Signed Over To Santino. Maya Blake
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is fine.’ She struggled to keep her voice from wobbling through the lie as tension escalated in the room. ‘Can we get on with it, please?’
Javier’s gaze sharpened. ‘You understand that, due to the delay in getting this signed, the cooling-off period will no longer apply? This contract, once signed, will be final and binding.’
Her fingers started to curl into her palms. Inhaling deeply, she placed them on the cool surface of the table and strove for composure. ‘Yes. I really don’t see why we’re going over this again. My lawyers have explained everything to me. I’m ready to sign your document. All I need, Mr Santino, is a pen.’
If she’d been expecting a reaction, Carla realised she would be sorely disappointed. His gaze flicked with almost cruel lack of interest from her to his lawyers. An imperious nod, and the documents were produced and laid out before them. An elegant ball pen bearing his name arrived before her.
Shakily, she picked it up, signed and countersigned where indicated. The contracts were witnessed and exchanged. And her fate was sealed.
She would become the exclusive face of carefully selected J Santino products, called upon for advertising campaigns and publicity events whenever he chose.
It was done. With any luck, she could now negotiate further time with the bank back in Tuscany and save her family home. Not that it’d ever been a real home. These days it was more a showpiece property for her father to bask in the success he claimed she wouldn’t have achieved without him.
But it was the only remaining roof over her head. The New York condo was gone, as was the chalet in Switzerland. Everything was gone.
Carla set the pen down and stood. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Santino. Now if you’ll excuse us—’
‘You’re not free to go just yet, Miss Nardozzi.’
Her breath stumbled as Javier rose with fluid grace.
She stared up at him, meeting that stony expression once more. ‘What...what more could we possibly have to discuss?’
A tight smile pursed his lips. ‘It’s confidential. Come into my office.’ His gaze flicked over the table’s occupants in a dismissive glance. ‘Alone.’
Without waiting for a response, he headed for a set of double doors opposite from where she’d entered.
Her palms grew hot and she fought the urge to rub them against her thighs. Every instinct screamed at her to get up and walk out. She’d made it this far relatively unscathed. She’d seen Javier again, withstood his imposing presence, heard his voice, inhaled that singularly unique scent without losing her composure. What she’d dreaded most was over.
Yet she couldn’t move.
‘Now, Miss Nardozzi,’ Javier insisted in cutting tones.
The atmosphere shifted again, men in expensive suits fidgeting beneath ricocheting tension.
‘Carla,’ her father’s warning tone rumbled over her.
She ignored him, looking past him to the doors that led to freedom. Could Javier stop her from leaving? From retreating back to that numb place where she was marginally cocooned from pain and betrayal?
Yes. Because she was now bound to him, a contracted employee who couldn’t refuse reasonable requests.
Swallowing the hysterical laugh that rose in her throat, she stood, ignoring the collective muted sighs of relief that floated round the table.
Carla entered Javier’s office and drew to a stunned stop. Unlike the rest of his company’s workspace, this was an unapologetically masculine domain. From the massive walnut desk and throne-like armchair set back against a solid wall, to the studded black sofas grouped around a glass and gold TV and entertainment centre on one side, the space shrieked a dominance that made her flesh tighten with acute premonition.
But no.
So far Javier had been cold and brutally businesslike. Uninterested in her, other than as another financial asset for his company. She had nothing to fear.
Behind her the door swung shut, followed by another distinct click.
Her gaze flew to Javier, to the tiny remote in his hand. A second later, he flung the control away, then advanced towards her with slow, precise strides. Her breath uselessly trapped in her lungs, Carla tilted her head to meet his gaze and the blood rushed from her head in a dizzying surge.
Because those mesmeric eyes were no longer cold. No longer impersonal. A very specific, very dangerous light blazed in their depths. A light that threatened to stop her heart altogether.
‘At long last, here you are,’ he murmured.
The savouring, triumphant statement made every nerve in her body jump.
‘Here I am? What does that mean?’ she retorted, fully aware her voice was bled of any power.
He stepped closer, amplifying his power and might by a thousand degrees. ‘It means I never thought this day would arrive. You won’t believe how many times I nearly threw in the towel. But revenge is a dish best served cold. Isn’t that what they say?’
Ice filled her veins. ‘Revenge?’
He bent his head closer, as if sharing a salacious secret. ‘Luckily, I’m a very patient man,’ he whispered. ‘I knew, sooner or later, I could count on you and your father’s greed to bring you back to the contract table.’
Carla’s mouth dropped open, her heart falling to her toes.
‘Dio mio.’ Her voice snagged on the words.
He leaned back and smiled. A pure evil smile that drew her dumbfounded gaze to his sensual lips. ‘Sí, this is the expression I’ve been waiting three years for.’
He’d been scheming. Laying the perfect bait for her downfall. And like a lamb to the slaughter, she’d walked right into his trap.
Just as she’d been a weak, trusting lamb throughout her father’s machinations, childhood fears of abandonment unconsciously stalking her into adulthood so stealthily that she hadn’t realised she was being taken advantage of until it was too late. She’d sacrificed herself for her father.
And now she was to be a sacrifice for Javier Santino.
A sheer wall of dread rose before her, every single brain cell frozen as she was caught in suspended animation.
From far away, she heard Javier speak but she couldn’t rouse herself from the horror of her circumstances.
Firm hands caught her elbows. Eyes fringed by thick lashes narrowed. ‘What is wrong with you, Carla? Or should I call you The Ice Princess? Isn’t that what the media calls you? You’re certainly dressed for it.’
Numbly, she glanced down at her white palazzo pantsuit. The jacket’s severely cut style opened at the elbows when she lifted her arms, and the sleeves dropped almost to the floor. Teamed with a white silk camisole and white stilettos, the ensemble broadcasted a cutting-edge style suitable for a woman at the top of her game. Or so the stylist had insisted when she’d arrived with the clothes this morning. Staring at the get-up, she suddenly saw differently.
White, for innocent sacrificial lambs.
White, for fools.
The hysterical laughter she’d tried to stem bubbled up from her chest and burst free. It sounded strange in the impressive, masculine room. But the crack in her self-control felt good.
So good she couldn’t stop laughing.
Javier blinked, then jerked her once. ‘Carla!’
Laughter cut off like a light switch. ‘I thought I was only Miss Nardozzi to you?’
Puzzlement tracked over his face. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he demanded again.
‘What do you care?’