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‘I have an important meeting this weekend.’
‘Yes, on Santa Nicola,’ Ha
‘Right.’ He hadn’t known any of those details, but he’d expected Ha
Ha
Luca hesitated. He didn’t have time to explain his intentions now, and he suspected that his PA would balk at what he was about to ask. ‘Yes, that’s right.’ He could tell Ha
‘What exactly do you require?’
A wife. A temporary, compliant woman. ‘I require you to accompany me to Santa Nicola for the weekend.’ Luca hadn’t asked Ha
Luca knew that Ha
Ha
* * *
Ha
‘Shall I book an extra ticket?’ she asked, trying to sound as efficient and capable as she always was.
‘Yes.’
She nodded, her mind still spi
‘Why on earth would you do that?’ Luca demanded. He sounded irritated, and Ha
‘I hardly think, as your PA, I’d need to travel first class, and the expense—’
‘Forget the expense.’ He cut her off, waving a hand in dismissal. ‘I’ll need you seated with me. I’ll work on the flight.’
‘Very well.’ She held the letters to her chest, wondering what else she’d need to do to prepare for such a trip. And wondering why Luca Moretti needed her on this trip when he hadn’t needed her on any other. She studied him covertly, lounging as he was in his office chair, his midnight-dark hair rumpled, his thick, straight brows drawn into frowning lines, one hand still drumming the top of his ebony desk.
He was an incredibly handsome man, a compelling, charismatic, driven man; one business magazine had called him ‘an elegant steamroller’. Ha
‘Very well,’ she said now. ‘I’ll make the arrangements.’ Luca nodded her dismissal and Ha
First things first. She called the airline and booked an additional first-class ticket for herself, wincing at the expense even though Luca Moretti could well afford it. As CEO of his own real-estate development empire, he could have afforded his own jet.
That done, she quickly emailed her mother. She would have called, but Luca forbade personal calls from the office, and Ha
‘Mr Moretti?’
‘You’ll need suitable clothes for this weekend.’
Ha
‘I don’t mean that.’ Luca gestured to her clothes, and Ha
‘I’m sorry...?’
‘This weekend is as much a social occasion as a business one,’ he explained tersely. ‘You’ll need appropriate clothing—evening gowns and the like.’
Evening gowns? She certainly didn’t have any of those in her wardrobe, and couldn’t imagine the need for them. ‘As your PA—’
‘As my PA you need to be dressed appropriately. This isn’t going to be a board meeting.’
‘What is it, exactly? Because I’m not sure—’
‘Think of it more as a weekend house party with a little business thrown in.’
Which made it even more mystifying as to why he needed her along.
‘I’m afraid I don’t own any evening gowns—’ Ha
‘That’s easy enough to take care of.’ He slid his smartphone out of his pocket and thumbed a few buttons before speaking rapidly in Italian. Although she heard the occasional familiar word, Ha
A few minutes later he disco
‘Diavola...?’
‘You know the boutique?’
She’d heard of it. It was an incredibly high-end fashion boutique in Mayfair. She might have walked past the elegant sashed windows once, seen a single dress hanging there in an elegant fall of shimmery silk, no price tag visible.
She swallowed hard, striving to seem calm, as if this whole, unexpected venture hadn’t completely thrown her. ‘That might be a bit out of my price range—’
‘I will pay, of course.’ His brows snapped together as he frowned at her. ‘It’s all part of the business expense. I’d hardly expect you to buy a gown you’ll only be wearing because of your work.’
‘Very well.’ She tried not to squirm under his fierce gaze. She felt as if he was examining her and she was not meeting his expectations, which was disconcerting, as she always had before. She took pride in how well she performed her job. Luca Moretti had never had any cause to criticise her. ‘Thank you.’
‘We’ll leave in an hour,’ Luca said, and strode back into his office.
Ha
She was just composing an email to Andrew Tyson’s PA when Luca came out of his office, shrugging into his suit jacket, his face settling into a frown as he caught sight of her.
‘Aren’t you ready?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m just emailing Mr Tyson’s PA—’