Alessandro angled his body away from Mia as he spoke into the phone, asking for a personal stylist to be brought to the office immediately. His right-hand man, Luca, took the rather unexpected request in his stride.

      Ending the call, Alessandro turned back to face Mia, trying not to notice the rise and fall of her chest with every agitated breath she took; clearly she didn’t like him deciding what she should wear, although she should be thankful he’d vetted her selection. That black bag of a dress looked cheap and boring and was hardly what he needed his companion for the evening to turn up in.

      ‘As your PA, I don’t see why I need to wear some fancy dress,’ Mia said, clearly striving to moderate her tone. ‘Or, in fact, why I need to attend this gala at all. It’s highly unusual…’

      ‘You need to attend because many of the guests there will be Dillard’s clients,’ Alessandro answered. ‘And you will know them better than I do. I require your knowledge in this matter.’

      ‘Still…’

      ‘And you need to wear a gown worthy of the occasion,’ Alessandro cut across her. He didn’t like her protestations; he was used to being obeyed instantly, and Mia James seemed not to have realised that.

      ‘The clients will know I’m Henry’s PA,’ she protested. ‘If I dress up like a proper guest, they’ll think I’m putting on airs—’

      ‘You are my PA now, and you are my guest,’ Alessandro returned. ‘You will wear an appropriate gown. I am sure there will be something you fancy from the selection provided.’ He gave her a quelling look. ‘Most women I know would be thrilled to have such an opportunity of choice.’

      ‘Somehow I don’t think I’m like most women you know,’ Mia returned tartly, making him smile.

      ‘That is very true. Even so, I would like you to pick a dress that is suitable.’

      Mia nodded, setting her jaw, her eyes sparking like bits of blue ice. ‘Very well,’ she said, sounding far from pleased about the matter. Despite the difficulties of the situation, Alessandro would have thought she’d enjoy the opportunity to select a new gown.

      ‘The stylist will be here shortly,’ he told her. ‘Until then you may return to your work.’

      With a brief, brisk nod Mia swivelled on her heel and walked out of the office, closing the door behind her with a firm click that was halfway to becoming a slam. It annoyed and amused Alessandro in equal measure. Normally he didn’t like people to oppose him; in fact, he hated any sign of disobedience or disrespect.

      As he was a man of both drive and focus, work was a well-oiled machine and rebelliousness was inefficient as well as time-consuming. And, while Mia’s rebelliousness did annoy him, that contrary spark of defiance somehow…enflamed him.

      The knowledge rested uncomfortably with him. He was attracted to her, he acknowledged starkly, and that was something he most certainly could and would control. There was no place for attraction within the workplace, and self-control had always been his personal creed, the way he lived his life. The way he stayed on top.

      He would never, ever be like his mother, whose sorry life had been tossed on the waves of other people’s whims, her poverty and powerlessness making her constantly vulnerable, searching for love and meaning in shabby, shallow relationships.

      Alessandro would never be like that…never at another person’s mercy…not even for the sake of a very inconvenient desire.

      Still, he was uncomfortably aware of the simple fact of his attraction, as well as the realisation that his desire to see Mia attired in an appropriate gown was not quite as professional and expedient as he’d made it seem.

      As she’d pointed out herself, she was known as Dillard’s PA and a simple, serviceable dress would certainly have been adequate. Yet he hadn’t wanted to see his date in something resembling a bin bag. He hadn’t wanted to see Mia in it.

      Still, he told himself, he needed to make the right impression tonight. The last thing he wanted was for people to look at him and think that an impostor had shown up along with his secretary. Because Alessandro had earned the right to be at the party, just as he’d earned the right to be sitting in the office. Just as he’d earned everything he had, fighting for it and winning it, time and time again, a man with a mission. A man who won.

      A few minutes later Luca texted him that the stylist had arrived, and Alessandro rose to find Mia. She was at her desk, and as he came to stand behind her, glancing at the screen of her laptop, a cold wave of displeasure and shock rippled through him.

      ‘You’re working on your CV?’

      She swivelled sharply in her chair, her eyes widening with alarm at the sight of him looking at the screen, but when she spoke her voice was cool. ‘For when I’m no longer useful.’

      ‘And that is not now.’ With one brisk movement Alessandro clicked the mouse to close the document, without saving any changes. Mia’s mouth compressed but she did not protest against his action. ‘The stylist is here. You may use my office.’

      Mia’s eyes flashed and he wondered what she objected to—his dismissal of her dress, or his order for a new one? Or simply his manner, which was even more autocratic than usual, because it felt like the best defence against this irritating and inconvenient attraction that simmered beneath the surface, threatening to bubble up?

      Even now he found himself sneaking looks at the tantalising vee of ivory skin visible at the all too modest neck of her blouse, and noting the soft curve of her jaw, and the way a wisp of golden hair had fallen against her cheek. He itched to tuck it behind her ear, let his fingers skim to her lobe, a prospect which was too bizarre to be entertained even for a second.

      He didn’t want to do things like that. Ever. Relationships were not on his radar, and sex was nothing more than a physical urge to be sated like any other. He’d always been able to find women who were agreeable to his terms. More than agreeable, so why was he feeling this strange way about Mia James?

      He wasn’t. Or at least he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let himself. Work was too important to risk for a moment’s satisfaction, even with someone as annoyingly beguiling as the woman in front of him.

      ‘Are you coming?’ he asked tersely, and she nodded, rising from her seat with unconscious elegance, following him with a graceful, long-legged stride. Alessandro found himself watching the gentle sway of her hips before he resolutely turned his gaze away.

      A few minutes later the stylist arrived with a flurry of plastic-swathed hangers, an assistant behind her carrying several boxes and bags. Alessandro supervised their setting up before he decided to leave Mia to it.

      ‘Let me see your final choice,’ he instructed, and she arched one golden eyebrow.

      ‘To approve it?’

      ‘Of