Sophie Weston - The Innocent And The Playboy

‘You could be right,’ Rachel said faintly.

Mandy patted her on the shoulder. ‘Of course I’m right. Now go and broke the agreement.’

There was nothing to be done. If he was here already, all her escape routes were blocked.

‘Yes,’ said Rachel automatically.

She shrugged herself into the check jacket like a sleepwalker and went to the door. She looked as if someone had hit her with a sandbag, Mandy thought. More encouragement was clearly called for.

‘Cheer up, Rachel. Your tights are whole and your jacket is clean. From here on in, today can only get better.’

Rachel stared at her. For an odd moment it seemed as if she were looking over the precipice of a particularly cold and deadly mountain. Then she gave a harsh laugh. ‘I wouldn’t put money on it.’

It was bitter. It even startled Mandy out of her cheerfulness. Then she said bracingly, ‘You’ll do fine. Bigwigs have never worried you. The bigger the wig, the cooler you get.’

But Rachel was still looking sick. Mandy had never seen her look like that before. She began to be alarmed.

‘You can handle yourself,’ Mandy reminded her urgently, putting a hand on her arm. ‘You know you can.’

Rachel gave a little jump as if she had been brought back to the present by main force. ‘I hope,’ she muttered.

The sick look went out of her face. But although she was regaining command of herself there was still that shaken look at the back of her eyes. It was almost as if she had received a bad shock, Mandy thought. Which, of course, was ridiculous. It took more than a visiting troupe of American money-men to shock Rachel. Or, at least, it ought to.

Rachel was thinking the same thing. She pulled her jacket straight and squared her shoulders in the mirror.

‘Boardroom?’

Mandy said, ‘Well, Mr Jensen said he’d like to see you in his office first.’

I’ll just bet he did, thought Rachel. If the biggest shark of them all has turned up in person, Philip will be turning to jelly.

‘But they arrived and he went straight to the boardroom. Would you join him—er—soonest?’

Panic stations, interpreted Rachel. She did not say so. She was too close to panic herself.

‘Right,’ she said.

She went, buried in thought. Confidence, she said to herself. That’s the thing to remember. You’re good at your job. You know that. Everyone else does. Believe it, why can’t you? Play to your strengths.

He must never know you even remember. Almost certainly he won’t. It is nine years ago. He must have had dozens of girls before and since. It’s ten to one that he forgot the whole thing in days.

She almost convinced herself.

She was still frowning in preoccupation as she went along the executive corridor. It was ankle-deep in an expensive carpet and hung with valuable seascapes. Usually Philip’s idea of executive interior decoration made Rachel laugh. Today, however, she barely noticed it.

In fact she was so deep in thought that she did not notice the man coming towards her. That was hardly her fault. Although he was tall and loose-limbed, he moved like a cat. On the sumptuous carpeting his tread was noiseless.

So when a voice said, ‘Hi there,’ she jumped about a foot in the air and came down with her head spinning.

It was the voice from her very worst dreams. Rachel felt as if someone had thrown ice-water over her. She found herself staring straight into those laughing, green-flecked eyes for the first time in nine years. It felt like yesterday. She stared at him, transfixed.

The man looked amused. ‘Rick di Stefano.’

There was not the slightest hint in his voice that he knew they had met before. Rachel registered his open smile: not a glimmer of recognition there. She moistened suddenly dry lips and tried to believe it.

In all those worst dreams of hers Riccardo di Stefano knew her at once. What he did about it varied with the awfulness of the dream but he had never looked at her with the smile of a pleasant stranger.

Rachel gulped. For the first time in years she was unable to think of a single thing to say. Instead, she just went on staring at him, horrified. Not yet, something in her brain was wailing. I’m not ready. Not yet.

Her reaction surprised him, she saw. One dark eyebrow rose.

‘I startled you. You must have been a long way away.’

Oh, she was, she was. Nine years and a whole ocean away. Impossible to say that, of course. Engage brain, Rachel, she told herself furiously. Engage brain. Or this will go out of control before you’ve even said hello.

Years of professional negotiations came to her aid at last. The unforgotten past receded, at least for the moment.

She swallowed and said, ‘Hello, Mr di Stefano.’ It came out a lot huskier than she’d expected but at least it did not sound as if all she wanted to do was run away from him and hide.

He laughed aloud then. ‘That sounds very formal.’

She gave him a quick, meaningless smile. ‘That’s the English for you.’

He smiled back. It was slow and sexy and made his eyes crinkle at the corners as if he was used to staring into the sun. He was not as tanned as she remembered, but the muscles were still as lithe under the city suit—and the laughter as wicked.

‘Now, I’ve always found English formality to be a bit of a myth,’ he said easily.

Oh, have you? she thought. Now that she had brought herself back under control she had time to observe him more dispassionately. She disliked what she saw amazingly. Confident, good-looking, intelligent. The things that her stepmother had gloated over all those years ago were still true. Even more so, if you could judge from one quick, resentful look. The charm was still there too—and he knew it. He was even waiting for her to respond to it. Rachel realised it in gathering wrath.

She said smartly, ‘I’m afraid I’m rather a formal person.’

Riccardo di Stefano’s eyes narrowed. It looked as if he had just registered that there was a real person confronting him in the corridor, Rachel thought, pleased. Her satisfaction was short-lived.

‘Have we met before?’

She could have kicked herself. Never start a fight unless you’re prepared to finish it, she reminded herself grimly.

She said in her most colourless voice, ‘I was away when you were here in September.’

He detected the evasion. Of course he would. He had built up a worldwide empire on management skills, which meant that he would have no problem at all in reading a minor employee’s disaffection.

He did not look worried by her attitude. Why should he? His reputation said he had a flair for rooting out opposition at the heart. He would have detected that this minor employee would not present him with any problems he could not deal with. Just let him not detect as well how carefully she had orchestrated her leave in order to avoid his thrice-postponed visit, Rachel thought.

Before he could challenge her further she said, ‘Were you looking for the boardroom? You should have turned right out of the lift, not left.’

He was looking at her intently. Before he could question her she said, ‘Let me show you.’

For a moment he did not say anything. She could feel him weighing up her reaction, assessing its implications, even its possible effect. Oh, yes, you could see why he was head of a multinational, multi-business empire.

She could have kicked herself. She held her breath, not quite looking at him. But he decided it was not worth probing, in the end.

‘Thank you,’ he said easily. ‘I’d appreciate that.’

She breathed again.

He fell into step beside her. He did not say anything further, but Rachel could feel his thoughtful gaze on her profile. She hoped she kept her expression neutral. By the time they reached the boardroom she felt as if the whole of that side of her face had been irradiated. Doing her best to ignore the feeling, she opened the door.