Книга - A Ring To Take His Revenge

A Ring To Take His Revenge
Pippa Roscoe


He’ll do anything to settle the score……even faking an engagement!To secure his revenge against his cruel father, billionaire Antonio Arcuri needs a fake fiancée—fast! He demands his shy PA Emma Guilham wear his diamond. In return, he’ll help fulfil her own dreams—starting with a jet-set trip to Buenos Aires! It’s a simple charade, until the burning tension between them erupts into irresistible desire. Now Antonio must decide between vengeance and Emma…







He’ll do anything to settle the score...

...even fake an engagement!

To secure his revenge against his cruel father, billionaire Antonio Arcuri needs a fake fiancée—fast! He demands his shy PA, Emma Guilham, wear his diamond. In return, he’ll help fulfill her dreams—starting with a jet-set trip to Buenos Aires! It’s a simple charade, until the burning tension between them erupts into irresistible desire. Now Antonio must decide between vengeance and Emma...

A powerfully intense revenge romance


PIPPA ROSCOE lives in Norfolk near her family and makes daily promises to herself that this is the day she’ll leave the computer to take a long walk in the countryside. She can’t remember a time when she wasn’t dreaming about handsome heroes and innocent heroines. Totally her mother’s fault, of course—she gave Pippa her first romance to read at the age of seven! She is inconceivably happy that she gets to share those daydreams with you. Follow her on Twitter @PippaRoscoe (https://twitter.com/PippaRoscoe).


Also by Pippa Roscoe (#ulink_be754cbd-b6d7-5fab-84a9-294f937fb0a2)

Conquering His Virgin Queen

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


A Ring to Take His Revenge

Pippa Roscoe






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07253-3

A RING TO TAKE HIS REVENGE

© 2018 Pippa Roscoe

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For my editor Sareeta.

Thank you for whipping this into shape

and helping me to see the way to a better book.

May it be the first of many!


Contents

Cover (#u2a6916f3-3907-5813-a7e9-4fd2a2123cbe)

Back Cover Text (#u9b4079db-56a4-5b4e-99cd-e820597a8d92)

About the Author (#u7c5ff724-63cd-5e91-9bd4-09044868da2a)

Booklist (#ulink_abd6a1b5-f393-54be-8f3e-b82bd6252527)

Title Page (#u7110231a-be67-5d4d-8303-d3cdec4d6414)

Copyright (#u6d39ac6b-1948-5f09-9da7-6e501c90c357)

Dedication (#u5681de02-d839-5f8e-8117-878025e47abc)

PROLOGUE (#uce624562-f335-524d-8320-a93a5011d34e)

CHAPTER ONE (#u23f4fa27-ebb7-5d51-861a-28e3a2cba434)

CHAPTER TWO (#uad7eefb2-9942-5122-b1ad-aa620d7601e3)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


PROLOGUE (#u0c2d3e73-e024-5487-a76f-983a175d9a20)

London...

ANTONIO ARCURI GESTURED for the petite brunette to slide into the limousine ahead of him. He might be accustomed to ushering women he’d only just met into his chauffeur-driven town car, but not when it was business. Never when it was business.

Yet there had been no other option. His morning meeting had run unacceptably late, and now he could neither cancel this last interview for a new PA nor be late for his meeting with the other two members of the Winners’ Circle—the racing syndicate he co-owned.

Antonio had been waiting almost a year to see his closest friends Dimitri and Danyl, his brothers in more ways than blood could ever account for. So he had been forced to multi-task. And Antonio hated nothing more than having his hand forced.

So far, the brunette—Ms Guilham—had yet even to raise an eyebrow at the somewhat unusual relocation of their meeting, which boded well. The way that she struggled with the wayward hemline of her skirt as it rose up over toned, creamy thighs the moment she sat back on the plush leather seat did not. The hemline that when she was standing bordered on the overly conservative was now a sincerely unwanted distraction.

Settling into the seat beside her, Antonio studied Emma Guilham from the corner of his eye. She was petite. Beautiful, he conceded, then filed and discarded the fact. Whether a future PA of his was attractive or not was irrelevant. At least she had finally stopped fidgeting with her skirt.

The limousine pulled away from the dark underground parking area of his London office, emerged into pale wintry sunlight...and into busy central London traffic. He cursed silently and resisted the urge to glance at his watch. He knew what time it was and he was cutting it fine.

‘Your driver should take St James’s and then Pall Mall. Christmas and Regent Street don’t mix well.’

She locked her hazel eyes on his and Antonio felt a sudden start in his chest. Her gaze held no desperate eagerness to please, no fevered excitement, nor the sensual assessment he often felt when women looked at him. He knew he was attractive and took full advantage of the fact—though never with his employees.

But, most importantly, there was no pretence in her eyes. And that was both unusual and—to him—invaluable.

Compared to the three other interviewees he’d met, she was, on paper, the least impressive. At barely twenty-two, Emma Guilham was young. But while the other candidates had varied in age from late twenties to early fifties, she currently seemed the least flappable. He didn’t need to look at her CV. His quick mind recalled all the pertinent information and he proceeded with the interview for the position of his new PA.

‘You graduated with your International Business Studies degree from SOAS after attaining four A levels. You can type one hundred and twenty words per minute, you like travelling and reading,’ he stated, somewhat disconcerted to see the hazel flecks in her eyes transition into sea-green foam. ‘You are hardworking—a fact repeatedly attested to by the CFO of my London office, where you have been working full-time for the past few months, and part-time for the year before that. At the same time finishing your degree—another thing my CFO repeatedly emphasised.’

A quick nod of the head was Emma’s only reaction, which drew a frown to his forehead. Usually candidates like to expound on their virtues when he raised the opportunity to do so. He left a second, a breath of space for her to speak, but she remained silent.

‘The position is in New York. I deal in high-stakes, highly confidential business acquisition and I expect long hours, absolute focus and complete discretion. Both in business matters and personal. I am not always present in the New York office, but your presence will be required there full-time.’

‘Of course.’

He continued to watch for the smallest change in expression. She had yet to display the excitement or even the badly supressed shock and awe that he had so irritatingly witnessed through the previous interviews.

‘You don’t seem to be engaging with this interview, Ms Guilham.’ He had no patience for time-wasters. And he had no need for a ‘yes’ woman, but still. This was...unique.

‘You have yet to ask me a question, Mr Arcuri,’ she said, with no trace of accusation or offence in her tone. ‘May I speak plainly?’ she asked, and he gestured for her to do so with a swift swipe of his hand.

‘Mr Arcuri, I have attended three preliminary interviews for this position—one with UK HR, one with North American HR, and one with your previous PA. I am under no illusions as to my limited experience in comparison to more seasoned applicants, and can only conclude that your willingness to squeeze me in to your “commute” is a gracious courtesy. It is one that I appreciate.’

At this, the brunette rapped on the window to talk to the driver.

