The Correttis (Books 1-8). Кейт Хьюит

knew that Marianna was also terribly, terribly sexy. ‘Suitable’ was the word Ella settled for, though she knew that she was handing inevitable heartbreak over as she passed Santo the résumé, but Marianna was in fact the perfect person for this role.

      ‘When can she start?’

      ‘Immediately.’

      Santo frowned. ‘How can she be so good if she is so available?’

      ‘I checked all that.’ Ella had thought exactly the same. ‘She’s still working, much the same as me—actually training up her replacement now, at her boss’s wife’s request.’

      Ella saw the slight raise of one eyebrow. ‘Are there any other candidates?’

      Ella handed him the second résumé. Santo tried, he really did, to keep his expression bland—so much so that Ella had to suppress a smile. ‘He seems to have a lot of experience.’

      ‘He does,’ Santo said carefully. ‘And perhaps things would be a little less complicated.’ He glanced over to Ella, as if to check her thoughts, but she refused to give them. ‘How soon can he start?’

      ‘Paulo has already given his notice. He’s in Singapore now with his current boss, but should be back in Italy in the next couple of days, though he wants to take two weeks off before he starts a new job.’

      ‘Fly them both over for an interview.’ He could feel this huge sulk unfurling. He did not want her gone. It was all so unnecessary to Santo, and certainly he did not want her working for Luigi. ‘You haven’t given your notice in writing.’

      She went into her huge handbag and took it out. ‘I meant to give it to you last night.’

      He didn’t take it.

      ‘File it.’

      ‘Fine.’

      ‘In the shredder.’

      ‘I’ll email you a copy before I do,’ Ella said. ‘Anything else?’

      ‘I need to change the ship date.’

      Ella blinked. Surely he wasn’t talking about the ship date. It had taken her forever to organise—ships sailing into the sunrise generally did!

      ‘I need you to make it for two days later.’

      ‘Santo…’ Ella drew a long breath. It was just the sort of request she’d come to expect from him, just the usual impossible ask that with one look he expected her to fix. ‘There are three hundred extras booked.’

      ‘You think that I don’t know that?’ Santo responded. ‘But the fact is we lost a day’s filming yesterday and things haven’t exactly gone well today.’ She sat quiet for a moment as he voiced it. No, things hadn’t gone well. All the hope and excitement that had greeted them this morning had slowly dispersed throughout the morning, and from the whispers Ella was hearing, after she had left things had gone from bad to worse. ‘I think I might have made a mistake.’

      He didn’t actually say it, but Ella knew that he was talking about Taylor. She hadn’t exactly shone today, but Ella could see it wasn’t her acting that was the problem. Though it would sound like sour grapes if Ella suggested that it was the director who was the issue.

      ‘Things might improve tomorrow,’ Ella attempted. ‘It was never going to be perfect the first day of filming.’

      ‘I know. But for now just sort out the ship and the extras. We’re going to need more time.’

      ‘I’ll see what I can to…’ Her voice trailed off as his phone bleeped the text. She watched relief flood his face.

      ‘Alessandro?’

      ‘Thank God,’ Santo said, reading the text. Ella found herself wishing he’d tell her what his brother had said. She wanted more into his life and was having terrible trouble dealing with that. ‘So we’re done?’

      Ella nodded.

      ‘Did you want another drink?’ he offered.

      ‘No, thanks.’

      ‘Did you want to talk?’

      ‘We’re up at five tomorrow.’

      ‘Fine.’ He was curt—it had been a hell of a day and not a particularly good last night and Santo would love to happily screw his way out of it, but he wasn’t going to beg.

      He didn’t understand her.

      But he’d tried to.

      ‘You’d really rather be alone than be with me.’

      Yes, Ella thought, because it was safer to be alone tonight. In his bed she’d be telling him she loved him or something ridiculous, which wouldn’t cause a remote problem for Santo, Ella knew. He was more than used to hearing that.

      It just caused a huge problem for Ella. She simply didn’t want to love anyone, didn’t want her heart out there in harm’s way, and she was already scrambling to take it back.

      ‘’Night, Santo,’ she said, because it was far safer too.

      ‘’Night, Ella.’

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      SHE WAS UNABLE to get hold of Paulo for a couple of days, but when Ella did he was delighted to hear from her.

      But trying to arrange an interview proved a little difficult. ‘What about next Sunday?’ Ella peered at the diary, then changed her mind. If they changed the shipping dates, it would be the final day of filming and there would be three hundred extras milling around and the set would be crazy. ‘Let me sort out things this end and then I’ll get back to you.’

      ‘No problem.’ He was just so funny and nice and keen to work for Santo, and he told Ella that he was happy now to take just one week off between jobs. ‘Even no time off, but don’t tell him that yet—I would love to work for Santo,’ Paulo said. ‘I have heard so many good things.’ He laughed then and so did Ella. ‘Lots of terrible things too—the whole family, really. They’re a PR nightmare. I assume you’ve seen the papers this morning?’

      ‘You really don’t expect me to discuss that!’ Ella smiled, because there were tales of infidelity and missing grooms and illegitimacies. It was Santo’s mother, Carmela, who was taking up the news today. She was an exceptionally cold woman, one who had been more interested, the newspaper article read, in her designer suits than being a mother to her children. Even if Santo knew that already, he was surely reeling from the news that had just broken of his mother’s most illicit affair.

      She turned her attention back to Paulo. They really weren’t gossiping. Ella had asked him questions about his employer, liking the fact that though Paulo chatted away, he told her nothing. ‘There is an awful lot of discretion required for this role.’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Even with Santo—though you work alongside him, really, you won’t have a clue half the time what is going on. He especially doesn’t discuss his family.’

      ‘I would never expect a Corretti to,’ Paulo said. ‘I am Sicilian, I know.’

      Marianna was nowhere near as accommodating or as pleasant to speak to as Paulo.

      Most annoyingly, Marianna insisted on speaking in English. God, the Italians were so good at delivering a snub when they wanted to, but Ella took it nowhere near as well as she did when it was Santo. It was even harder to pin her for an interview time than it had been with Paulo.

      ‘I’ll arrange transport for you if you can just give me a suitable date.’ Ella did her best to keep her voice even. ‘Santo really would like to get this organised as soon as possible, so if you could let me know when you’re available, I’ll try to sort things out with him.’

      ‘I’ll arrange my own transport,’ Marianna said. ‘You can reimburse.’ Ella held