Italian Boss, Proud Miss Prim. Susan Stephens
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as Rigo Ruggiero would add some much-needed colour to her CV.
It made sense—well, to everything except her self-confidence. How could Katie Bannister, dressed by the cheapest store in town, the girl who wouldn’t know a fashion musthave if she fell over it, meet with the world’s most notorious playboy and come out of that meeting unscathed?
The plain and simple truth was, she had to.
‘I’ll book a flight,’ she said, thinking out loud.
‘I’d recommend it,’ the man in question interrupted dryly. ‘Mail me with the details and I’ll make sure someone is at Fiumicino Airport to meet you—’
‘That’s very—’
Katie stared at the dead receiver in her hands. How rude. Or look at it another way, she persuaded herself; this was a challenge, and she was hardly a stranger to that.
She had laughed when the other girls at the firm had insisted that Katie Bannister had hidden fire and would master the maverick playboy in less time than it took to say hold my briefs—maybe she had possessed that fire once, but not now—and the girls in the office hadn’t spoken to him, a man so cold and heartless he could discuss a close relative’s bequest without so much as a play of regret. And end a conversation without any of the usual niceties. Rigo Ruggiero was clearly an indulged and arrogant monster and the sooner her business with him was concluded the better she would like it.
It was just a shame her body disagreed.
She’d cope with that too. Palming her mouse, Katie brought up flight schedules to Rome. Could she make it there and back in one day? She would try her very best to do so.
Having replaced the receiver in its nest, Rigo settled back in his leather swivel chair. In spite of the unwelcome message Katie Bannister had delivered from a man he’d hoped never to hear from again, the young lawyer had made him smile.
Because he liked her voice?
It had certainly scored highly in several categories: it was female; it was young; it was husky; it was sexy. Very sexy. And intelligent. And…sexy. He already had an image of her in his mind.
So, he reflected, returning to the purpose of Signorina Bannister’s call, his stepbrother had left him something in his will. A poisoned chalice? Shares in a crime syndicate? What? He stood up and started pacing. Why should the man who had shown him nothing but contempt and hatred since the day he had walked into his life leave him anything at all in his will? And what was it about these personal effects that made them so precious only a representative from a solicitor’s firm in England could hand-deliver them?
He knew Carlo had been living in the north of England for some years, thanks to the headlines in the papers detailing his stepbrother’s countless misdemeanours, and could confidently predict that if these personal effects were gold bars they’d be stolen—likewise jewellery, antiques or art. What else would Carlo care enough about not to chance it going astray? It had to be something incriminating—something that gave Carlo one last stab at him before the gates of hell closed on his stepbrother for ever.
Rigo had been just fourteen when his father married again and seventeen when he had left home for good. He had left home after a couple of years of Carlo’s vicious tricks, when home became a cruel misnomer for somewhere Rigo was no longer welcome. How he had longed for his father’s love, but that love had found another home. So he conquered his regret and left the countryside to pursue his dreams in Rome. He hadn’t heard from Carlo, his elder by eleven years, from that day to this.
But he had a lot to thank Carlo for, Rigo reflected, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows in his luxurious penthouse overlooking Rome. He lived in the most exclusive part of the city and this was only one of his many properties. Leaving the country all those years ago had led to success, wealth and, more important in his eyes, the chance to live life the way he believed it should be led.
These thoughts brought him back full circle to the girl from England he must somehow fit into his busy schedule tomorrow. Crossing to his desk, he scanned his diary. He’d just sacked the latest in a long line of hopeless PAs. Finding a reliable replacement was proving harder than he had anticipated.
Which left a vacancy on his staff…
If she was half as intriguing as her husky voice suggested, he would gladly clear his diary for Signorina Bannister. He would make the whole of tomorrow free just for her.
CHAPTER TWO
KATIE was having second thoughts. Just packing a few essentials for the trip in her shabby bag proved she wasn’t the right person for this job. She might have the heart to handle Rigo Ruggiero, but she lacked the panache. The firm should be sending someone sharp and polished to Rome, someone sophisticated, who spoke the same sophisticated language as him. Two new packets of tights and a clean white blouse did not a sophisticate make, but it was the best she could do. There was nothing in her wardrobe suitable for spending time in Rome with a man renowned for his sartorial elegance.
A few calming breaths later Katie had worked out that, as she couldn’t compete, she shouldn’t try. She should look at what she was—a competent young lawyer from a small firm in the north of England, which meant a brown suit and lowheeled brown court shoes were the perfect choice.
This wasn’t a holiday, Katie reminded herself sternly, though as an afterthought she added a pair of comfortable trousers and a sweater. With the tight schedule she had planned it was unlikely there would be any off-duty time, but if there was she could dress for that too.
But everything was brown, even her bag, Katie noticed as she prepared to close the door on her small terraced house. A life in the shadows was one thing, but she hadn’t noticed the colour seeping from it. Perhaps it had gone with the music…
She shook herself round determinedly. She was going to Rome—not as a singer as she had always hoped, but as a representative of a respectable legal firm. How many people got a second chance like that?
Locking the door, she tested the handle and picked up her bag. Tipping her chin at a confident angle, she walked briskly down the path. She was going to Italy to meet one of the most exciting men of his day. She didn’t expect to be part of Rigo Ruggiero’s life but, for a few short and hopefully thrilling hours, she would be an observer. At the very least she could report back to the girls in the office and brighten up their coffee breaks for the foreseeable future.
Signor Ruggiero had lied. Clutching her sensible bag like a comfort blanket, Katie stood bewildered amongst the crowds on the pavement outside Fiumicino Airport in Rome. The sun was beating down like an unrelenting spotlight and the heat was overpowering. She stared this way and that, but it only confirmed what she already knew, which was, no one had come to meet her. Plus everyone else seemed to know where they were going. She was the only country bumpkin who appeared to be cast adrift in the big city.
And was fervently wishing she’d handled her own transport arrangements into Rome.
What was wrong with her? She had the address…
Having found it in her bag, she looked for a taxi. Was she going to be defeated before she even started this adventure? But each time she stepped forward to claim an empty cab, someone taller, slicker and more confident than Katie stepped in front of her—
‘Signorina Bannister?’
The voice reached into her chest and squeezed her heart tight before she even had chance to look around, and when she did she almost stumbled into the arms of a man who put his photographs to shame. Her heart drummed an immediate tattoo. Rigo Ruggiero in the hard, tanned flesh was infinitely better-looking than his air-brushed images—so hot you wouldn’t touch him without protective clothing. He was the type of man Katie had spent her whole life dreaming about and wishing would notice her, but who, of course, never would—other than today, when he had no alternative.
‘Sorry…sorry.’ She righted herself quickly before he was brought into contact with her cheap polyester suit. ‘Signorina Bannister? That’s me.’
‘Are