‘Left here, then second right,’ she said, before turning her gaze back to him. ‘I believe at this point your choice comes down to personality. And as far as you’re concerned, as my future boss, I don’t have one. You want someone to live and breathe Arcuri Enterprises? That I can do. You want someone to handle an international diary? I can do it with my eyes closed. You want someone to bar the way and dissolve anything that might prevent your valuable time from being spent as you wish? I’m the one you want. Anything else your background checks can uncover or you don’t need to know. I want to work for you because you’re the best. It’s that simple.’

The limousine glided to a stop outside the grand building of the Asquith Club in London just as Antonio was digesting the rather impressive and somewhat surprising speech that had filled the car.

Ms Guilham smiled, not unkindly.

Antonio felt a small smile pull at the edges of his lips in response.

‘I have one question, Ms Guilham.’

‘Yes?’

‘If you were stranded on a desert island and you were allowed one item, what would it be?’

Antonio had heard many different answers to the question over the years. Mozart’s music, the complete works of Shakespeare, a piano. But he’d only ever heard her answer once before. It was the one he had given himself.

‘A satellite phone.’

He nodded, betraying nothing.

‘Mr Arcuri, thank you for the opportunity to speak with you. I shall look forward to hearing from HR and hope that you have an enjoyable lunch. I’ll see myself back to the office.’

With that Emma Guilham left Antonio sitting in the car, feeling stunned for the first time in some while. And he wasn’t the only one, considering the way his driver was currently watching Emma’s departure with something like awe.

As Antonio exited the limousine and made his way to the private room at the Asquith where Dimitri Kyriakou and Danyl Nejem Al Arain waited, he forced his mind away from the way Ms Guilham’s hips had swayed as she’d walked towards Piccadilly Circus tube station.

With ruthless efficiency he refocused his mind on the Winners’ Circle.

The three men had met as students, and their friendship had been forged in the depths of their darkest moments. Through it all they had supported, commiserated and celebrated with each other. And when, after university, Antonio had needed capital to start his business, Dimitri, Danyl and his maternal grandfather had been his first investors. He had, of course, paid them back with interest, and in half the promised time. But he had never forgotten the debt he owed his friends.

Antonio knew in his heart, in his blood, that he wouldn’t be here today without them. And they would say the same of him. And now, after a year, all three men—each of whom regularly featured in the newspapers as some of the greatest living business figures—would finally be together in the same room again.

As he made his way towards the table in the private dining area a small blonde was hastily leaving, casting him with a frowning glance as she passed.

‘What did I miss?’ Antonio asked, taking in the appearance of his friends.

Wrongful imprisonment had taken its toll on Dimitri, yet his powerful Greek features still turned the heads of any nearby female. And Danyl didn’t need to rely on his royal status as Sheikh in line to the Terhren throne. Brooding intensity radiated from him—as Antonio’s last assistant had remarked.

Only the might of the American legal system had put a halt to their quarterly meetings—the one immovable feature in Antonio’s increasingly full diary. But within the year Dimitri’s innocence had been realised and proclaimed, and now they were finally back together again.

‘A proposition,’ Dimitri replied in response to Antonio’s question.

‘In public? During the day? Gentlemen, you’re putting my scandalous reputation to shame,’ Antonio asserted.

‘A professional proposition,’ growled Danyl through gritted teeth.

‘She—’ nodding to the exit made by the blonde woman ‘—wants to race for the syndicate in the Hanley Cup,’ Dimitri clarified.

‘We have a jockey,’ interjected Danyl.

‘She says she can win all three races.’

Antonio was mildly intrigued. ‘That’s not been done since...’

‘Since her father trained the horse and rider twenty years ago,’ supplied Dimitri.

Antonio’s mind raced through the implications. ‘That was Mason McAulty?’

A rather undignified grunt emerged from Danyl’s direction.

Antonio considered the possibilities...the amount of the winning purse, the attention from the global press. News of their racing syndicate had ebbed and flowed over the years, but no one could argue with the level of their success. Founded shortly after their university days, it had been the perfect venture for three men who loved the high-stakes world of gambling, horseflesh and adrenaline.

Antonio had once been a serious contender for international-level polo, but that had been before Michael Steele’s actions had all but destroyed his family. Biting back the familiar anger that was never far away from his thoughts of the man, Antonio forced his attention back to the proposition.

‘Can she do it?’ he asked.

Dimitri shrugged, but Danyl seemed to be giving it some thought.

‘Most likely,’ he eventually said.

‘I’m in,’ Antonio stated with an innately Italian shrug of his shoulders. If Mason McAulty managed it, the win would be incredible. If she failed... Well, was there any such thing as bad press? Antonio liked the edge that it would place them on. Hell, he practically lived on it.

‘Why not?’ Dimitri said, throwing his hat into the ring.

Danyl nodded almost reluctantly, his lips a grim line of determination. Antonio might not know the source of the furious look Danyl cast towards the exit Mason Mcaulty had left through, but he very much hoped she knew that she was playing with fire.

‘Whisky?’ Dimitri queried as Antonio finally took his seat.

‘Absolutely,’ Antonio replied, relaxing back and drinking in the sight of his friends. ‘It’s good to have you back.’

‘Say that again and I’ll know you’ve gone soft,’ came Dimitri’s terse reply.

‘If I wanted to listen to a bunch of women gossip, I could have stayed at home and visited the harem,’ Danyl concluded.

Antonio scoffed. ‘You don’t have a harem. If you did we’d never see you.’

But instead of relishing the familiar bond he had with his two closest friends, Antonio found his mind returning to the woman he had just decided to make his new PA.

Emma Guilham...


CHAPTER ONE (#u0c2d3e73-e024-5487-a76f-983a175d9a20)

Eighteen months later...

EMMA SWEPT THE long tendrils of dark hair back from her face and into a discreet neat bun with swift efficiency. Even had she not seen Antonio Arcuri’s occasional frown when a few strands would escape the hold these pins had on her hair, she instinctively knew that this was what her ruthless boss wanted from her. Discretion, speed and efficiency.

As she checked her appearance in the ladies’ bathroom at the New York office of Arcuri Enterprises, the shadowed silver insignia of the letters A and E conjoined in the corner of each large mirror snagged her attention and sent a thrill of satisfaction through her.

She had come so far from her mother’s small but comfortable home on the fringes of Hampstead Heath. She thought back to the quite outrageous way she had been interviewed by Antonio in that limousine, inching its way through London’s Christmas traffic. She had, in her mind, been brazen. But then Emma had honestly thought that she stood no chance of getting the job. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, she had simply spoken the truth.

She had meant every word she’d said, and had stuck to each and every one of them in the last eighteen months. She had fought so hard to be here—to be in New York, to be Antonio Arcuri’s PA. And she wouldn’t let his wholly uncharacteristic, unscheduled and increasingly imminent arrival now put her off her stride.

