His Poor Little Rich Girl. Melanie Milburne

       ‘You are under my employ as a fill-in housekeeper,’ he said. ‘Don’t go getting any ideas of filling in other areas of my life.’

      She gave him a withering look. ‘You would have to pay me a king’s ransom to become your latest mistress,’ she said.

      Alessandro felt his lower spine zap with searing heat. ‘Dangerous words, Rachel,’ he warned silkily. ‘Don’t go throwing challenges down at me like that. I might just take you up on it.’

      Rachel glared at him. ‘People like you think you can buy anything you want, don’t you? But I am not selling myself—and certainly not to you.’

      ‘Sleeping rough not your thing any more, little rich girl?’ he asked, with a mocking slant to his mouth.

      She ground her teeth. ‘I am offering to work as your housekeeper. Nothing else.’

      About the Author

      MELANIE MILBURNE says: ‘I am married to a surgeon, Steve, and have two gorgeous sons, Paul and Phil. I live in Hobart, Tasmania, where I enjoy an active life as a long-distance runner and a nationally ranked top ten Master’s swimmer. I also have a Master’s Degree in Education, but my children totally turned me off the idea of teaching! When not running or swimming I write, and when I’m not doing all of the above I’m reading. And if someone could invent a way for me to read during a four-kilometre swim I’d be even happier!’

       Recent titles by the same author:

THE WEDDING CHARADE^*

      SHOCK: ONE-NIGHT HEIR^*

      SCANDAL: UNCLAIMED LOVE-CHILD^*

      THE MÉLENDEZ FORGOTTEN MARRIAGE

^*The Sabbatini Brothers

       Did you know that Melanie also writes for Mills & Boon^® Medical ™ Romance?

      His Poor Little

      Rich Girl

      Melanie Milburne

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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      CHAPTER ONE

      RACHEL had waited for over an hour to meet with the proposed financial backer of her fashion label. She still hadn’t quite got in front of the jet lag and had to fight to keep her eyes open on the magazine she was leafing through as she waited in the plush reception area.

      At last she was led through to the corporate executive’s office by his receptionist on legs that felt woolly with excitement.

      This is it, she thought as she walked through the door. I won’t have to lose everything I have worked so hard for.

      ‘I am sorry, Ms McCulloch,’ the late middle-aged corporate executive said with an apologetic smile even before Rachel could take a seat. ‘We have changed our mind. Our company is undergoing some restructuring. We are not prepared to take a risk on such a relatively unknown designer as you. You will have to go elsewhere for the financial backing you require. We are no longer interested.’

      Rachel blinked at the older man in shock. ‘Not interested?’ she choked. ‘But I thought … Your letter said … But I’ve come all this way!’

      He held up a hand as if directing the heavy traffic that rumbled over the cobbled streets of Milan outside. ‘We have been advised against it by a highly respected business analysis expert,’ he said. ‘The board has made its final decision. I suggest you consider other options for finance.’

      Other options? What other options? Rachel thought in gut-twisting despair. She had to get her evening wear label launched in Europe. Everything she had worked for, all the sacrifices she had made, all the heartache and hard work surely couldn’t end like this. She would look a fool all over again if this failed. If she didn’t get this money the company would go into receivership. She needed money and she needed it quickly.

      She could not fail.

      Rachel frowned as she addressed the executive. ‘Who exactly advised against backing me?’

      ‘I am sorry but I am unable to divulge that information,’ he said.

      She felt her spine go rigid, suspicion crawling over her skin like a long-legged insect. ‘You said it was a highly respected business analysis expert.’

      ‘That is correct.’

      ‘Would that be Alessandro Vallini by any chance?’ she asked with a pointed look.

      ‘I am sorry, Miss McCulloch,’ he said. ‘I am not at liberty to confirm or deny anything.’

      She stood up, hoisting her handbag over her shoulder with grim determination. ‘Thank you for your time,’ she said curtly and left.

      Rachel found the address of Alessandro Vallini’s Milan office on the search engine on her phone. It was a gracious-looking building, old but classy and stylish, signifying the success of the man behind the business. It was a stellar rise to the top. As self-made men went, he surely was an outstanding example of how far one could go irrespective of a disadvantageous background. Seeing him face to face was not something she had originally planned to do, but clearly he had engineered this so she would track him down.

      ‘I would like to see Signor Vallini,’ Rachel said without preamble to the smartly dressed receptionist behind the desk.

      ‘I am sorry but Signor Vallini is currently taking an extended summer break at his villa in Positano,’ the receptionist said. ‘He is conducting all his business from there.’

      ‘Then I would like to make an appointment to see him at the earliest opportunity,’ Rachel said.

      ‘Are you an existing client?’ the receptionist asked.

      ‘No, but I—’

      ‘I am sorry but Signor Vallini is not taking on any new clients until after he returns from his break,’ the receptionist said. ‘I could schedule something for you in late September, perhaps?’

      Rachel frowned. ‘But that’s more than a month away. I’m only here until the end of the August.’ ‘I am sorry but—’

      ‘Look, I’m not really a client,’ Rachel said, hoping she could pull off the little white lie. ‘I’m a … an old friend of his from Melbourne. He used to work for my father. I was hoping we could catch up while I am here. My name is Rachel McCulloch.’

      There