Carol Marinelli - Innocent Secretary...Accidentally Pregnant

‘I wasn’t expecting to see you again.’ Luca didn’t move to let Emma past, his broad frame barring the exit from the elevator just slightly. But it was an offer of conversation that Emma didn’t want to pursue. ‘I hear the interview didn’t go too well.’

‘It didn’t.’

‘Shame.’

‘I forgot my bag, I’m just going to get it…’ she offered by way of explanation, but as the lift door started to close she pressed it open. There was a pang, a twinge, almost a snapping. She didn’t want this ending to happen, because he really was divine, and she wished for just a fleeting second that she had the looks, the confidence, the experience to allow him to pursue her.

But she didn’t.

‘Going down?’ She pressed the hold button for him, and he stood back as she stepped out. She caught the heavy scent of him, the brush of his expensive suit as she passed him.

‘No—up…’ he grinned. ‘To the roof. Do you want to join me?’

‘I’m sure another job will come along…’ she said, watching a slow smile spread on his face as he got her dry humour.

‘I’m actually going to Paris.’

‘Lovely.’

‘Helipad’s on the roof.’

‘They usually are.’

‘Formal dinner, very boring. But maybe after…What are your plans?’

Dear Reader

I had a very clear vision of Luca when he arrived in my mind—he smiled at me and I promptly melted. He crooked his finger and I bounded towards him like a puppy in the window—pick me, pick me!

Oh, Carol!

I knew then that I was going to need a special heroine for Luca. Frankly, I’d have been putty in his warm hands, and would have made all the wrong choices (but, oh, so right at the time!). Thankfully, Emma has rather more self-control than her creator.

I loved finding out more about Luca—getting to know the real man behind his rich playboy veneer.

I hope you do too.

Happy reading.

Carol Marinelli x

Carol Marinellirecently filled in a form where she was asked for her job title, and was thrilled, after all these years, to be able to put down her answer as ‘writer’. Then it asked what Carol did for relaxation, and after chewing her pen for a moment Carol put down the truth—‘writing’. The third question asked— ‘What are your hobbies?’ Well, not wanting to look obsessed or, worse still, boring, she crossed the fingers on her free hand and answered ‘swimming and tennis’. But, given that the chlorine in the pool does terrible things to her highlights, and the closest she’s got to a tennis racket in the last couple of years is watching the Australian Open, I’m sure you can guess the real answer!

Carol also writes for Medical™ Romance!

By

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Beryl with love from Carol xxx

EMMA had been honest—had even admitted during her telephone interview that she was attending night school on a Wednesday night and studying art and that in a couple of years she was hoping to pursue it full-time.

Everything had gone really well, until the second Evelyn had walked out to greet Emma—and Emma truly didn’t understand why.

She’d prepared so carefully for the interview. Reading everything she could get her hands on about D’Amato Financiers—about their spectacular rise, even in gloomy times. Luca D’Amato had a no-nonsense attitude—there was no secret formula to his success, she had read in a rare interview he had given—just sound decisions and fiscal transparency and the refusal to be swayed by hype. Yes, she’d read up on him and then gone through her favourite glossy magazines and followed every last piece of advice in preparation for this afternoon.

Emma had scoured the second-hand shops and found a stunning—if just a touch tight for her well-rounded figure—pale lilac linen designer suit, had had her thick brown ringlets blowdried straight and smoothed up into a smart French roll, and, horribly broke, she had, on the afternoon of her interview, as one magazine had cheekily advised, gone to the make-up counter at a department store and pretended that she was a bride-to-be and trying out looks for her wedding day.

Her brothers had always teased her about her obsession with magazines and her father had moaned about how many she had bought, but they had been her lifeline. Growing up without a mother, living in a rough-and-tumble house that the little girls she’d invited to come over and play had never returned to, Emma had lived her childhood and teenage years reading the glossies for advice, about friends and bullying and boys. It was the magazines that had taught her about deodorant and kisses and bras. The magazines she had turned to when at twelve she had been teased for having hairy legs. And though her devotion to them had waned somewhat, at the ripe age of twenty-four it had been the magazines she had immediately turned to for make-up and grooming tips to land her dream job.

She looked fantastic, just the image she had been hoping to achieve—smart, sassy, groomed—exactly the right look for a modern working girl in the city.

Evelyn clearly didn’t agree.

Her interviewer was dressed in a stern grey suit, with black flat shoes. Her fine blonde hair was cut into a neat, practical bob and she wore just a reluctant sliver of coral lipstick. The antithesis, in fact, of the look Emma had been trying to achieve!

‘And Mr D’Amato would also prefer someone who speaks Japanese…’ Evelyn continued.

‘It didn’t say that in the advertisement,’ Emma pointed out. ‘And you didn’t mention it when we spoke on the telephone.’

‘Luca—I mean Mr D’Amato—does not like to put too many specifications in the advertisements for one reason, and I rather agree…’ she gave a small sniff ‘…that when the right person appears, we know.’

Well, there wasn’t much Emma could say to that— clearly at first glance it had been decided that she wasn’t the right person for the job.

Only…

Now, even though it had been an impossible dream, now that she had glimpsed it, Emma wanted it.

The salary was to die for—her family home, despite months on the market, hadn’t sold and the nursing-home fees were piling up. Evelyn had explained during their initial telephone interview that Luca’s staff burnt out quickly. He was a demanding boss, expecting complete devotion, and that this job and the travel would literally overtake her life, but that suited Emma just fine.

One year working hard and she could meet the nursing-home fees. Surely in that time the house would sell and pay off the backlog of debt? One year, burning herself out, and she would finally be free—free to pursue her dreams, free to live the life that had so far been denied her.

And now that glimmer of hope was rapidly being taken away. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me…’ Evelyn gave a thin attempt at a smile ‘…I have an important phone call to make.’