Ever since the ping had sounded on her phone at one in the morning, alerting her to the fact that Antonio would be back from Italy and in the office in less than six hours, Emma had felt something akin to panic. Only she had assured herself she no longer did panic. Instead, Emma had launched herself out of bed, scanned his appointments and found nothing in his diary to warrant such an unexpected return. So, she had no idea what to expect from her brooding Italian boss.

She had begun to look forward to the times when Antonio was away from the office. Whether it was for his immovable meetings with the other members of the Winners’ Circle syndicate, or his visits to his offices in London, Hong Kong and Italy, she relished the time when she only had to deal with him through the separation of email and the occasional video conference. She welcomed these reprieves from his presence. Because in reality, in the flesh, Antonio was simply...overwhelming.

It was more than his classic good-looks. His bitter-chocolate-coloured eyes, set against defined cheekbones and a determined jaw would be devastating enough on any man. Along with the smooth Italian tan that contrasted with the deep rich wine colour of lips that were almost cruelly sensual. Every inch of him was honed, powerful and predatory. But she knew that even all those attributes combined didn’t matter. It was the vitality—the authority that resonated from his very being—that really called to her.

But she had learned to temper her attraction. Refused to allow it to interfere with her work. She was here to do a job—not to lust after her attractive boss. She refused to fall into the trap so many other women had fallen into. Besides, she had goals—places she wanted to see, things she desperately wanted to do—none of which included Antonio Arcuri.

The door to the large office bathroom slammed open and a string of women rushed in, each armed to the hilt with make-up bags. Emma watched them for a moment, producing the tools of femininity that were used to enhance and seduce, delicately applying a million products as she once had, at the age of seventeen, using them with a heavy hand to mask the ravages of chemotherapy.

But she forced the memory aside. It wasn’t as if Antonio cared at all about her appearance. Just her ability. Emma smiled ruefully at the row of Arcuri’s female staff. Antonio had that effect on women. But not her. She might find her boss devastatingly attractive, but she wasn’t going to be distracted by him.

She wasn’t going to be distracted by any man.

* * *

Settled behind her computer in the outer room of Antonio’s top-floor office, she let a feeling of control and calm wash over her. This was her domain and she loved it.

The clean chrome lines made the CEO’s office on the twenty-fourth floor of the Manhattan skyscraper more than she could ever have imagined. The glass-fronted building afforded a highly sought-after vista of Central Park, allowing incredible views of the famous skyline to be her daily backdrop. The decor screamed money and wealth. Even if she only borrowed it during the day, before returning to her tiny apartment in Brooklyn each night.

Coming to New York had been the first thing Emma had been truly able to check off her Living List, after five years of remission had finally signalled the end of the terrible illness that had taken so much from her. And even if she had stayed in her role as Antonio’s personal assistant for a little longer than she had originally intended, failing to tick off some of the other things on her Living List since coming here...she chose to ignore it. She was happy. And there was always time in the future—in her future.

‘Do you know why he’s here?’

Emma looked up from her desk to find James, a very nervous low-level exec, almost twitching with panic. He swept his glasses off his face, revealing bleary eyes, and cast her a look as other staff, equally nervous, watched from the corridor.

Word of Antonio’s impending arrival must have spread like wildfire for, while it wasn’t unusual to see some of the Arcuri staff beavering away at this ungodly hour of the morning, it was unusual to see all of them. But that was the effect of Antonio Arcuri. He didn’t ask—he expected. He didn’t demand—he simply didn’t have to.

‘Is he here yet?’ James asked now, not waiting for an answer to his first question.

‘Mr Arcuri has business to attend to, nothing more,’ she said reassuringly, not really knowing if that was true or not.

‘It’s just that... Well, given the current climate...’

‘Arcuri Enterprises is strong enough to survive any climate—current or otherwise,’ Antonio’s Italian-accented voice cut in harshly.

Emma hated the way he did that. Crept into rooms like a silent-footed panther. And she felt pity for poor James, who had turned from nervously pale to humiliated red with just one sentence from their boss, before fleeing the room.

Antonio turned on Emma. ‘Why does everyone look as if they’re about to get fired?’ he demanded angrily.

Emma resisted the urge to sigh. He was clearly in that mood. A mood which made it easier for her to resist eating up the sight of his six-foot-plus powerful and lean frame.

‘It is a little unusual for you to break your trip to Italy.’

‘I need Danyl and Dimitri on a conference call immediately. And I need you to start a research file on Benjamin Bartlett. Everything and anything you can find on him and his company,’ he said, throwing the last over his shoulder as he moved towards his office.

‘I’ll get the research team on it right away.’

‘No,’ Antonio said, pausing mid-stride. ‘No one else is to know. I want you to handle it personally.’

With that, he stalked into his office, slamming the door behind him, and Emma sighed again. She closed the open folder on her desk concerning the Arcuri Foundation’s charity gala—a project she had already invested much of her spare time in—knowing that she would have to take it home that evening. And as she dialled the numbers she knew by heart to get Dimitri and Danyl, she wondered just who Benjamin Bartlett was and why he was so important.

* * *

Antonio Arcuri willed the adrenaline coursing through his veins to subside. He discarded his suit jacket on the sofa and instead of taking a seat at his desk stalked towards the floor-to-ceiling windows fronting his office and flexed his hands.

He had decided to give the task of researching Benjamin Bartlett to Emma on the flight back here from his mother’s house in Sorrento. He had been impressed with his calm, unflappable PA over the past eighteen months. Eighteen months in which he’d ruthlessly tamped down his initial and very much unwanted sensual interest in her from the moment she had stepped into the limousine on his way to the Asquith club in London.

Of course it helped that she dressed like the founding member of some religious organisation, and showed absolutely no interest in him whatsoever outside of their business interaction. He’d had PAs before who had raised their eyebrows and been uncomfortable handling some of his more indiscreet requests, such as fending off ex-lovers or acquiring suitable parting gifts. Despite what her conservative appearance suggested, Emma had handled each and every one without judgement or comment. The only thing she asked for was financial approval.

In short, Emma Guilham was very good at her job.

Which was exactly why he trusted her implicitly to handle the research on Bartlett. He couldn’t risk news of his interest in the man leaking out before he’d had a chance to arrange a meeting with him. But it wasn’t Bartlett himself that he was after. He could have taken or left his famous heritage brand, having no need to add it to his investment portfolio. No. It was the other potential investor that Antonio had in his sights. The investor that Antonio wanted to crush beneath his heel until no trace of him remained.

As he stood before the windows he didn’t see a millimetre of the lush green sanctuary in the middle of New York’s bustle. Antonio saw victory within his grasp.

Finally Antonio had the chance to bring Michael Steele to his knees. To cripple him completely, once and for all.

