by Kate Hewitt
‘Los Angeles...’ She nodded slowly. ‘And the other?’
‘Personal assistant to the CEO of a tech company in Sweden. Or, if you prefer, you can take the standard redundancy package. You’ll find I’m very generous.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘I’ll get you the details of both positions.’ He leaned down to his laptop, and a few clicks later he’d printed it all out and handed Mia the pages.
She took them calmly, scanning them with a cool composure that somehow rattled him.
‘Both positions come with accommodation provided, and the salary is fifty percent higher than yours was here,’ he felt compelled to point out.
‘And I can start immediately?’
She couldn’t wait to leave, could she? ‘If you like. Of course, you can have some time to pack up and arrange your travel. All paid for, naturally.’
‘Naturally.’ She glanced at the paper again. ‘I choose Los Angeles,’ she said firmly, although underneath that conviction he heard a tremble to her voice that unnerved him. He almost told her that she didn’t need to do this, but of course she did. If not now, then next week, or the week after that. Better for her to feel it was on her terms.
‘I’m sure you’ll be very happy there,’ he said as equably as he could manage. ‘Good luck with your move.’
She stared at him for a moment, her lips twisting and then tightening. ‘I’ll clear my desk, then,’ she said, which made it sound as if she’d been fired.
‘You don’t have to do—’ Alessandro began, and she gave him a piercing look.
‘I think it’s better this way, don’t you?’
Yes, he did. Of course he did. Even if he didn’t feel like it just then. ‘Enjoy LA,’ he said stiffly, and she gave him one last accusing look before she nodded and walked out of the room.
CHAPTER SIX
THREE WEEKS AFTER she’d left Alessandro Costa, Dillard Investments, and her home country, Mia came home from work, unlocking the door to her sumptuous apartment in Santa Monica, one of Los Angeles’ best neighbourhoods, with a tired sigh as she kicked off her heels.
Choosing to transfer workplaces had been the only way she’d known how to salvage what was left of her pride as well as her working life. She hadn’t been able to stand working with Alessandro, and in any case she’d sensed that he would have her transferred or even fired if she’d waited long enough; she was no longer useful in the way he required. In fact, she’d become rather inconvenient. Choosing it herself first had felt like the best way to take control.
Since she’d left she’d heard through the grapevine that at least half of Dillard’s employees had been made redundant with packages as generous as hers; the other half had been offered positions within Alessandro’s portfolio of companies. He wasn’t the ruthless tycoon she’d thought he was, at least not in that regard.
It was just in his personal relationships where he was truly ruthless. Because no matter how elegant her apartment, how cushy her job, Mia couldn’t escape the feeling that Alessandro had wanted her gone, more even than she’d wanted to go. She hadn’t seen him since the day she’d walked out of her office, which was how she’d wanted it—and how Alessandro had seemed to want it, as well.
Sighing, she changed out of her work clothes into more comfy ones, anticipating another evening in front of the TV. She’d been invited out for drinks with some of her colleagues, but for the last few days Mia had been feeling a bit off, tired and nauseous. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with the stomach flu, and decided that a good night’s sleep, not to mention a healthy dose of Netflix, would knock whatever she was fighting off on its head.
The next morning she woke up with her stomach roiling, and she barely made it to the toilet in time before it emptied its contents. She called in sick, although by the afternoon she was feeling better again. When the same thing happened the next day, and then the next day after that, realisation sliced through her, as sharp as a knife, and just as shockingly painful, even though she’d known all along it had been an admittedly small risk.
She hadn’t had a period since she’d come to Los Angeles. Sick in the mornings, better in the afternoons, and so, so tired. She might have been a virgin, but she wasn’t completely naïve.
She’d missed two birth control pills, and even though she’d taken one later that day, Mia had read online that she’d opened herself up to a small risk of becoming pregnant. And a small risk was still a risk.
Yet even so, she had trouble believing it.
One night. Two pills. Surely not...
Her heart turned over, an unpleasant sensation, as realisation trickled icily through her.
She couldn’t be...
After work that day she went to the nearest pharmacy to buy a pregnancy test, flushing in embarrassment as she paid for it, even though the pimply-faced teenaged boy ringing up her purchase looked completely bored and indifferent.
She took it home, unwrapping it with shaking fingers, staring at the slim white stick in disbelief that she was holding such a thing, needing it.
She couldn’t be...
She read the directions twice through, still in a haze of incredulity, and then she took the test, all the while telling herself this was crazy, impossible, nothing more than a needless precaution. The chances of falling pregnant after one time, and just two missed pills...
But she wasn’t stupid. She knew it could happen. She just couldn’t believe it could happen to her.
And then she turned the test over and stared down at the two blazing pink lines in disbelief.
She couldn’t be, but she was.
She spent an hour simply sitting on her sofa, staring into space, having no idea what to think, much less to do. Her mind felt fogged with incredulity, unable to think beyond the reality of those two lines. She couldn’t yet consider what they meant or would mean, or how she would respond to them.
Then, at some point, she roused herself from her stupor and made herself a cup of tea. Pregnant. She was pregnant. By Alessandro Costa, a man she barely knew and definitely didn’t like, a man known to be ruthless in both personal relationships and the business world. And he was going to be the father of her child.
Realisation slammed into her with that thought; this was her child. The family she’d never truly had. And she knew, no matter how inconvenient or unexpected, she was going to keep this baby, this child of her flesh and blood.
And Alessandro’s.
Armed with a cup of milky tea, Mia flipped open her laptop and did another internet search on Alessandro. She had deliberately not searched anything personal about him before. She hadn’t wanted to know, or to wonder.
Now she blinked as image after image came up on the screen of her laptop of Alessandro. The sight of his commanding profile, those steely eyes, that impressive form...it all battered her senses, made her remember far too many things. The lingering way he’d undone her zip. The press of his lips to the base of her spine...the sudden frenzy of passion they’d both felt, obliterating all thought and reason for those few crucial moments.
As she clicked through the photos, she noticed a common feature, and her expression hardened. In nearly every image, Alessandro was with a woman. A different woman. Over the last month he’d attended a variety of glittering events, in London, in Paris, in Rome, always with a sexy, pouting woman, and usually one who was poured into a dress, on his arm. Clearly he’d completely forgotten about her.
She pushed the laptop away and took a sip of her tea, feeling sick in a way that had nothing to do with the tiny being she nurtured in her womb. That man—that ruthless, arrogant, philandering man—was her baby’s father. And she knew she would have to tell him so.
She shuddered with dread at the thought of Alessandro’s reaction. Disbelief? Displeasure? He was not going to be pleased, of that Mia was completely certain. And, judging by the way he handled h
ostile takeovers, he was going to expect Mia to fall in with his plans, whatever they would be.
And what would they be? Would he want to, heaven forbid, get rid of their child, considering him or her an inconvenience he couldn’t abide? Or would he throw money at her, to make her go away? She knew he would want to do something, but she had no idea what it would be.
And what did she want? Never to see Alessandro Costa again, preferably. Perhaps he wanted the same thing. Hopefully they could come to an agreement, even if this wasn’t a scenario either of them had envisioned or wanted.
Of course, she had to get in touch with him first, and Mia didn’t really know how to do that. She’d never had his personal information and she certainly wasn’t going to find it online. The best she could hope for was to call the headquarters of Costa International and hope the message was passed on. After that...it was surely up to him. The thought comforted her. All she could do was try, surely.
The next morning, Mia made the call to Costa International in Rome, and got the switchboard.
‘I’d like to speak to Alessandro Costa, please.’ She tried to make her voice sound confident and firm, and had a feeling she failed.
‘I’m afraid he’s not available.’
‘This is important and personal. Is there another number on which I could reach him?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
Mia bit her lip, fighting both frustration and a treacherous relief. She’d tried... ‘Then may I leave a message?’ she asked, and the receptionist’s voice was toneless as she answered.
‘Of course.’
‘And can I be sure it will get to him?’ Mia pressed, determined to make a good effort. ‘It’s important.’
‘Of course.’
She left her name and number. ‘Please do give him the message,’ she said, knowing she was probably annoying the receptionist but needing, as a matter of principle, to communicate the urgency of the matter. ‘It’s important.’
‘He’ll get the message,’ the receptionist assured her in a bored voice, and then disconnected the call.
Mia sat back, feeling the tiniest bit relieved. She’d made the effort. She’d tried to be in touch. If Alessandro didn’t get the message...
Guilt needled her at the thought. She knew she could ask her boss for his personal details, although whether he’d be willing to give them out, she didn’t know. Still, she supposed she could try harder.
But the grim truth was, she didn’t want to. She knew what it was like to be controlled by a man, someone who dictated what she wore and ate and did. Her father had done all of the above, simply because he could. Mia had lost track of the times he’d insisted she change her clothes, or told her she couldn’t go out, or insisted the dinner her mother had made was inedible when it had been fine. Her entire childhood had been one of barely endured oppression, and she could not bear the thought of opening herself up to that again.
Alessandro might not be as odiously domineering as her father, but already in their short relationship he’d told her what to do, what to wear, where to go. It was obvious to Mia that he was someone who liked being in control, not just of his employees, but everyone in his life. And she could not let him be in control of her, or her child. Not like that.
She’d tried. She’d left a message, she’d said it was important. And that, Mia told herself, pushing away the guilt that still pricked her, was all she could do.
A year later
He hadn’t meant to look her up. He’d excised her from his mind and memory, or done his very best to, even if some nights he still woke up with dreams of her lingering in his mind like an enticing mist, making him remember. Making him want.
In his waking hours, he thought of her not at all, an act of sheer, determined will, and yet, a year later, as he returned to the office of Dillard Investments that he’d done his best to avoid for the last twelve months, he realised some part of him had been thinking of her all along.
