the rooms, but he had already reached a bedroom that his mother obviously used when she visited.
‘Clothes,’ he said, opening a wardrobe. ‘More in the drawers. Bathroom just there.’ He nodded to an en suite bathroom. ‘You’ll need to be ready in half an hour if I’m to make this appointment in time. And leave your clothes. I’ll get Anya to take care of them tomorrow when she comes.’
‘Anya?’
‘My housekeeper.’ He paused and gave her a quick once-over. ‘You didn’t really think that I looked after this place without help, did you?’
‘I didn’t really give it much thought at all,’ Sophie returned without batting an eye. ‘I’ll be quick.’
She was. Hardly any time to luxuriate in the bath, and it was a bathroom made for luxuriating. The bath was deep and someone had stocked up on some delightful miniature soaps and bottles of fragrant bath foam. Claudia, she suspected. Those little touches spoke of a woman and if she spent time regularly in London with her son, then she would have provided that feminine attention to detail that he would never have considered.
Unless, of course, some other woman had seen fit to domesticate the house.
Sophie dried quickly, her mind playing on that possibility. Her editor wanted human interest and that would be very interesting indeed. He was photographed often enough with some woman adorning his arm, not one but a succession of them. Small soaps in a glass jar and that porcelain jar of pot pourri spoke of someone a little more permanent than a passing notch on the bedpost.
And he would have no problem finding any woman he wanted, she thought, dressing quickly in the first thing she could find. He had the sex-appeal syndrome in buckets.
She thought back to the times she had seen him at his mother’s house or wandering through the town on an exeat or during the holidays. Even from the innocent perspective of a young teenager, she had been struck by his popularity with the opposite sex. In fact, they had danced attendance upon him. And the years had been unnaturally kind to him. He still had the athletic build, but now there was something more powerful about it, and his aggressive personality showed on his face. She, personally, found it off-putting, but not many women would.
From the half a dozen or so outfits, she picked something the least formal. A straight brown skirt, a blouse, a camel-coloured cashmere jumper. Any attempt to do something neat with her hair, she abandoned completely, leaving it to curl disastrously around her face and down her back. The overall effect wasn’t too much of a catastrophe, and she was on time. In fact, early.