For so long he’d been nibbling away at the outskirts of Steele’s business dealings. And each time Antonio took one more bite from the man’s holdings he thought of his mother and sister. Of the shock and devastation Steele had wrought against his family with efficient ruthlessness. The subsequent pain that had nearly destroyed his mother, and the emotional scars that his young sister had turned against her own body until there had been almost nothing of her left.

Antonio had spent years clawing his way up the financial ladder...for this. The chance to destroy Michael Steele once and for all.

The buzz of the intercom cut through his thoughts and Emma’s voice announced that she had Danyl and Dimitri on the line for him.

‘What’s wrong?’ demanded Danyl.

Many would have been forgiven for thinking they heard anger in his voice, but Antonio knew better and identified concern.

‘Nothing’s wrong. In fact it’s the exact opposite.’

‘It must be...what?...six in the morning in New York?’ queried Dimitri. ‘Even you don’t usually start until a bit later.’

‘It’s seven.’

‘I feel sorry for your PA,’ remarked Danyl. ‘She just went into battle with my assistant to get me in on this call instead of calling the Terhren Secretary of State.’

‘Don’t feel sorry for her,’ Antonio responded. ‘Be impressed.’

‘I am,’ Danyl replied. ‘Anyone who can put my assistant off state business is worth their weight in gold.’

‘I have it. The way to take down Steele once and for all.’

Antonio didn’t need to explain who he was talking about, nor why it was so important. Dimitri and Danyl knew what this meant to him—had meant ever since the age of sixteen.

‘How?’ asked Dimitri.

‘I’ve been reliably informed that Benjamin Bartlett is looking for a healthy financial investment in his company. It would be Steele’s last chance for financial security. He has the capital to invest, but not enough to survive without it.’

‘And you plan to ensure that you win the investment,’ stated Dimitri. ‘Whatever you need—it’s yours.’

Antonio smiled. ‘That’s not necessary. I can counter any investment offer he makes to Bartlett.’

‘I’ve met Bartlett. I must say I’m surprised that he’s looking for investment. He’s always been financially stable.’

‘You know him?’ demanded Antonio. ‘How?’ he asked, his quick mind already working out how to use this to his advantage.

‘He’s a keen horseman. A regular feature on the international racing scene.’

Antonio frowned, scanning his usually perfect memory for any moment when he might have met the man amongst the numerous races they had attended as members of the Winners’ Circle syndicate.

‘He usually keeps to himself, though,’ Danyl continued. ‘Tends to stay away from the more lively areas that we enjoy. He’ll probably be in Argentina for the first leg of the Hanley Cup. Do you know why he’s looking for investment?’

‘The why doesn’t matter. I’ll do anything to make sure that I win the investment and not Steele.’

Silence greeted his pronouncement. For a moment Antonio worried that the connection had been lost.

‘Antonio, be careful. Desperation makes a man dangerous. I know this better than anyone,’ Dimitri warned.

‘I can handle the man.’ Antonio practically growled down the phone.

‘I wasn’t talking about him.’

A knock on the door preceded Emma’s appearance with the espresso he very much needed at that moment. Telling Dimitri and Danyl to hang on, he put the call on hold and waited for Emma to put the coffee on his desk and leave.

He was also buying time. Dimitri’s warning hadn’t fallen on deaf ears. But Antonio had spent years waiting for this day. He knew his mother would be saddened by his continued pursuit of revenge. She had pleaded with him over the years to move on. To put the hurt behind him—behind them all. But he couldn’t.

As Emma retreated to her desk behind the door to his own office, he surprised himself by wondering if she would understand. There had been times when his usually conservative, cool-eyed assistant had shown a deeply hidden spark of defiance, something like the fight he felt at that moment. But as the door clicked closed he put that thought aside and resumed his call.

‘That might not be the only problem that you face, Antonio,’ said Danyl.

‘Whatever it is, I can handle it.’

‘I’m not so sure. Bartlett is notoriously moralistic. And your recent and very public exploits with a certain Swedish model might be a rather large putting off for him.’

An image of the blonde who had graced his bed for a number of months rushed into Antonio’s mind. For the most part their encounter had run along the usual lines. Brief but sensually satisfying trysts whenever their diaries brought them together. Until she had started to ask for more. To ask for things he had told her wouldn’t be part of their relationship. And when he had ended things she had quickly transitioned from a cool, poised and sophisticated companion into a raging, deeply resentful and incredibly publicly wounded lover.

‘I can hardly be blamed for the fact she went to the press. I made her no promises—no lies were told. She knew the score and should have handled the end of our...interaction...with more finesse.’

‘Whether or not she should have, she didn’t. And Bartlett won’t like it one bit. He has a strict morality clause for all his board members. And the last to break it two years ago is still looking for work, from what I hear.’

‘What exactly are you saying, Danyl?’

‘Well, you might need to take yourself off the market, so to speak.’

What? Shocked, Antonio didn’t realise that the word had failed to escape his tightly clenched jaw.

‘You’ve either shocked him into silence or you need to explain more clearly what you mean, Danyl,’ Dimitri said, laughing.

‘Marriage,’ replied Danyl.

‘Just because you’re looking for a wife, it doesn’t mean I have to.’

Everything within Antonio roared an absolute no at the idea. All the women he had encounters with knew the deal—even the Swedish model, though she’d seemed to forget it.

Short term, high hits of sensual pleasure were important to him. He was a virile male, after all, and not one to deny himself sexual satisfaction. But nothing more. He neither wanted nor needed the distraction of anything more permanent.

He washed away his distaste at the very idea of marriage with a hot, strong shot of espresso. He scanned his mind for any examples of a healthy, successful partnership and could not find one. Neither Dimitri nor Danyl had any particular fondness for the institution of marriage themselves, though for Danyl—being the future ruler of Terhren—it had become a considerably more pressing matter.

Their bachelor status was something that the press had latched on to more than once when covering the successes of their Winners’ Circle racing syndicate. And it was certainly something that drew a wealth of beautiful women to their door. Was Antonio ready to consider closing that very door on the one thing aside from his business that he took very seriously?

‘How bad is he really?’ he asked his friends.

‘That board member I mentioned...? He hadn’t even had an affair. It was the rumour that Bartlett objected to.’

‘Perhaps you don’t have to...how do the Americans say it?...eat the whole hog—?’

‘Go, Dimitri. It’s go the whole hog,’ interrupted Danyl.

‘Please—we’re talking about a wife, here. Can we leave out references to eating and hogs?’

‘That’s what I’m saying. Perhaps it doesn’t have to be a wife.’

* * *

Emma had finished filing the quarterly reports, reassured countless staff members that, no, she didn’t think Antonio’s sudden appearance meant staffing cuts, and given consolatory smiles to a number of overly disappointed female employees who had failed to catch sight of Antonio before he’d locked himself in his office for most of the day. She had collated all the information she could on Benjamin Bartlett from initial online searches and saved it to Antonio’s private drive, and finally settled down to eat the lunch she had missed three hours ago.

