At the Italian's Command

by Cathy Williams

  ‘Sit down, Sophie,’ he said finally, nodding to the chair in front of his desk.

  As soon as she was sitting, he leaned forward, linking his fingers together, and spoke in a very soft, razor-sharp voice.

  ‘I won’t beat about the bush,’ he told her. ‘I don’t want you here and the only reason you’re sitting on that chair in front of this desk is because I was railroaded into it by my mother. I am an extremely busy man and I have no time to take care of someone walking in my shadow for a fortnight, but I had no choice.’

  Sophie refused to shrink under those cool eyes, even though at this point she could think of nothing more enjoyable than being swallowed up by the ground.

  ‘I realise that it’s inconvenient for you, Rafe, but this whole thing was arranged without my consent either.’

  He gave a short, disbelieving laugh, but let it drop.

  ‘My schedule is intense.’ He shoved a piece of paper over to her and Sophie’s eyes flicked over it. A timetable that seemed to leave little room to breathe. ‘You can follow me into my meetings, although I really can’t see what the point of the exercise is. I work hard, but that is information I could have provided for you in the space of a five-minute meeting.’ Rafe sat back and proceeded to look at her with an unreadable expression on his darkly handsome face.

  Same old Sophie. Gauche, tongue-tied and dressed in the same unfortunate style as her mother. Still. He had made his position clear from the onset. He wasn’t going to babysit her simply because of the connection between their parents.

  ‘I already knew that you’re a workaholic, Rafe—’

  ‘I work hard. Quite different from being a workaholic.’

  ‘I’ll make a note of it.’ Her blue eyes clashed with his own and he was impressed to see that her gaze was as steady as his. Must be desperate for her job, he thought. Anyone with a semblance of pride would have ditched the venture by now.

  ‘How are you, anyway?’ he asked, changing the subject, and was irritated to see that her cool expression didn’t thaw even fractionally in the face of this attempt at pleasantries.

  ‘Is that a meaningful question? I mean, are you really interested in my well-being or are you just being polite now that you’ve told me how you feel about my presence here?’

  ‘I’ll get back to you on that one, shall I?’ He stood up, expecting her to follow suit, which she did. ‘Meetings call. First one is on the other side of London with a couple of directors from a company I’m planning on buying.’ He strode across to a cleverly concealed sliding walnut door, which she had barely noticed when she had entered his office, and extracted his coat, which he proceeded to shrug on. ‘I move fast,’ he said, briefly turning to her, ‘and I don’t intend to slow down so that you can catch up. If you insist on this ridiculous venture, then you either keep up or get left behind. I won’t come looking for you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’ Well, things had got off to a predictable start. He found her irritating and she disliked him. Put the two together and you were hardly going to get an easy ride, but in a way she decided that that made her job simpler. She would be able to detach herself and write a completely honest report without having to think about treading on eggshells out of consideration for him.

  With that in mind, she snatched her coat from the peg in the outside office, making sure to keep on the move while she put it on, and kept pace with him, asking no questions, letting her impressions take the driving seat.

  He talked, walked and reacted like a man accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. This came as no surprise. He had been like that even as a young teenager. She watched the reactions of other people as he strode through the offices, the way they involuntarily altered their body language in his passing presence. His towering personality radiated outwards like a forcefield, inspiring respect and possibly fear.

  ‘Are your days normally so hectic?’ she asked, once they were in the lift down.

  ‘Where’s your notepad? Shouldn’t you be writing down all my answers?’ The cool, velvety voice sent little prickles racing down her spine.

  ‘That’s not how I intend to handle it. I’m going to write up a report at the end of every evening and then when it’s all over, I’ll compile the real thing and submit it to my editor.’

  ‘Which would be after you show it to me. Correct?’

  ‘Naturally, nothing would go to print that hadn’t been given the go-ahead by you.’ Frankly, she hadn’t really thought about that at all, and now that he had mentioned it she wondered how honest an account she would be able to give. No one liked themselves displayed, warts and all, for the world to examine. The lift juddered to a stop, they emerged and it was only when they were inside the chauffeur-driven Jaguar, that she had the chance to continue the conversation. She resolutely ploughed on in the face of him opening his briefcase and extracting a wad of papers that he clearly intended to peruse for the duration of the trip, never mind her questions.

  ‘But I intend to write quite a detailed and frank article. Would that frighten you?’

  For a second, Rafe wondered whether he had heard correctly. He snapped shut the briefcase and turned very slowly to look at her. ‘Would that frighten me? Do I look like a man who scares easily?’

  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 s
ay.’

  ‘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. Mi
ght 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.