Revenge In The Boardroom. Nina Harrington
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‘I wasn’t aware that you were working in the Athens office. I don’t micro-manage my smaller charities abroad because I hire the best staff to do that for me—although I’m reconsidering my policy after this. If I’d known they’d hired you, of all people, you would have been let go long before now.’
His mouth twisted with recrimination.
‘But I have to admit that I was intrigued enough to have you brought here instead of just leaving you at the airport until we could put you on a return flight.’
So he hadn’t even known she was working for him. Serena’s hands curled into fists at her sides. His dismissive arrogance set her nerves even more on edge.
He glanced at a big platinum watch on his wrist. ‘I have a spare fifteen minutes before you are to be delivered back to the airport.’
Like an unwanted package. He was firing her.
He hitched a hip onto the corner of his desk, for all the world as if they were having a normal conversation amidst the waves of tension. ‘Well, DePiero? What the hell is Europe’s most debauched ex-socialite doing working for minimum wage in a small charity office in Athens?’
Only hours ago Serena had been buoyant at the thought of her new job. A chance to prove to her somewhat over-protective family that she was going to be fine. She’d been ecstatic at the thought of her independence. And now this man was going to ensure that everything she’d fought so hard for was for naught.
For years she had been the enfant terrible of the Italian party scene, frequently photographed, with reams of newsprint devoted to her numerous exploits which had been invariably blown out of proportion. Nevertheless, Serena knew well that there was enough truth behind the headlines to make her feel that ever-present prick of shame.
‘Look,’ she said, hating the way her voice had got husky with repressed emotion and shock at facing this blast from her past, ‘I know you must hate me.’
Luca Fonseca smiled. But his expression was hard. ‘Hate? Don’t flatter yourself, DePiero, hate is a very inadequate description of my feelings where you are concerned.’
Another poisonous memory assailed her: a battered Luca, handcuffed by Italian police, being dragged bodily to an already loaded-up van, snarling, ‘You set me up, you bitch!’ at Serena, who had been moments away from being handed into a police car herself, albeit minus the handcuffs.
They’d insisted on everyone being hauled in to the police station. He’d tried to jerk free of the burly police officers and that had earned him a thump to his belly, making him double over. Serena had been stupefied. Transfixed with shock.
He’d rasped out painfully, just before disappearing into the police van, ‘She planted the drugs on me to save herself.’
Serena tried to force the memories out of her head. ‘Mr Fonseca, I didn’t plant those drugs in your pockets... I don’t know who did, but it wasn’t me. I tried to contact you afterwards...but you’d left Italy.’
He made a sound of disgust. ‘Afterwards? You mean after you’d returned from your shopping spree in Paris? I saw the pictures. Avoiding being prosecuted for possession of drugs and continuing your hedonistic existence was all in a week’s work for you, wasn’t it?’
Serena couldn’t avoid the truth; no matter how innocent she was, this man had suffered because of their brief association. The lurid headlines were still clear in her mind: DePiero’s newest love interest? Brazilian billionaire Fonseca caught with drugs after raid on Florence’s most exclusive nightclub, Den of Eden.
But before Serena could defend herself Luca was standing up and walking closer, making her acutely aware of his height and powerful frame. Her mouth dried.
When he was close enough that she could make out the dark chest hair curling near the open V of his shirt, he sent an icy look from her face to her feet, and then said derisively, ‘A far cry from that lame excuse for a dress.’
Serena could feel heat rising at the reminder of how she’d been dressed that night. How she’d dressed most nights. She tried again, even though it was apparent that her attempt to defend herself had fallen on deaf ears. ‘I really didn’t have anything to do with those drugs. I promise. It was all a huge misunderstanding.’
He looked at her for a long moment, clearly incredulous, before tipping his head back and laughing so abruptly that Serena flinched.
When his eyes met hers again they still sparkled with cold mirth, and that sensual mouth was curved in an equally cold smile.
‘I have to hand it to you—you’ve got some balls to come in here and protest your innocence after all this time.’
Serena’s nails scored her palms, but she didn’t notice. ‘It’s true. I know what you must think...’
She stopped, and had to push down the insidious reminder that it was what everyone had thought. Erroneously.
‘I didn’t do those kinds of drugs.’
Any hint of mirth, cold or otherwise, vanished from Luca Fonseca’s visage. ‘Enough with protesting your innocence. You had Class A drugs in that pretty purse and you conveniently slipped them into my pocket as soon as it became apparent that the club was being raided.’
Feeling sick now, Serena said, ‘It must have been someone else in the crush and panic.’
Fonseca moved even closer to Serena then, and she gulped and looked up. She felt hot, clammy.
His voice was low, seductive. ‘Do I need to remind you of how close we were that night, Serena? How easy it must have been for you to divest yourself of incriminating evidence?’
Serena could recall all too clearly that his arms had been like steel bands around her, with hers twined around his neck. Her mouth had been sensitive and swollen, her breathing rapid. Someone had rushed over to them on the dance floor—some acquaintance of Serena’s who had hissed, ‘There’s a raid.’
And Luca Fonseca thought... He thought that during those few seconds before chaos had struck she’d had the presence of mind to somehow slip drugs onto his person?
He said now, ‘I’m sure it was a move you’d perfected over the years, which was why I felt nothing.’
He stepped back and Serena could take a breath again. But then he walked around her, and her skin prickled. She was acutely aware of his regard and wanted to adjust her suit, which felt constrictive.
She closed her eyes and then opened them again, turning around to face him. ‘Mr Fonseca, I’m just looking for a chance—’
He held up his hand and Serena stopped. His expression was worse than cold now: it was completely indecipherable.
He clicked his fingers, as if something just occurred to him, and his lip curled. ‘Of course—it’s your family, isn’t it? They’ve clipped your wings. Andreas Xenakis and Rocco De Marco would never tolerate a return to your debauched ways, and you’re still persona non grata in the social circles who fêted you before. You and your sister certainly landed on your feet, in spite of your father’s fall from grace.’
Disgust was etched on his hard features.
‘Lorenzo DePiero will never be able to show his face again after the things he did.’
Serena felt nauseous. She of all people didn’t need to be reminded of her father’s corruption and many crimes.
But Luca wasn’t finished. ‘I think you’re doing this under some sort of sufferance, to prove to your new-found family that you’ve changed... In return for what? An allowance? A palatial home back in Italy, your old stomping ground? Or perhaps you’ll stay in Athens, where the stench of your tarnished reputation is a little less...pungent? After all, it’s where you’ll have the protection of your younger sister who, if I recall correctly, was the one who regularly cleaned up your messes.’
Fire