So, of course, as her mouth was full of avocado and bacon bagel, that was the precise moment Antonio Arcuri chose to appear before her desk. With a demand that took every ounce of her control not to choke on.

‘Emma. I need you to find me a fiancée.’

Emma’s usually focused and quick mind halted in its tracks. Of all the things she’d ever been asked by her notoriously difficult boss, this had to hit the top of the list.

‘Do you have a particular person in mind? Or will anyone do?’

She had finally managed to swallow her mouthful around the shock that threatened to lock her throat in a seized position. And she was hopeful that her voice betrayed none of the sarcasm she felt so deeply, and instead projected only the smooth efficiency she knew Antonio prized so highly.

Emma loved being a personal assistant. She knew there were people who looked down on what they considered a lowly position. But, to Emma, the satisfaction of ensuring that her boss’s day—his life—ran without stumbling blocks was important to her. She liked feeling indispensable. She liked knowing that she was part of something much bigger than she could ever achieve on her own.

And she liked fixing things.

If she was honest, it was because she knew how awful it was not to be able to fix something for herself. How scary and frustrating it could be. Whether it had been her breast cancer or the subsequent breakdown of her parents’ marriage, she had been devastated by the sheer helplessness that she had felt at the time. And, whilst Emma might not have been able to fix the damage to her parents’ marriage in the past, she could certainly help find Antonio a fiancée in the present.

Antonio pinned her with a gaze that would have removed a certain amount of testosterone from many of his male employees and likely increased the pheromones in the female ones.

‘Was that sarcasm?’

‘No,’ Emma assured him, hoping the painful blush staining her cheeks wouldn’t give her away. ‘I simply wondered if you had your sights set on someone specific.’

‘No,’ he replied, frowning.

‘So...’ She battled on through the oddness of the situation. ‘Do you have any parameters for this search? Wealth, previous marital status, level of attractiveness...?’ She was desperately thinking of a polite way to say bra size when she registered with some surprise Antonio’s confusion. He clearly hadn’t thought this through.

‘Reputation. She must be scandal-free.’

Emma fought to contain the rather un-ladylike snort that tickled her nose. It sounded as if he were looking to buy a prize heifer with an up-to-date vaccination history. Which made her wonder, horrified for a moment, whether the poor woman in question might in fact be required to present a full medical history.

‘And I need her within two days.’

‘Antonio, I’m not Amazon Prime. I can’t just produce a...a fiancée,’ she whispered harshly, fearing that she might be overheard, or even accused of some kind of highly salacious ‘procurement’ for her boss. ‘Perhaps if you could explain the...the context, it might be slightly easier for me to...to understand what’s needed.’

She knew she was stumbling over her words but, given his current mood, she clearly had to choose them wisely.

‘I am about to set up a meeting with Benjamin Bartlett, who is touting for investment in his company. A company in which I must be the sole investor. And, being a notoriously moral man, Bartlett might be reluctant to involve himself with Arcuri Enterprises given...’ He trailed off, circling his hands in a typically Italian gesture.

‘Given your recent experience with Inga the Swedish—?’

‘I know what she was, Ms Guilham,’ Antonio cut in.

‘Quite. So you need a beard?’

Antonio’s hand went to the smooth planes of his chiselled jaw. ‘A beard?’

‘Not that kind of beard,’ she said, suppressing the smile that toyed at the edges of her mouth. ‘You need a fake fiancée to mask your previous indiscretions so that Bartlett will find you more palatable and therefore be more likely to welcome your investment.’

‘In a nutshell, yes.’

‘And am I to presume that all of this—’ she said mirrored his Italian gesture ‘—needs to be kept under wraps? No one is to know about this, as well as the research into Bartlett?’

He nodded his dark-haired head once. ‘There is another party interested in investing with Bartlett. My interest cannot get out to that person—or any other for that matter.’

The darkness of the warning in his voice was something that Emma hadn’t yet encountered in her boss. And that in itself was enough to inform her that this wasn’t to be taken lightly.

Her quick mind filed the top-line notes of his request. ‘Okay. I’m going to need to clear your schedule tomorrow evening.’

This was why Emma was good, Antonio thought to himself. Apart from the slight slip-up of her earlier sarcasm, which he would happily put down to surprise, when she took on a task she was efficient, direct and held none of the self-doubt he had seen in staff twice her age.

He knew her announcement of his change of plan for tomorrow would be wholly and one hundred per cent in line with her new-found task. A task that she hadn’t balked at, and had only posed pertinent questions on. Mostly.

‘Done.’

‘I’ll have your blue tuxedo sent to the dry cleaners and prepared for the gala.’

‘What gala?’ Antonio queried.

‘The Arcuri Foundation’s yearly charity gala. You are usually in Italy during these two weeks, which is why you are never sent an invitation.’

‘We have a charity gala?’

For the first time in eighteen months Antonio was surprised to see something like anger in Emma Guilham’s eyes.

‘Yes, we do.’ She paused, once again masking her obvious feelings on the matter with her legendarily cool gaze. ‘And it will be the perfect place for you to find a fiancée.’


CHAPTER TWO (#u0c2d3e73-e024-5487-a76f-983a175d9a20)

ANTONIO HAD SPENT the last twenty-four hours going over the research files Emma had put together on Bartlett—and the other research she had provided.

If he found anything distasteful about looking at the pictures and brief biographies Emma had collated of several of the single female attendees of that evening’s event, he ruthlessly forced it aside. He had but one goal. And tonight would be the first step in achieving it.

Emma buzzed on the intercom, interrupting his thoughts to announce that the car was there to take them to The Langsford Hotel. Although it was only a fifteen-minute walk from the office, and he’d been inclined to make that walk, Emma had swiftly denounced the idea, saying that it wouldn’t ‘do’ to have the CEO of Arcuri Enterprises walking up to the red carpet in front of the world’s press. After all, she had said, she was apparently now in the business of safeguarding his reputation.

He’d repressed a smile. He was beginning to enjoy these brief glimpses of a dry English humour that she had hidden from him until now. Pulling at the sleeves of the tuxedo’s jacket to fit them to the lines of his arms and torso, he opened the door to his office—and stopped.

Emma was perched on the end of her desk, leaning over towards the phone and looking quite unlike any way he’d seen look before.

She was still adorned in her usual monotone colours of black and white, and the wide panels of her loose dress covered all but the faintest glimpses of her figure. But her dark hair was piled up on her head in thick twirls, revealing strands of gold and deep reds that he had not seen before. It framed her heart-shaped face perfectly, and a light dusting of make-up served to accentuate the hazel and green of her eyes. A nude gloss lent a sheen to her lips that sent a punch to his gut more powerful than any brighter, richer colour could have achieved.

She looked natural and fresh—and so very different from the women he usually spent his time with.

