Sophie's Seduction. Kim Lawrence

her sorrows. She is hanging over the toilet as we speak,’ Amber observed bitterly.

      Sophie grimaced and thought, Thanks for the image.

      ‘And if you say “poor Sukie” I’ll…My world is falling apart—my entire future depends on a girl who wears sensible shoes. No offence…’ She sniffed between sobs.

      The fact that Amber could weep made more of an impact on Sophie than either the insult or the apology.

      ‘You’re serious.’ The realisation sent a rush of fear through her body. ‘You want me to fly to Sicily and sell this to Marco Speranza’s office?’ This was what fairy tales were made of…or was that nightmares? Maybe she was still asleep and any minute she would wake up and laugh.

      ‘Not his office—him.’

      No, she was definitely awake; even her subconscious was not that inventive!

      ‘I have a meeting with him personally which is why someone representing this firm has to be there. There is no option—we need this commission, Sophie. The credit crunch has been hard on everyone and I’ve had to write off a couple of big debts after the clients went under…’

      About to cut her off and say there was just no way she could do this, something in the other woman’s voice made Sophie pause…Oh, my God, she thought, as she realised what anyone who wasn’t a spoilt, indulged rich kid who’d never had to think about money already would have.

      This wasn’t just about kudos. Amber was worried about her business’s survival. Sophie was ashamed that she had been so wrapped up in her own concerns, so self-centred, that it hadn’t even crossed her mind to wonder if maybe she wasn’t the only one who had problems.

      ‘You can’t ask to reschedule a personal meeting with Marco Speranza.’

      Sophie, thinking of her father, admitted, ‘No, I can see that.’ No man got to be that rich and powerful without taking a certain amount of deference for granted.

      ‘If he thinks we’ve insulted him he could ruin my business. I’ve heard he can be utterly ruthless.’ The sound of a sternly muffled sob echoed down the line.

      Sophie heard the sob and folded. ‘All right, I’ll do it.’

      Half an hour later she arrived at the office and collected the relevant papers and drawings from where Amber had said they’d be. She tucked them into her overnight bag, planning to read them on the flight.

      ‘The idea will sell itself,’ Amber had said.

      God, I hope so, Sophie thought, because if they’re relying on me we’re stuffed!

      ‘Isabella, many women come back to work the week after they’ve given birth or when they’ve had a Caesarean.’

      His PA forgot her stately calm enough to laugh. ‘Well, I’m not superwoman. I need six months and then I think we might discuss flexible hours.’

      Marco put down the phone—the woman had him wound round her finger and she knew it, damn her!

      Scowling to himself he left his car and walked into the lift. His temporary PA was scared of him, which might not have been a bad thing if this fear made her efficient, but it didn’t. She gibbered and looked at him as though he was going to eat her and spoke so quietly he couldn’t hear her.

      And to make the situation worse he suspected his protégé was falling in love with her.

      Love! Marco could not even think the word without a contemptuous sneer forming on his broad brow. Love did not mix well with the smooth running of his office. When he had spent the time and effort to groom Francesco he had taken an ability to keep his personal life separate from the demands of work as a given.

      He did not seek to impose his views on his employees—what they did in their free time, including falling in love, did not concern him—but when love affairs crossed the line into the work place it became his concern.

      When Marco walked into the office, Francesco broke off his conversation with the young woman whose fingers were flying across the keyboard.

      Marco glanced their way but did not speak as he stalked towards the wall lined with files, impatience etched not just in every line of his startlingly good-looking face but in every tense muscle and sinew of his lean, athletic body.

      He angled a sardonic brow. ‘Did you want to see me, Francesco?’ he asked, locating the file he was seeking and withdrawing it.

      ‘No.’

      Marco maintained a speaking silence, but though the younger man looked uncomfortable he did not look away. Marco gave a reluctant smile; his protégé was a fool but he was a fool who stood his ground, which was good. There was no place at a senior level for a man he could intimidate.

      His smile faded when he turned his attention to the blushing young woman; incompetence always irritated him. ‘I do not wish to be disturbed for the next two hours.’

      ‘Oh, dear!’

      Marco took his hand off the door handle of his office, stopped and swung back. ‘Oh, dear?’ He angled a questioning brow and waited.

      Francesco cleared his throat. ‘Slight problem there. Your two-thirty has been here since, well…’ He glanced at his wristwatch which now read six-thirty. ‘Well, two-thirty.’

      Marco’s brows drew into a disapproving straight line above the hawkish nose that bisected his chiselled features.

      ‘I asked for you to reschedule.’

      Again it was Francesco who spoke up. ‘We tried, but we couldn’t contact her in time. Miss Balfour had apparently lost her phone.’

      Marco’s expression accurately reflected his opinion of people who lost phones. ‘My appointment was not with anyone called Balfour.’

      ‘Well, that’s who came.’

      ‘And you put her in my office?’ Marco’s incredulous interrogative glare was directed towards his temporary secretary. ‘You let a total stranger into my office?’

      ‘That was my idea, Marco, when she wouldn’t go away.’

      ‘Wouldn’t go away?’ Marco echoed, his glance drifting towards the protective hand that Francesco had placed on the shoulder of his temporary secretary.

      The expression in the girl’s eyes seemed to confirm his worst suspicions. Great, he thought, just what I need—an office romance. Which means I either turn a blind eye or come the heavy and be about as popular as the plague.

      Fortunately he did not need people to love him.

      ‘When you say…wouldn’t go away…’

      The sardonic inflection in his boss’s voice brought a flush to the younger man’s face but he defended his decision and nodded.

      ‘And frankly, I didn’t have the heart to throw her out. The kid looked ready to cry when Analise—’ he flashed a warm look at the seated woman and she blushed prettily ‘—suggested she could come back another day.’

       ‘Kid?’

      His secretary finally spoke up. ‘My sister Toni is eighteen and she looks older than her.’

      Marco, whose interest in her sister Toni was not immense, struggled to contain his growing impatience while Francesco added the weight of his opinion.

      ‘She does look very young, Marco. She arrived direct from the airport and she’d lost her bags and she looked—’

      ‘Pretty?’ It was the other man’s problem if he had a weakness for a pretty face, but when he allowed the Achilles heel to encroach into office hours it became a problem.

      ‘No, not pretty,’ Francesco said, struggling and failing to recall the features of the young English girl who had arrived looking scared stiff.