At The Italian's Command. Cathy Williams
Читать онлайн книгу.
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. Might 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.
‘Thank you.’ She turned to him and tried a pleasant smile on for size. ‘I didn’t realise that you’d come back to the office. Patricia said that you would probably go straight home from your last meeting.’
‘One or two things to do.’ The rain had dampened down the curls and turned the copper-red colour to an odd sort of brown. Her face, devoid of make-up, was pale and damp. He wondered whether she ever looked in a mirror at all. ‘Where are you staying?’
Sophie gave him the address, which was on the outskirts of London, and Rafe frowned.
‘I haven’t got time to drop you there. You’ll have to drop me off first and then George will take you to where you live.’
Sophie opened her mouth to argue the point and then nodded her head. She had to get out of the habit of feeling awkward in Rafe’s presence, at least if she were to do her job with any level of competency. She had to will herself to talk to him so that she could find out what made him tick. He treated her like a kid because his mind was stuck in that groove, but that gambit only worked if she allowed herself to be treated that way.
‘That’s fine,’ she said coolly. ‘Did you have a productive day?’
‘The forecast is good on several fronts,’ Rafe said, sitting back and leaning against the door so that he could watch her more thoroughly. ‘What about you? Did you manage to make the rounds of the office and get hold of any juicy titbits about me?’
‘It seems you’re the perfect boss, Rafe. No one had a bad word to say about you, but then I don’t suppose they would have felt inclined to pour their hearts out to a virtual stranger.’
‘So, disappointment on that front, then.’
‘I admit my editor might have enjoyed some gossip,’ Sophie told him truthfully, ‘but it seems that you pay well and treat your employees fairly. Group meetings on a regular basis so that they can let off steam, pay reviews biannually, membership of a sports centre, bonus packages at the end of the year, the list goes on.’
‘What did you expect, Sophie? A tyrant who chained his workers to their desks and deprived them of everything but the basics?’
‘Of course not! But I’ve worked in an office. I know that there are always grumblings of discontent around if you look hard enough.’
‘Is that why you left your job? Because of the office politics?’ He realised that, although they had met socially off and on over the years, he knew very little about her. She had stuck in his head as someone who hovered on the sidelines, always standing out like a sore thumb but not for the right reasons. ‘You did a degree in Art,’ he remarked, remembering one piece of throwaway information his mother had given him at some point. He recalled thinking that that was exactly what he would have guessed she might have done, given her appearance.
‘How do you know that?’
‘My mother must have told