‘Yes, don’t worry. The waiters know what to do. But because Ms Cherie was a last-minute addition to the invitation list we couldn’t have known her dietary requirements before. The kitchen staff always make three extra portions of each main, so just reassure her that a vegan option will be made available to her.’

Antonio watched as Emma hung up the phone, catching the unusual sight of a long, shapely, creamy calf.

‘Vegan?’

Emma turned, clearly surprised to find him standing there.

‘Enough of a crime to scratch her off the fiancée list?’ she asked.

‘Not yet,’ Antonio said, forcing his libido under control.

During the day—in her usual office attire—she wasn’t so much of a problem. But even though Emma was covered from head to toe, that glimpse of smooth marble-like skin was enough to snare his attention. And he suddenly understood why Victorian England had deemed ankles the most threatening thing to society since smallpox.

Shaking his head to rid his mind of inappropriate thoughts about his PA, he led the way to the elevator that would take them down to the limousine waiting for them in the underground car park.

In the confines of the metal box, with Emma beside him, Antonio realised that it was going to be a long night.

* * *

Emma couldn’t wait for this night to be over. They hadn’t even arrived at the gala and she was already exhausted. It had taken every waking minute she’d had, not only to put together her research on Bartlett and compile the dossiers on Antonio’s prospective fiancées—not that most of them knew they were prospective fiancées—but also to ensure that the foundation’s gala wasn’t single-handedly ruined by the very man in charge of organising it in the first place.

Marcus Greenfeld was a fusty old man, with fusty old ideas about how to run a charity. And it made her mad. She’d caught sight of his opening speech on the photocopier on the twenty-third floor and realised that something had to be done.

She’d hastily rewritten the thing, told a bold-faced lie to Greenfeld’s assistant that Antonio had wanted to take a look at it, and sent it off to the teleprompter before Greenfeld had even been able to think of questioning it. Or question the three extra invitations she’d had issued to fiancée options four, five and six.

Antonio might have told her what he needed in a fiancée but, honestly, the man’s taste in women was so varied she couldn’t tell which way he would go. Though option two—the vegan Ella Cherie—was looking increasingly less likely.

As the limo pulled up to The Langsford she remembered she had yet to tell Antonio about the other last-minute invitation.

‘Dimitri will be here tonight,’ she said as they slowed to a stop. ‘Danyl was...unable to attend.’

‘Well, he is running a country.’

Emma wasn’t so sure. She’d heard angry words in the background when she was on the phone to his assistant. There had been something behind the bitterly shouted phrase, ‘I wouldn’t go back to that hotel if you paid me!’ that had made Emma concerned that her suggested location for the gala might be a mistake.

But there was nothing online other than praise for this exquisite, world-renowned hotel. A hotel she’d heard of even back in London, when she’d scoured the press reports of its grand opening. She might never be able to afford to stay in the amazing hotel herself, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t experience it vicariously through work.

‘Why?’ Antonio asked, and Emma wondered briefly if she’d missed something.

‘Why, what?’

‘Why did you invite them?’

‘I thought that you might need some independent advice on your choice.’

Antonio looked at her, but she was unable to divine his thoughts.

‘Wingmen—I thought you might need wingmen,’ she clarified.

‘Emma,’ he said, with censure heavy on his tongue. ‘I have never needed a wingman.’

And the answering shivers that rippled through her body told her just how right he was.

* * *

As she did at most events Antonio attended for work, Emma stayed discreetly behind him during the initial introductions, her quietly whispered words prompting him with the names of the gala’s guests and their partners. There had been times in the past when the additional information she provided had saved him from embarrassment—especially once when Antonio had nearly mistaken a man’s mistress for his wife.

He was surprised to see so many recognisable faces. He could honestly say that he had never given this gala a first thought, let alone a second. If it didn’t contribute to bringing Michael Steele down, it didn’t matter to him. Marcus Greenfeld—the man Antonio had inherited along with the foundation he had secured for Arcuri Enterprises all those years ago—had never demanded anything of him and he liked it that way. Antonio had never taken to the man.

‘Natasha.’

Emma’s voice cut through his thoughts. He turned to find her welcoming the statuesque and considerably beautiful black woman making her way towards him.

‘How lovely to see you again,’ Emma said, kissing the woman on both cheeks.

The answering smile spoke of a friendship between the two and he instantly recognised the woman as fiancée option number one.

‘Natasha—allow me to introduce you to Antonio Arcuri. Antonio—Natasha Eddings,’ she said, gently proffering the woman to him like a gift, before swiftly disappearing to leave him alone with her.

Within minutes Antonio didn’t have to bring to mind Emma’s handwritten scrawl on her brief bio—This is my favourite—to see why Natasha was Emma’s choice. Natasha was articulate and intelligent, beautiful and, in short, practically perfect. But while she might meet his requirements, he had the odd impression that he did not meet hers.

‘It would seem that my usual and widely reported charm might be falling a little flat this evening,’ he remarked, testing his theory.

Natasha smiled apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Arcuri. Emma did explain to me the delicate nature of your...interest,’ she said, clearly searching for suitable phrasing.

A shiver of alarm passed through him quickly, but she pressed on.

‘I assure you that I don’t know why—only that you are looking for a fiancée—and no one will hear about it from me. I know that Emma has not spoken to anyone else of it. But...’

‘You are perhaps involved with someone?’ he offered, giving Natasha a way out.

‘I am. Whoever you choose will be a lucky woman. I am sure of it. But I’m afraid I am not she.’ Natasha smiled gently, smoothing any potentially ruffled feathers.

‘Rest assured, Natasha, whoever he is,’ he said, referring to her involvement, ‘he is the lucky one.’

The smile that lit her features was bright and spectacular.

‘Thank you. May I offer a suggestion, Mr Arcuri?’

When he nodded his assent, she continued.

‘Perhaps you don’t have to be looking so far afield.’

With that, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Antonio with a thought that was matched only by a growing suspicion on his part. But the clinking of glass interrupted his partially formed idea, sounding out the fact that the opening speech from Marcus Greenfeld was about to begin.

Having prepared himself for the most boring fifteen minutes of his life, Antonio was faintly surprised at the warm, heartfelt introduction given by the man as he clearly outlined the charity’s main functions. Though his voice was slightly stilted, the words were full of compassion and drive—and were, in a sense, a call to arms.

Looking across the audience, he saw them resonate, and a ripple of emotion shuddered through each of the attendees that he, himself, was not immune to. The only thing preventing the speech from being truly inspirational was the man delivering it.

From the corner of his eye Antonio saw his CFO, David Grant, approach quietly, and they greeted each other with a fond nod of welcome.

‘I have to say,’ Antonio said in hushed tones, ‘Greenfeld’s doing much better than I remember.’

His CFO frowned, then smiled. ‘Ah... I heard that it was down to you, but now I’m beginning to think that your PA has been sprinkling her magic fairy dust over his speech—as well as over this gala.’

Antonio was confused. What had Emma to do with all this?

David let out a gruff laugh. ‘For the last two months Emma has been running interference with Greenfeld and doing everything possible to ensure this night is an unusual success. You’re always out of the country for this event, but it’s been growing steadily more boring and more dull each year. It was Emma’s decision to move the gala to The Langsford and provide gift packages for the guests. Not to mention rewriting the speech. She’s done wonders.’

Wonders, indeed. Antonio was about to voice his frustration at the fact that his perfect PA had effectively been moonlighting, but David’s next words stopped him short.

‘I suppose it’s only natural, given her personal experience. Cancer research is one of the main focuses of the Arcuri Foundation, and that clearly makes her the perfect support for the event.’

Antonio stared at his CFO. Cancer? Emma had experienced cancer?

A roar sounded in his ears and it took him a moment to realise that it was the sound of the guests applauding.

* * *

Emma had watched Greenfeld’s speech from the sidelines of the large entertainment suite at the top of The Langsford. She had pretended to be checking the gala’s gift bags, ensuring that the male and female packages were all present and contained the small bottles of champagne a local winery had been happy to supply. Other companies had also lent their support, through handmade bracelets and perfume for the women, aftershave and cufflinks for the men.

She knew she’d thrown Antonio’s name around as if it was currency, but it had been worth it. And if her boss took issue with it, then she would set him straight. Tonight the gala was predicted to raise more money in donations than the last two events put together.

Once again she was pushing something bigger than herself out into the world, and this time she could do some actual good. Funding would reach beyond the not so small world of Arcuri Enterprises and help people—really help people who desperately needed it. And for that...? Yes, for that she would go into battle with her boss if needed.

But as her hands had hovered over the blue and pink cloth gift bags Greenfeld’s voice had projected her own words back to her, and she’d cursed the man for not being moved, for the barrier between his words and the emotions she felt in her chest. The man was simply not good enough at his job.

Still, Emma chided herself, she couldn’t do everything. Tonight she should really be checking on how Antonio was getting on in his search.

Although she was pleased with the fiancée options she’d miraculously pulled from the gala at the last minute, she had noticed Natasha’s departure from her conversation with Antonio with something horribly like relief. She liked Natasha. The bright, intelligent woman had been at several of the foundation’s functions, but hadn’t been able to help the awful sting of jealousy curling in her chest as she had seen them talk.

Antonio might be an unconscionable playboy, and she might have had to smooth the emotional waters for his ex-lovers, but she’d never had to see it personally. Through the hackneyed words of the international press that followed him almost constantly, she’d been able to see simply an incredibly attractive man who enjoyed beautiful women with good grace and no false promises.

And if she was foolish to wonder what it would be like to be one of those beautiful women, then that was her own look-out.

She had long given up on fantasies of being a beautiful blushing woman on the arm of a dashingly handsome man. Her experience with cancer had seen to that. It may have stolen her breasts—which she had been prepared for. But somehow it had been the prospect of nipple reconstruction that had truly defined its effect on her sense of self. Unwilling and emotionally unable to face yet another surgery, Emma had instead opted for medical tattoos. The tattooist had been kind and had worked wonders. The tattoos meant that she didn’t look in the mirror and immediately see something missing. The implants she could handle, and the scars she could deal with, but that last thing had been the hardest.

And, beyond the fight she’d won against cancer, it wasn’t just flesh and time that it had taken from her. It had stolen her parents’ marriage, and it had stolen her sense of femininity. At seventeen she’d been a child, and now, at twenty-three, she had yet to feel like a woman. She was unable and unwilling to put herself out there and find someone she might trust her delicate sense of self to—trust, should the worst happen, that they’d be there for her on the other side.

Her eyes were drawn to Antonio’s presence across the room. Standing almost a foot above most of the guests, he was never hard to find. And as she saw him laughing with fiancée option number four—one of the last-minute additions she had added just in case—she gave herself a little mental slap.

Putting her feelings back into a box, she went to check on the preparations for the gala meal.

* * *

Had anything ever been as annoying to him as this woman’s laugh? Ever?

Antonio couldn’t help but think not, as she pealed out another reel of hysteria at an inane observation that had fallen flat on his own ears.

He couldn’t hold it against Emma. Amber—he couldn’t keep thinking of her as option four—was fine. On paper. Two degrees...a board member at her mother’s make-up company...daughter of an international diplomat. Tick, tick, tick. But in person...? She was a car crash. She was loud, there was that awful laugh, and then there was her appearance. Clearly she was a stunning woman, but as she nearly fell out of her tightly constricting dress he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than distaste.

‘So, you’re into horseflesh? I love to have a flutter on the ponies occasionally. You’re going to be in Buenos Aires for the first leg of the Hanley Cup next week?’

His noncommittal ‘mmm’ wasn’t enough to put her off. But it did remind him of the need to check in with John—the trainer he had secured for the Winners’ Circle from the staff his family had been forced to let go.

It had been both a gift and a curse to work with the gruff northern Englishman. Antonio was still unable to relinquish fully the stranglehold the past had on him even now, in the present. He wondered if Mason McAulty was still furiously adhering to the strict schedule she had set herself...

But his train of thought was interrupted as Amber placed a long-nailed hand on his forearm, and Antonio resisted the urge to flinch.

‘Is it true that you have a female jockey riding your horse? How simply thrilling!’

Cue more laughter. Laughter that made him wonder what dry response Emma would have come up with.

Damn it.

Emma—the woman he had worked with for eighteen months and never known about her medical history. He wasn’t so uncouth as to require one for members of his staff, and neither was he such an ass that he would have treated her any differently. But as his eyes raked over Amber and her figure-hugging outfit he suddenly realised what it was about Emma’s figure that had always niggled at the back of his subconscious.

Breast implants. He hadn’t initially noticed them—in fact had only just realised that they were implants. They weren’t obvious—in reality they were incredibly subtle—and the disguising of them was clearly intended by her choice of wardrobe.

In an act of what could only be described as self-preservation, any time he had come near to considering his PA’s assets, he had swerved sharply away. So, even as a man who considered himself a connoisseur of beautiful forms, perhaps he could be forgiven.

Assimilating this new information about Emma didn’t make him think any less of her—only more. It added yet another layer of complexity to a woman who was beginning to take up far too much of his thoughts for a member of his staff.

‘And that was when—’

‘I’m sorry,’ Antonio said insincerely, ‘I’ve just seen someone I need to speak to.’

He left the blonde woman practically stamping her foot in his wake and went to find... Anything would be better than that.

Until he walked smack-bang into Marcus Greenfeld.

‘Mr Arcuri,’ he proclaimed, before Antonio could extricate himself from the situation. The man took off his greasy glasses and began rubbing them with his tie. ‘Kind of you to come. Didn’t have to, of course,’ he said apologetically. ‘I hope you don’t mind the...the extravagance. But then, of course, it was your suggestion so, yes... Thank you. I—’

‘You have done an amazing job.’ The lie was giving the man far more credit than he was clearly due, but it was necessary to ensure that Emma’s inspired intervention was fully felt. ‘This evening’s gala has garnered a huge amount of positivity,’ he said, loudly enough for Emma to hear as she made her way over to the two of them.

Did he notice a slight blush on her cheeks?

‘Mr Greenfeld... Mr Arcuri—the meal will be served shortly,’ Emma informed them.

Antonio’s hawk-like gaze raked over her—all of her. Even dressed in the clothes he now saw that she wore like armour, she outshone Amber like the north star.

‘I was just telling Marcus how much I’m enjoying the gala. A truly wonderful event. And with that in mind I have decided to double the donations raised this evening. Marcus,’ he said, turning back to the man, ‘please be so good as to announce that before the meal starts. Let’s see if it greases some wheels.’ He tried not to look at the man’s glasses as he spoke.

His statement signalled the end of the conversation, but Marcus Greenfeld still took an awkward moment to realise it was his cue to leave.

Emma was looking at him with huge round eyes. The same eyes that had first caught his attention in London. He needed to get his own eyes off his PA and on to the next fiancée option. He needed to keep his mind on track. He wasn’t here for the charity—he was here to help secure the Bartlett deal.

‘That’s...that’s wonderful, Antonio. Thank you so much.’

‘You don’t have to thank me. It’s my charity, after all. Besides... It’s good publicity.’

‘I don’t believe that,’ she said, levelling him with a stare that saw far too much, and speaking in a voice that held too much optimism. ‘I think you’re doing it out of the kindness of your heart.’

‘Don’t paint any illusions about me, Emma. Trust me—there’s very little good left in me.’

‘Well, then. I’ll just have to nurture that last little bit of goodness.’

As she slipped away into the throng of guests his errant mind wondered what else she might nurture and he cursed himself to hell and back.

When the guests started to make their way in a somewhat chaotic line through to where the meal was being served, he saw Dimitri peel off from a group of attractive women.

‘Enjoying yourself?’ Antonio asked as they stood back and watched the guests pile in for the meal.

‘Absolutely. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,’ Dimitri replied, full of laughter.

‘I’m glad you find humour in this.’

‘And in your purpose,’ Dimitri responded, clinking his glass of champagne against Antonio’s. ‘So, anyone caught your eye yet?’

As Antonio scanned the guests at the gala, all decked in the kind of finery that suited their opulent surroundings, his eyes snagged on Emma once again.

‘Emma shared the list of suitable candidates with me, and I must say, apart from that girl Amber, she’s chosen wisely. Though if you’re not overly taken with option one I’d be happy to take her off your hands.’

‘Che palle, Dimitri.’ Antonio cast Dimitri a dark look, but his friend only shrugged.

‘Ti?’ Dimitri queried in Greek.

‘Natasha Eddings—“option one”—is not up for grabs. This isn’t a cattle market, Dimitri. This is important. If Bartlett is even going to meet with me, then I need a fiancée to resolve any detrimental effects of my previous...assignations.’

‘Is that what the kids are calling it these days?’

‘Don’t joke. This is a serious matter.’

‘I know,’ Dimitri said, his eyes shining with understanding. ‘But, Antonio, you can’t just stumble across a woman you’ve never met before, make her an offer to be your fake fiancée, expect her to have little or no ulterior expectations, and present her to Bartlett wrapped in a bow.’

Antonio bit back a curse. Dimitri was right. Urgency and necessity had made his usually quick and clever mind sluggish and slow. He saw the many flaws in his plan immediately.

What had he been thinking? He needed the deal, he needed to bring Steele to his knees, and he needed a fiancée who would understand and support him in it.

His eyes caught Emma, laughing with a member of the hotel’s staff before stepping away through the glass doors to the balcony that wrapped around the outside of the hotel. She had done so much. He was impressed with how she’d multi-tasked, clearly making an unprecedented success of the event whilst never missing a beat in her day-to-day role. She was conscientious, bright and articulate. And above all she was professional. In short, she was perfect.

* * *

‘Mum, it’s...’ Emma paused, pulling her mobile briefly away from her ear to check the screen for the time ‘...one a.m. in London. What are you doing up?’

‘Oh, I got stuck into a painting and the next thing I knew it was midnight.’

As Emma looked out onto the famous New York skyline she imagined her mother in the brightly lit, airy loft of her home in Hampstead Heath. When her parents had divorced her father had been the one to leave, moving into a flat nearer to the school where he worked, but only round the corner from the home they had all once shared.

The divorce had signalled the end of the nightly fights that had become a regular feature of Emma’s life—desperate and painful arguments her parents had thought she hadn’t heard. The heart-wrenching accusations, the arguments over how differently to handle their sick daughter, and her father’s confusion as to why Louise Guilham had changed beyond his recognition.

Emma had initially felt relief when they’d separated, and then guilt, knowing that her father still desperately loved her mother. His painful bewilderment at the transformation in his wife and child had cut Emma deeply, and prompted the awful thought that had it not been for her illness her mother might have somehow stayed with her husband, and she might have somehow found a way to keep them all together.

‘Where’s Mark?’

Emma liked her mum’s partner. He made her happy, and he also gave her the space she needed to be creative at unsociable times. Emma knew better than most that when her mum ‘got stuck into a painting’ she could be gone for days. She loved her mum’s paintings—her favourite one hung on the wall of her little Brooklyn flat—and still felt bad that her mother’s work had been put on hold during her illness at a critical time in her mother’s career.

‘Asleep. I just wanted to know how the gala went.’

‘It’s still going, but it’s going well. Antonio has offered to double the event’s donations.’

‘That’s wonderful, darling.’

But even through her mother’s happiness for her Emma could sense her distraction. She was probably staring at the painting critically right at that very moment.

Emma was about to ask when they might come over to visit her. Her mother and Mark hadn’t made it out there yet, but that was okay, because she’d hardly had a spare moment since working for Antonio. But as if the very thought of him had conjured him from thin air, she felt rather than heard his presence behind her.

‘Love you lots, but I’d better go.’

Emma hung up the call and put her mobile back in her purse. She gathered herself, knowing that her emotions were a little too close to the surface for her to face her boss just yet.

Adjusting her mind’s eye back from her home in Hampstead to the beautiful night-time vista of famous skyscrapers silhouetted against the stars, she felt a cool breeze pass over her skin—and that was why she had goosebumps, Emma assured herself. Not because Antonio had come out here to find her.

He should be with the other guests sitting down for the meal. Perhaps he’d come to tell her that he’d found his perfect fiancée, she thought, uncharacteristically bitter.

She needed to pull herself together. Surely she could handle Antonio Arcuri’s fiancée as well as she could handle him. But the thought of handling





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