Mistresses: Blackmailed For His Pleasure. Annie WestЧитать онлайн книгу.
glanced up at him and was instantly ensnared by the hot promise in his eyes. Good grief, was he flirting with her?
Of course he was. All Italian men flirted, and Stefano was reputed to be an outrageous flirt. She’d just not had the opportunity to witness it before now.
“Is there anything else you need?” she asked, aiming for a cool voice that would let him know she wasn’t the least bit interested in him.
“Not at the moment,” he said, though the lusty gleam in his eyes contradicted his reply.
Her spine went stiff as she left the room that seemed far too close with him in it. How dare he be so cavalier with her one moment and charismatically male the next!
He’d likely find some task to interrupt her work later. She was certain of it.
Back at her desk, she set to work contacting the department managers. Most asked when Cesare would return to work. Others expressed concerns about what would happen if Cesare was forced to retire or if he died.
The last left her with an ache in her stomach and a heaviness in her heart. It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d lost her own papa in a boating accident.
She certainly didn’t want to think about losing Cesare! But she was worried about him. A deep unsettling worry that would likely rob her of sleep and keep her on edge.
Some months ago, Cesare had confided in her that he and his son hadn’t been on speaking terms in years. The old man didn’t have to tell her that upset him. She could tell.
He loved his youngest son, but according to Cesare, Stefano had disagreed with him and his eldest son over how to run Marinetti Shipyard. So he had left the company and struck out on his own and their estrangement had remained.
Interesting that Stefano had returned and stepped into the role of CEO now. Surely he wouldn’t take advantage of Cesare’s illness to disrupt the way things were done here? Surely he wouldn’t make drastic changes?
Her intercom buzzed, a long discordant sound that rifled the calm she’d desperately sought. So much for getting a reprieve from Stefano this morning.
She jammed a finger on the call button. “Sì, signor.”
“Stefano.” The silken timbre of his voice stirred a restless energy in her—something that was better left sleeping around him. “I have need of your services.”
“Coming.”
She stood and smoothed a hand over her skirt that had crept up her thighs, picked up her pen and notepad, and marched into the lion’s den. She was immediately thrust into another breathless moment of sensual awareness as her gaze locked on the sexy man lounging at Cesare’s desk.
He’d removed his jacket and slung it carelessly on the leather sofa, as if settling in to work. He’d even rolled up his shirtsleeves and left his cuff links lying on the desktop, the stones glinting the fire of diamonds in the light. But he still looked more the playboy than executive.
His silk tie hung loose around the strong column of his neck. His stark white shirt was open at the collar, revealing a wedge of olive skin sprinkled with black hair.
The same dark hair sprang from his forearms that were corded with muscle. A Gucci watch banded one wrist.
Anger knotted her stomach. Everything about him screamed money and sophistication. He was the consummate billionaire flaunting an extravagance that Cesare certainly couldn’t afford.
Up until nine months ago, Marinetti Shipyard had made a marginal profit building fishing boats and ferries. Some called Marinetti Shipyard antiquated.
Of late, she’d heard the rumors that it was on the verge of collapse. The last hurt the most because it was true.
Cesare had been forced to dig deeply into the profits and a failure of new orders coming in had been unable to compensate for the loss. If she could, she would’ve given back the money Cesare had insisted she take.
But it was gone and her only source of income now was her salary. Without Cesare running his business, how much longer could they go on?
Just last week Cesare had confessed that he’d had to sell a good deal of his shares to Canto Di Mare in order to make payroll. He barely held controlling interest in his own company. No wonder his health had broke!
Without another word or glance Stefano’s way, she settled into the chair before Cesare’s desk, ready to take dictation from her temporary boss. She would surely count the days until Cesare’s return.
“I will be dividing my time between Marinetti and my own company,” he began, rocking back in the chair with lazy insouciance and surprising her with that announcement. “After my father’s surgery, of course.”
“Of course.”
Good! Stefano would only be here part-time. He was likely bored already with his papa’s business.
Cesare Marinetti was old school and his schedule at Marinetti Shipyard was relaxed. Everything here was done in slow precision as it had been done for generations.
Even a good many of the employees were extended family with sons following in their fathers’ footsteps. But what would Stefano know of that?
He’d walked away from his family. He’d found fault with the way this shipyard was run years ago. He’d shunned tradition.
“As my own secretary is on holiday,” Stefano said, snaring her attention. “You will accompany me as I commute between both locations.”
Was he joking? She had no intentions of being at his beck and call, especially since she had so much to do for Cesare in Milan. That took precedence over bowing to Stefano’s whims.
“That is impossible. My work is here,” she said.
THE mouth she’d earlier admired curved into a devilish smile that sent her stomach cartwheeling. She knew before he said a word that she’d just baited the lion. And lost.
“Your work is wherever and whatever I deem it to be for the foreseeable future. And,” he said, raising one finger when she opened her mouth to voice a weak objection, “to make myself clear, my father is on strict bed rest before his surgery and throughout his recuperation. That includes personal business.”
Those last four words shot ice down her spine. He was ordering her to keep away from Cesare. The wall had been thrown up. It was a small wonder Cesare was able to contact her when he had. Which was likely what his son had anticipated when he took over.
At least she’d gotten the files out in time. She’d simply have to keep them hidden until Cesare returned. And she would guard them with her life.
“Am I forbidden to visit him, as well?” she asked, worry seeping into her bones when she thought of the little girl waiting for Cesare in Milan.
They couldn’t just abandon her now. If Cesare was unable to see to her care, then Gemma would have to do so for him. But first she’d have to get away from Stefano.
That could prove difficult, considering he planned to take her away from here in the capacity of his personal assistant.
“You may visit my father.” He stroked the chiseled line of his classically strong jaw with a thumb as if carefully considering her question. “After his surgery.”
If she thought he was genuinely concerned about the older man’s health prior to the heart bypass, she’d not take this personally. But the hard glint in his eyes mirrored the undertone in his warning—one meant just for her. Could he know of her deep relationship with Cesare? Had he somehow discovered his papa’s secret?
No, that was impossible. She and Cesare had been discreet to a fault.