concerned gaze with a cold, hostile stare. ‘I’m re-assigning the catering to another firm.’
Debbie’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. ‘You’re what? Why?’ she asked in dismay. ‘The food’s terrific—’
‘I don’t have to give a reason,’ he snapped irritably.
‘I think you do!’ she cried in protest, deciding to stick her neck out and get to the bottom of Colleoni’s brushoff. ‘I need to know what we’ve done wrong—we could put it right.’
The black eyes flashed a warning. ‘I’m busy,’ he said curtly. ‘I don’t discuss decisions.’
The strong nose had lifted with the haughtiness of a Roman emperor and Debbie suddenly felt she’d been relegated to a servant level. ‘Particularly with delivery girls?’ she asked quietly.
His glacial stare never wavered but she felt the scorn pouring from him like an acid river. ‘Out,’ he grated through perfect white teeth.
He bent his glossy head and scowled at some papers in front of him, effectively dismissing her. She was stunned. They needed the business to pay the gas bill. Her body trembled at the prospect of more debts, more arrangements to pay instalments from a rapidly diminishing income. She thought of how the news would affect her mother and steeled herself to face him, since she had nothing to lose and a lot to win. She stood her ground.
‘If you’re not happy with Bo-beep invading your offices, we’ll deliver wearing anything you like,’ she said submissively, trying to keep her voice level and mask the betraying wobble. When he raised his eyes and shot her a baleful, end-of-my-tether look, she bit her lip. ‘A nice ladylike outfit.’ Twin set and pearls, she almost suggested in defiant hysteria, but didn’t dare.
‘The costume’s not the problem.’
‘Isn’t it?’ she cried hopefully. ‘Then you can’t fault the food. Please let us keep you on our books,’ she begged. ‘We have your directors’ lunch next week and food to do for the office outing next month—’
‘Not any longer, you don’t. Shut the door behind you: The papers were treated to his baleful scowl again. He started crossing out whole sections of some kind of agreement, his gold fountain-pen digging hard into the thick paper and making a loud scratching noise in the silence.
Debbie was appalled at the injustice. It was so unfair! Her mouth tightened ominously. It had been a hard day and he’d made it harder. ‘I won’t take up any more of your valuable time. I hope you enjoy your lunch and change your mind,’ she said politely, and made for the door before she lost her temper and taught him his manners.
Preoccupied with the loss of the business, she flung open the door and hurried out, her head down. There was a cry of warning from Annie and too late she saw an advancing redhead in the briefest of high-cut shorts and bra which had apparently been made from tiny scraps of the American flag. Her mind registered for a split-second that the redhead had a basket of sandwiches over her arm and then the two of them collided, collapsing on to the office floor.
‘Oh, Lord!’ groaned Debbie. She flicked away a mouthful of stiffly lacquered hair and made a face at the disgusting taste. ‘I wish I were rich. I’d never be here,’ she muttered fervently under her breath, cautiously working out which were her legs in the general jumble of limbs. ‘I think,’ she said tartly to the woman, ