by Penny Jordan
‘Negative!’ she wept as Emma just stood there. ‘I was so, so sure that I was.’
‘I’m so sorry!’ Well, what else could she say? ‘I’m very sorry.’
And what could she do other than lead the sodden bundle to the nearest chair and peel off tissues as Evelyn gulped out her sorry tale?
Married five years.
Trying for a baby for four and a half of those.
IVF and injections and nasal sprays and tests and scans and egg retrieval.
And now she had to ring Paul and tell him, Evelyn had sobbed, had to ring her lovely, lovely husband, who wanted a baby as much as she did, and say that they’d failed to conceive through IVF for a second time.
Emma really didn’t have to worry about saying the right thing, she couldn’t get a word in. Instead, she just sat there and listened and poured water and offered tissues, and finally, when Evelyn had cried a river, she seemed to remember where she was and who she was talking to.
‘You’ve been so nice—I mean, after I was so cool with you.’
‘It’s not a problem. If I’m not the right person…’
‘No, you see…’ Evelyn was wringing the tissue in her hands ‘…it has nothing to do with your experience or that you don’t speak Japanese…’
‘I know that now.’
‘No, I mean—’
‘I get it, okay? I admit, I assumed you must like him yourself, but…’
Emma giggled as Evelyn gave a watery smile and rolled her eyes. ‘Not at all—I’m just sick of training new assistants, only to have them leave once he’s bedded them. He’s incorrigible, you know.’
‘I know!’ Emma groaned. ‘He just asked me if I wanted to join him for dinner in Paris.’ Emma smiled. ‘Maybe you should look for a male PA.’
‘They’d fall in love with him too,’ Evelyn sighed, then she blinked. ‘You said no to Paris?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘You don’t find him attractive?’ she gasped.
‘He’s divine,’ Emma corrected her. ‘He’s side splittingly beautiful and any woman who says otherwise is a liar.’
‘So why did you say no?’ Evelyn wanted to know.
‘Because I know him,’ Emma explained. ‘Not Luca personally, but I grew up amongst his type—I’ve read their rule book from cover to cover. I grew up in an all-male household—an exceptionally good-looking all-male household at that. ‘
‘What about your mother?’
‘She died when I was four.’ Emma said, and there was nothing in her voice that requested sympathy—she merely stated the facts. ‘My brothers are all considerably older than me…’ She gave a thin smile at the memory of her childhood. ‘And my father, well, a good-looking widower attracts a lot of admirers—all wanting to change him, all assuming he’s just waiting for the next Mrs. Stephenson to come along—and he played them all well.’
‘Luca’s a nice man,’ Evelyn said, just a touch pink at her own indiscretion in discussing her boss so personally. ‘Beneath it all, when he’s not being horrible, he’s a really nice man. Take this assistant PA role that’s currently being advertised—that’s so I can cut back on my travel and late work nights…he’s great really.’
‘So long as you don’t love him,’ Emma said. ‘So long as you have absolutely no intention or hope that one day you might change him…’
‘You really do get it.’ Evelyn blinked in wonder.
‘I really do.’ Locating her bag, Emma plonked it on her shoulder. ‘I’d best get going.’
‘And I’d better ring Paul.’
And it had been no contest—not for a second had she considered accepting Luca’s extravagant offer, but sitting in her pyjamas, eating her TV dinner and watching the credits on her favourite show roll, the house was too big and too lonely for one.
Lonely…
She had never admitted it, not even to herself.
Oh, she had friends and a job and was kept busy—but sometimes, sometimes she wished she wasn’t so wise, so cynical, so mistrusting where men were concerned.
She reached for a magazine, skipped straight to the problem page and read about other people’s lives, other people’s problems, and for the millionth time in her life she missed her mum. Missed the chats that would surely have happened about boys and men. Everyone else seemed to find it so easy—her friends fell in and out of love, skipped from relationship to relationship, and some were even getting married, or moving in with their boyfriends.
Yet Emma felt as if she’d been left at the starting post.
Too embarrassed by her brothers’ teasing, too scared of getting hurt, she’d hid her first innocent crushes, had said no to dates in her teenage years, envying how others found this dating game so easy and just dived in and said yes.
Dear Barbara, she penned the letter in her head.
I’m an attractive twenty-four-year-old, I have friends, a job, a busy life and I’m still a virgin.
Oh, and I just said no to a night in Paris with the sexiest man on earth.
She’d make letter of the week!
And though it was great to have come home to no messages from her father’s nursing home or new bills in the mail, all she felt was deflated. She flicked off the TV, and for just a second she faltered.
A tiny, wobbly second, where she wished she were stupid, wished for that impulse gene where men were concerned that had been so sorely denied her.
Wished she’d just said yes to Luca’s dazzling offer.
* * *
Luca flicked through the channels on the television.
Not that he was watching it. It was on all day for background noise for the dog, Pepper—not that the animal appreciated it.
The night stretched on endlessly and he stood there, rueing the fact that he had been yawning and bored at eleven p.m. in Paris, but thanks to the time difference was wide awake and thoroughly restless at five minutes to midnight in London.
He should be exhausted, he had been up since five—but his head was clicking like an abacus. Hemming’s, a large shopping chain, had called him in way too late to stop them from going under.
Except he could see a way to save them.
He grabbed a beer from the fridge and tried not to think about it, tried to wind down—just fed up with all the travel, with the demands. Why did everyone want an in-person—why couldn’t they just settle for a face-to-face on a screen in the meeting room?
Hell, an email would usually suffice.
Sex would be nice.
And there were plenty who would be willing.
But he couldn’t be bothered to talk.
Couldn’t be bothered tonight to even pretend to be interested.
His tie must have been soldered on, along with his cufflinks—because he had to put down his drink to deal with them.
And deal with Pepper.
He snarled at the ginger miniature poodle, who snarled back at him. He let him out on his vast balcony to do whatever dogs did.
His maid would see to it in the morning.
Martha, an ex-girlfriend, had, after a trip back to his home in Sicily, decided to move in uninvited, and had conveniently forgotten Pepper when Luca had asked her to move out—three years ago!
‘You,’ Luca said, wandering back to the fridge and selecting a few choice morsels, ‘are the most pathetic excuse for a dog I have ever seen.’
He ripped a chicken leg off and gnawed it as he stretched out on his sofa, with Pepper quivering on the floor beside him.
‘You’re on a diet.’ Luca reminded him. Half watching a detective show on the television, finally Luca relented and threw some titbits to the floor in reward for their new game—having recently found out that if he changed the word ‘Paw’ to ‘High five’ the outcome was the same, only much more satisfying.
It had been hellish breaking up with Martha—her tears and protests at the unexpected end had been unprecedented—as over and over she had asked how he could end something so good.
And she’d l
eft Pepper—just hadn’t taken him, sure that Luca would crack and ring, would make contact—but what she hadn’t truly realised was that when Luca ended things, he ended them.
That Luca would rather deal with a senile, smelly old dog than face her again.
The detective show actually wasn’t that boring…
Three minutes from the end of the final episode of the season, Luca decided it was something he might actually get into.
And then the credits rolled.
And he knew this was what Emma had been talking about.
Knew she was watching it too.
He just knew it. And he wished she’d said yes to Paris.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS a quarter to five on a Thursday afternoon and the entire staff of D’Amato Financiers, excluding Emma, seemed to be abuzz with excitement. As Emma walked back from a meeting with the manager of HR she could see make-up, slyly in some cases and blatantly in others, being applied at desks, and the general office area reeked of a clash of newly sprayed perfume. Even the guys were at it—appearing from the men’s room with a generous dash of newly applied hair product and a glint in their eyes as the end of the workday approached.
Thursday night in London, and it seemed everyone had plans.
Everyone except Emma.
She remembered with a pang when Thursday nights had heralded the start of the weekend. When Friday morning had been spent huddled around the coffee machine, dissecting the previous night.
She’d be lucky if she was out of here by seven and she had to visit her father and she had to be back here by six the next morning, to meet with Luca and then fly up for an eight-thirty a.m. meeting in Scotland.
Evelyn had had second thoughts—offering Emma the position the following day—and she had been in her dream job for six weeks now. And though it was still just that, a dream job, it was also extremely hard work—as Assistant Personal Assistant to Luca D’Amato, it wasn’t just her job title that took some explaining. Every minute of Luca’s time was valuable, Evelyn had explained on her first day. Beyond valuable, actually—which was why he had his own travel team, two assistants and looking for a third, four full-time drivers, in fact a whole fleet of staff that took care of the details and allowed Luca to get on with doing what he did best—rescuing struggling companies, turning them around and making an obscene amount of money in the process.
Emma’s job was varied, mostly exciting and yet also downright boring at times—dealing with his sister’s wedding, his dog, his housekeeper’s endless reams of days off. The list was endless.
Ducking into the ladies’ room, Emma knew she ought to attempt a quick repair job on her hair and face before she headed back to her office and to whatever mood Luca was in, but it took for ever to elbow her way to the mirror and her curly dark hair had spent too long in an air-conditioned building because it was looking decidedly frizzy. She borrowed a squirt of serum from a snooty-looking redhead, re-tied her hair back in a low ponytail and then, sick of the coffee on the top floor, she grabbed a hot chocolate and a bag of crisps from the vending machine then headed back up in the lift, knowing that in all likelihood this would double up as dinner.
‘Louse!’
As she walked out of the lift, Emma stepped back as a stunning, raven-haired woman stormed out of Luca’s office and into the lift, tears streaming down her face but watching his closed office door and just standing there, waiting for it to open, waiting for him to follow her out, to call her back, to no doubt tell her that it didn’t have to end like this, that he’d had a change of heart.
Of course he didn’t.
Of course he wouldn’t—no one delivered an ultimatum to Luca and came out smiling, not even this rare beauty, who, with a sob of frustration, finally pushed the lift button, her desperate eyes peeking out of the closing gap, still hoping that Luca would change his mind.
‘That,’ he said, first peering around the door and making sure it was safe to come out, ‘was not my fault.’ He put up his hands in bemusement and said it again. ‘Really, that time it wasn’t my fault.’ Still Emma said nothing, just watched with pursed lips as he helped himself to her hot chocolate, as he always did if she didn’t pour it into her mug before he saw it. ‘Honestly, it wasn’t!’
‘It never is.’ Sarcasm dripped from Emma’s lips, which might seem rude to some, and might be no way to talk to your boss—but it was because she did speak to him like that, because she did keep him at arm’s length and because she was very good at her job, that, despite his stunning initial offer, in the six weeks she had worked there, Luca hadn’t even attempted to flirt.
Well, the odd time perhaps!
But it was quickly, expertly, rebuffed.
‘Did you get my messages?’ Emma checked, because he never read them. ‘A Dr Calista called—he wants you to ring him.’
‘Fine.’
‘And your sister too—she wants to know if you’ve looked at the ties.’
‘Ties?’
‘She sent you an email of some photos of ties—for the groomsmen to wear at the wedding—and she wants to know if you’re staying. She’s rung a few times today.’
‘Remind her of my hourly rate,’ Luca drawled, ‘and if she keeps ringing, bill her.’
He didn’t mean it, Emma knew that, but he could be so scathing at times.
‘I do mean it,’ Luca said as if in response to her private thoughts.
‘You really want me to bill your sister for ringing you?’ She knew he didn’t mean it, knew he’d hit the roof if she actually did it, and just refused to play his games.
‘I want you,’ Luca said, very firmly, very clearly, ‘to practise some of the assertion this job demands—I am not to be bothered with these details, is that clear?’
‘Very.’
‘Good.’ Luca said. ‘You choose the ties, you sort things out and you have my full authority to tell her it was me.’
‘Fine.’
He was turning now, heading back to his office, tossing the empty chocolate cup in the bin. Then he turned around.
‘Are you doing anything tonight?’
‘Actually, yes,’ Emma said through gritted teeth, ‘I’ve got plans.’
‘Well, cancel them.’ Luca shrugged. ‘Ruby was supposed to be coming with me to some awful dinner dance at Hemming’s. It’s plus one, so I’m expected to bring someone.’
‘I really do have plans!’ Emma repeated, because she was beginning to get tired of this—she worked hard, more than hard, but this would be the fourth night in a row that she hadn’t got to visit her father and it simply wasn’t fair—surely she was allowed to have a semblance of a life? ‘I need to visit my father,’ she reluctantly explained, loath to let Luca in on her personal life. ‘I told him I’d be over tonight.’
‘So, tell him that you are working.’
‘I’ve been putting him off all week.’ She just couldn’t do it to him again. ‘I’d really like to finish on time tonight.’ When Luca just frowned, she pushed a touch further. ‘Look, I don’t usually say no, but surely there’s someone else you can ask?’
Which was a stupid thing to say. There were plenty of women Luca could ask, and there was one reason and one reason only that he was asking her! ‘I was hoping for an early night,’ Luca sighed. ‘At least with you it would be just dinner!’ Which was a rather strange compliment, but it bought a reluctant smile to her face. ‘I’ll ask Evelyn—where is she, by the way?’
‘No, don’t…’ Emma flustered, for Evelyn had sneaked off to the doctor’s to pick up her vials and needles for her final round of IVF, which she was starting in the morning. The last thing the poor woman needed was a night on the town with Luca. ‘I’ll just go. It’s fine.’
‘You’re sure?’ Luca frowned, just a touch guilty now that he had got his own way, as he knew full well where Evelyn was. ‘Tell you what—we can visit your father on the way.’
‘We can’t,’ Emma fretted. ‘I’ll be in evening dress!’
‘
So?’ Luca grinned. ‘Go on, get ready and we’ll leave in an hour.’
* * *
It was testament to the nature of her job that she could get ready for a formal function within the hour. There was a bathroom on their floor and Emma stuffed her curls under a cap and quickly showered. She even had a wardrobe in her office—her day bag was already packed and ready for her jaunt to Scotland in the morning and Emma rummaged in it for her styling wand and spare make-up bag then set to work on her face, squirting drops in her eyes in the hope they’d sparkle and then working on her lips and cheeks.
With some difficulty she pulled stockings onto damp legs and then slipped on her fast-becoming-familiar little black dress and clipped on a string of black pearls, before coaxing tired feet into stilettos.
And then she tackled her hair. Spritzing her wayward, corkscrew curls around the wand and trying to coax them into shape.
It was a routine she was starting to perfect.
‘You need some more evening wear,’ was Luca’s only comment when he saw that she was in her black dress again.
‘Just as soon as I get a day off!’ Emma retorted. ‘Aren’t you ready?’
He didn’t answer but, then, Luca rarely answered pointless questions. Instead, he strode out to the lifts with Emma following behind, holding a small suitcase to take to her father and stuffing her evening bag with keys and lipstick and hair serum and sticking plasters as the lift plummeted down.
‘I forgot to put on perfume.’
He sniffed the air. ‘You smell fine.’
Men!
He glanced at the small case she was carrying, but didn’t comment and neither did Emma, not bothering with small talk. She just sat in the back of the car with Luca as they moved at a snail’s pace through the heavy peak-hour traffic, a knot of tension in her stomach, sure that at any moment he’d tell her it was too late to stop by her father’s nursing home. Glancing at her watch, she realised they weren’t going to be able to make it and it was actually a relief—she didn’t want to explain her life to Luca.
‘The old dog’s home first!” Luca drawled, not knowing the nerve he was pricking as he let them into his apartment. The television was blaring as usual and Emma paced as Luca chopped up some chicken breast and added a spoonful of rice to Pepper’s bowl.
