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Authors: Kim Lawrence
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deeply.
It was obviously a postscript to her light-headed moment. Marco Speranzaâs physical presence was overwhelming and, standing beside him, crushingly devastating, but she wasnât going to faint just because he stood next to her.
She walked through the door into the outer office before him.
âPerhaps it would be better, Mr Speranza, if you let me explain things to Amber when I get back.â The man and woman who were sitting in the outer office looked up as they entered.
He angled a dark brow and echoed, âGet back? Get back where?â
âHomeâ¦â She stopped abruptly, her face falling as she realised home was the one place she was not allowed to go. âTo London,â she added huskily.
Marco who had seen the flash of deep sadness on her face wondered what had put it there. Though, whatever personal problems this woman had they were none of his business unless they affected her work.
âI donât think, Miss Balfour, you understand that you have been on my payroll since we shook on this deal. I expect you to start work in the morning.â
CHAPTER SEVEN
S OPHIE stared at him in horror.
âMorning!â she yelped. âBut thatâs not possible. Iâm only here for the night and I have nothingâ¦â Literally nothingâunless the airline tracked down her lost luggageânot even a toothbrush. âAnd we didnât shake.â It was not something she would have forgotten.
âYouâre a very literal-minded young woman,â Marco observed before adding, âHow young, really?â
âItâs not polite to ask a womanâs age, but I wasnât lyingâIâm twenty-three.â
She lifted her chin and thought, If he can ask so can I. âHow old are you?â
âIn experience, several centuries older than you, cara .â
His brow puckered as he studied her face. The exploits of the Balfour heiresses represented everything shallow and superficial that he had turned his back on after the divorce.
It remained a total mystery to him how a daughter of Oscar Balfour could utterly lack the glitter and polish that the Balfour name represented, how she could be soâ¦wholesome and quite annoyingly naive.
The form of address brought a flush to Sophieâs cheeks.
Marco saw the flush and produced a smile that did not warm his emerald eyes. âThe handshake can be remedied.â
Deeply regretting she had been so pedantic, Sophie viewed his extended hand with the sort of enthusiasm sheâd had when sheâd entered a gym at school.
âI trust you,â she said, tucking her hand behind her back.
A strangled sound from his subordinate drew Marcoâs attention to the couple at the desk.
âI might require you to work this weekend, Francesco.â He had the satisfaction of seeing the coupleâs faces drop in unison, as he stepped into the lift behind Sophie.
âWhere are you staying?â He stopped beside a long sleek-looking convertible and opened the passenger door.
âI donât knowâI came straight here from the airport. Amber hadnât booked anywhere as she was going to stay with a friend, but she said I should go toâ¦â She reached into the capacious pocket of her loose-fitting jacket and withdrew the notepad inside, turning it to the relevant page.
She squeaked in protest as Marco plucked it from her fingers.
âA nice enough hotel,â he admitted. âBut you should stay atâ¦â
The buzz in Sophieâs head blocked the name. She had spent her life falling in with the suggestions made by others and felt a surge of uncharacteristic rebellion.
âBecause you say so?â
Marco noted again that the beige English mouse looked decidedly more attractive with an antagonistic glitter in her wide-spaced, dramatically blue eyes.
She would also, he thought, look good in red.
It would bring out the creaminess in her skin tone⦠When was
It was obviously a postscript to her light-headed moment. Marco Speranzaâs physical presence was overwhelming and, standing beside him, crushingly devastating, but she wasnât going to faint just because he stood next to her.
She walked through the door into the outer office before him.
âPerhaps it would be better, Mr Speranza, if you let me explain things to Amber when I get back.â The man and woman who were sitting in the outer office looked up as they entered.
He angled a dark brow and echoed, âGet back? Get back where?â
âHomeâ¦â She stopped abruptly, her face falling as she realised home was the one place she was not allowed to go. âTo London,â she added huskily.
Marco who had seen the flash of deep sadness on her face wondered what had put it there. Though, whatever personal problems this woman had they were none of his business unless they affected her work.
âI donât think, Miss Balfour, you understand that you have been on my payroll since we shook on this deal. I expect you to start work in the morning.â
CHAPTER SEVEN
S OPHIE stared at him in horror.
âMorning!â she yelped. âBut thatâs not possible. Iâm only here for the night and I have nothingâ¦â Literally nothingâunless the airline tracked down her lost luggageânot even a toothbrush. âAnd we didnât shake.â It was not something she would have forgotten.
âYouâre a very literal-minded young woman,â Marco observed before adding, âHow young, really?â
âItâs not polite to ask a womanâs age, but I wasnât lyingâIâm twenty-three.â
She lifted her chin and thought, If he can ask so can I. âHow old are you?â
âIn experience, several centuries older than you, cara .â
His brow puckered as he studied her face. The exploits of the Balfour heiresses represented everything shallow and superficial that he had turned his back on after the divorce.
It remained a total mystery to him how a daughter of Oscar Balfour could utterly lack the glitter and polish that the Balfour name represented, how she could be soâ¦wholesome and quite annoyingly naive.
The form of address brought a flush to Sophieâs cheeks.
Marco saw the flush and produced a smile that did not warm his emerald eyes. âThe handshake can be remedied.â
Deeply regretting she had been so pedantic, Sophie viewed his extended hand with the sort of enthusiasm sheâd had when sheâd entered a gym at school.
âI trust you,â she said, tucking her hand behind her back.
A strangled sound from his subordinate drew Marcoâs attention to the couple at the desk.
âI might require you to work this weekend, Francesco.â He had the satisfaction of seeing the coupleâs faces drop in unison, as he stepped into the lift behind Sophie.
âWhere are you staying?â He stopped beside a long sleek-looking convertible and opened the passenger door.
âI donât knowâI came straight here from the airport. Amber hadnât booked anywhere as she was going to stay with a friend, but she said I should go toâ¦â She reached into the capacious pocket of her loose-fitting jacket and withdrew the notepad inside, turning it to the relevant page.
She squeaked in protest as Marco plucked it from her fingers.
âA nice enough hotel,â he admitted. âBut you should stay atâ¦â
The buzz in Sophieâs head blocked the name. She had spent her life falling in with the suggestions made by others and felt a surge of uncharacteristic rebellion.
âBecause you say so?â
Marco noted again that the beige English mouse looked decidedly more attractive with an antagonistic glitter in her wide-spaced, dramatically blue eyes.
She would also, he thought, look good in red.
It would bring out the creaminess in her skin tone⦠When was
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