Alessandro had worked hard this last year to incorporate Dillard’s clients and assets into his ever-increasing portfolio. He hadn’t been back to London in all that time, but now, with another recent British acquisition under his belt, he had needed to return to the former office of Dillard Investments, now part of Costa International.
As he strode through Henry Dillard’s old office he tried not to look at that desk. Yet even when he was determinedly not looking at it, he was remembering. Remembering Mia’s innocent and yet overwhelming response, the way her body had clasped his in complete embrace and surrender. The dazed look in her eyes afterwards, the way her fingers had fumbled as she’d buttoned her blouse. And the next day, when she’d asked for a transfer before he’d been able to order it himself.
A year on, Alessandro could reluctantly acknowledge that perhaps he should have taken a bit more care with Mia’s rather abrupt transfer. And now she was on the other side of the world, admittedly by her own choice, but he hadn’t even checked whether she’d settled in or was enjoying her job.
It would be the right thing, Alessandro mused, to check on her, just to see how she was doing, that she was enjoying Los Angles and her position with the Arras Hotel Group.
He wouldn’t have to talk to her; she wouldn’t even have to know. He could ask Eric Foster, the CEO of the Arras Group, a man he’d put in place to run the half-dozen exclusive hotels located on the west coast of America that he’d taken over five years ago. This was nothing more than a courtesy call, a way to clear his conscience...if it needed clearing in the first place.
And yet, as he dialled the number, he felt his heart rate quicken. What if he was put through to Mia herself? What if she was happy to hear from him?
As if, on both counts. He was a fool for thinking it, for wanting it even a little.
‘Mia James?’ Foster sounded surprised when Alessandro mentioned her. ‘She was working out wonderfully, of course. I knew she would, if you’d recommended her.’
‘Was?’ Alessandro frowned, a sense of unease clenching his gut. ‘Isn’t she still working for you?’
‘Not at the moment.’ Taylor let out a little laugh that Alessandro didn’t understand. ‘She stopped about three months ago, but she’s expecting to be back this summer, no pun intended.’ He let out another laugh, and Alessandro’s frown deepened, his body tensing.
No pun...? What was that supposed to mean? ‘Has something happened to make her take such a leave of absence?’
‘Has something happened?’ Taylor repeated, sounding surprised. ‘I guess you don’t know...no reason why you would, although I thought she was a personal friend of yours...’
‘Know what?’ Alessandro demanded, brushing the man’s other words aside. He was not about to explain his relationship, or lack of it, to Mia James in any detail whatsoever.
‘Sorry, sorry. She’s on maternity leave. She had a baby three months ago. A little girl.’
For a second Alessandro couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. He felt as if his brain were short-circuiting, misfiring. A baby. A baby three months ago...nine months after their night together.
It was impossible. Impossible. She’d been on the pill. She would have told him. Surely, no matter what had or hadn’t happened between them, she would have told him. It couldn’t be...
‘Right, I must have forgotten that.’ His voice, attempting joviality, sounded forced. ‘Of course.’
‘I hope she comes back,’ Taylor said. ‘She’s a good PA. The best I’ve ever had.’
‘Yes.’ Alessandro’s mind felt as if it was buzzing, full of static and white noise. He could not form a single coherent thought. ‘Yes,’ he said again, and then he disconnected the call. He flung the phone across his desk, glad when it clattered noisily across the surface. He half wished it would break, that something would, because he realised he was furious.
Furious, because Mia James might have had his baby and not ev
en told him. Not ever told him. His fists clenched as his blood pumped through his body in hectic, vengeful thuds. How dared she? How dared she? To not tell him something so critical, so utterly important... To deprive him of knowing his own child...
Unless it wasn’t his child?
A little girl. His mind raced as he paced the confines of the room like something caged. Could it be another man’s? Yet she’d been a virgin, no other men in the picture as far as he knew, but of course he didn’t know...anything. And yet he couldn’t believe Mia would have gone with another man so soon after. Surely it was his. Surely...
There was only one way to find out.
He took his private jet to Los Angeles that night, cancelling half a dozen meetings without a word of explanation. The flight felt endless, his mind going in pointless circles as he considered what he would say to Mia.
If it was his child, his daughter, then he knew what he wanted, and he knew he’d do anything, anything, to see it happen. He’d grown up without a father, and it had tormented him for all his childhood. He would never, ever allow a child of his to experience that same sense of loss, confusion, and grief. He’d never walk away from his own flesh and blood the way his father had, without a single thought or care.
But perhaps the baby wasn’t his. A thought that, irrationally, gave him a little lurch of disappointment, even as he recognised that his treatment of Mia had been less than admirable. Could he really blame her if she’d met someone else and forgotten him?
A limo picked him up at the airport and drove him to the address of Mia’s apartment that he’d had on file. It was a beautiful, balmy evening, the sun setting over the ocean, its placid surface shimmering with crimson and gold, palm trees silhouetted against a darkening sky.
