At The Italian's Command. Cathy WilliamsЧитать онлайн книгу.
to…? Whom? Sophie Frey, psychologist?’
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic, Rafe.’
‘There’s every need to be sarcastic when you start trying to analyse me. You can follow me around and report factually on what you see. Wafting off into some airy-fairy land of speculation isn’t going to work.’
Sophie didn’t say anything and he frowned at her, fingers tapping restlessly on his leather briefcase, which was still shut.
‘Nor do I intend to allow your personal feelings for me to colour whatever you write.’
‘My personal feelings for you? I haven’t got personal feelings for you! I happen to know you…no, I take that back…I happen to know who you are because our mothers have been friends for ever, but that’s as far as it goes!’
‘Which doesn’t go a long way towards explaining that remark you made when you walked into my office this morning.’
‘What remark?’ There was wariness in her voice as she dredged her memory bank to try and recall what he could be talking about.
‘That this business was arranged without your consent. Implying that you didn’t want to be here any more than I wanted it. My reason is purely the nuisance factor of having you or anyone else around walking two paces behind me. What’s your excuse?’
Sophie felt patches of tell-tale colour flood her cheeks. Her fingers were now gripping the briefcase so tightly that she feared they might have to be forcibly unhooked by the end of the drive. It took effort to remember that she was a grown adult, a woman of twenty-seven, who had been to art college, had had boyfriends and had worked alongside other people for the better part of three years. Those eyes on her and that powerful, sexy, charismatic face were not going to reduce her to the nervous teenager she had once been in his presence.
‘My excuse is that I don’t believe in pulling strings. Sure, I’ve landed a coup in kicking off this new departure for the magazine by shadowing you, but I would have preferred to have done the groundwork myself, found someone who actually might not have minded having me around for two weeks!’ She glared at him.
So, he thought, the awkward mouse has teeth.
‘If that’s the truth, then fair enough. But whatever you write about me has to be unbiased.’
‘And when you read what I’ve written, you have to read it with a fair eye!’
‘I am a very fair man. Ask any of my employees.’
‘I take it that you’re giving me permission to talk to them about you?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you might not like everything they have to say.’
‘In which case I’ll have the little beggars hung, drawn, quartered and then fed to the tigers I keep at the bottom of my garden specifically for that purpose…’ He smiled slowly at her and Sophie felt her breath catch in her throat. She became acutely aware of exactly how small the back seat of a car was, even the back seat of a big car.
‘I guess it’s the only efficient way of dealing with detractors,’ she said lightly, voice normal even though her heart was beating thunderously inside her. ‘Tell me, does there ever come a time when you just feel you want to crash out? I mean, you seem to be on the go permanently.’ There, much better, get the conversation back to basics.
‘I enjoy what I do. Why would I want to take time out?’
‘Because it’s exhausting?’
‘I don’t tire easily.’
‘Can I ask you how you got involved in your business? I mean, I know you inherited quite a bit when your father died years ago, but you’ve expanded…’
On firmer footing now, she could actually relax and listen to him as he gave her a potted account of his rise to his virtually untouchable status.
By the time the car was pulling up in front of a small but prestigious-looking building south of the river, she had pretty much got the factual backbone of her story mapped out in her head. A tale of a boy born into privilege, with a brain that entitled him to strive for his own goals and the burning ambition to do it. A fair bit of the story she already knew, having grown up in the same village, but it was nevertheless interesting to see his take on his situation. While he admitted to his moneyed background, it was something he obviously simply took for granted. He had never been drawn towards an excessive lifestyle, although he had not spurned the doors his family wealth had initially opened. He had taken the reins of his father’s company when the time had come and from there had begun his process of branching out.
‘And what will you be doing here?’ Sophie asked, clambering out behind him, making sure to keep up with his long strides.
‘Discussing the possibility of buying a small IT company, which I might actually hang onto for longer than usual because I think it has potential.’
‘Meaning…?’
‘Meaning that you are now entering a silent zone. You’re to be seen and not heard. Got it?’
Any thaw in him had been brief. A salutary lesson in realising that information imparted would be solely on his terms. And the occasional smile was not an invitation to familiarity. Never had been. When she was a kid, he had viewed her as a pest. As an adult, she was far removed from his league and trawling around behind him, still a pest.
‘Of course,’ Sophie said neutrally.
She had planned on taking notes, but in the end was held captive by the force of his personality. A little over two hours and she felt drained by the driving energy he imparted. Points were raised and debated, columns of figures were looked at and picked over, until several of the directors were squirming in their seats. Alongside Rafe, two of his lawyers followed proceedings, interrupting when relevant but leaving the bulk of the business to be manoeuvred by him.
She wondered whether he was typical of any man in a position of power or whether this was his unique style.
Lunch turned out to be something grabbed en route to another meeting, and by the end of the day she felt as though she had been thoroughly put through the mill.
How on earth could anyone continue to function day after day on such high levels of adrenaline?
It was the question she put to him when, at a little after six, she was getting ready to leave. The last hour had been relatively restful, at least. She had had an opportunity to chat with Patricia and to begin writing up some of her report, escaping from him into one of the empty offices further along, which she had been allowed to use temporarily.
Rafe looked up from what he had been doing and frowned. ‘I thought you’d gone. What are you still doing here?’
‘I was on my way out. I was just curious to know if your energy levels ever run dry.’
‘You’ve asked me that one already. You should take notes of what I say, then you won’t run the risk of repeating yourself.’
Sophie felt like a child whose welcome had expired. She knew her image matched the feeling. Her hair had spent the day struggling to be freed from its clip-bound hell and had mostly managed to succeed. Whatever rudimentary make-up she had donned for the day had disappeared and she had done nothing to replenish her lipstick, which meant that that too would have vanished. Her clothes, at least, had been functional given the nature of her day, but she had been all too conscious of their lack of appropriateness. In fact, at two of the meetings, several of the younger men had looked at her curiously, as though bemused by her oddity. Rafe, in all fairness, had said nothing, but she knew that he was thinking the same. And now it was time for her to leave.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise how packed your timetable is. The reality just seems a lot more driven than some entries made on a sheet of paper.’
‘Like I said, I won’t be slowing my pace to accommodate you.’