A Passionate Revenge. SARA WOOD
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‘I’m known to be just and generous to my employees and I don’t want that reputation questioned. So let’s continue as if we’ve never met before. First,’ he said, sweeping on before she could claim that was an impossible task, ‘I’ll tell you a little about the company and myself. Then you can explain why you initially wanted to work here. After that, we’ll go through the usual rigmarole. I’m legally bound to do this. Understood?’
Her eyes were a soft, cloudy grey that did their best to disconcert him with their look of naked apprehension. Wary and suspicious, she appeared to consider her options. He pretended to be indifferent even though he could hear his heart thudding hard and fast with anticipation.
He needed her consent. It was imperative that she entered his web and became tangled in it. How long he kept her after that was a matter of conjecture.
She knew that this was her chance to leave with her dignity unimpaired. But for some time she had been shaking too much to risk getting to her feet. The power of him, the almost hypnotic quality of his black, fevered eyes, had kept her glued to the chair.
She dared not move. So she shrugged as if she didn’t care either way what she did and handed over her CV.
Vido pretended to study it even though the words swam around like tadpoles.
‘I have nothing to lose, have I?’ The smoky eyes, fringed with impossibly black lashes, met his in icy challenge. ‘Go on. I’m intrigued. Tell me about yourself. Explain how you made your money with your own talent.’
From her scathing tone, she made it sound as if he’d opened up a string of brothels funded by a weekly drug run from Colombia.
Leaning back in his chair, he suppressed his rising temper. It would give him great pleasure to see her humbled.
‘I’ll stick to describing my current achievements,’ he said coldly. ‘You don’t need to know how I got to my present position.’
‘Ashamed of what you did?’ she wondered aloud.
Bitch. His jaw tightened. The need for justice burned deeper with every insult she flung at him.
‘No. It’s too long a story. But you’ll hear it one day, you can be sure of that,’ he replied through his teeth. ‘For the moment you’ll have to be satisfied with information on a need-to-know basis. I’ve built my reputation as a troubleshooter,’ he continued, launching grim-faced into his spiel. ‘When businesses get into difficulties, I turn around their falling sales, solve battles between the staff, and put the businesses back into profit. My job is to say the unsayable, transform teams, and sort out rivalries and power struggles so that a business can function as it should.’
Suddenly she seemed very attentive. Almost fascinated. He continued, trying not to over-egg the pudding. Just the facts, he told himself. For now.
‘I have a company in Milan—Il Conciliatore, which means troubleshooter. Two years ago I started up a sister company based in London, which is in the process of moving here—’
‘Why?’ she shot with icy directness.
Seeing the suspicion in her eyes, he gave a mocking smile. ‘I had to go somewhere,’ he replied. ‘It’s the heart of England, a good place to be for my business. Besides, I knew how beautiful it was around the Stratford area. And I have always regarded this village as home.’ He let that sink in. ‘I particularly wanted a good quality of life for my employees and their families. Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not a soft touch—’
‘I wouldn’t dream of thinking you were,’ she said with feeling.
He narrowed his eyes. With every sarcastic utterance she made, her hatred fuelled his need to win this particular battle. He’d crush her. Mentally, emotionally, physically.
‘It’s wise business practice,’ he said tightly. ‘People work better when they’re happy. I get more out of them and sick leave is cut to a minimum.’
‘So we’ve established you like to work your employees hard, while they fondly imagine you’re benevolent,’ she said with an unlikely sweetness. ‘But why Stanford House?’
Persistent little madam. ‘I needed a large country house for my purpose,’ he answered, omitting to mention that there had been several others, which would have been just as suitable.
‘And acquiring it gave you a nice little revenge,’ she said, her lip curling. Her direct gaze challenged him to deny that.
So he didn’t. ‘Of course. It was quite a moment,’ he conceded, provoked further by the glitter of steel in her intense grey eyes. ‘You can’t blame me. Many years ago, I stood here in this very room, pleading on my mother’s behalf and explaining that she’d complained to your grandfather because he’d made her work five days’ overtime for no extra pay. It wasn’t right that he’d sacked her just for that. However, I swallowed my pride and begged him to reinstate her because she desperately needed the money. He sat where I’m sitting now and laughed at me. Called me…’ he took a breath to ease his starved lungs ‘…a snivelling little bastard son of a whore.’
Anna gave a little gasp. Remembering that moment, he could feel the skin tautening over his cheekbones. His nostrils flared and whitened.
‘I was dragged away by two heavies and thrown out. By the back door, of course. Not the front,’ he added softly. But his anger spat sparks from every carefully enunciated word.
‘I’m sorry about that. Grandpa was very…Victorian where his staff were concerned.’ Anna had the grace to look uncomfortable before she rallied. ‘But don’t forget, he’s in hospital because of the house sale,’ she said in retaliation.
‘What exactly are you suggesting? If you think about it,’ he clipped, ‘it was his bad management which made the disposal of the house necessary. In fact, I realised that the factory was in trouble ten years ago. Staff relations were at an all-time low even then. My role in the purchase of the house had nothing to do with his stroke. I came along at the right moment and paid a good price, relieving his debt considerably. Your grandfather’s illness was not of my making. Was it?’ he demanded, flinging the words at her like pistol shots.
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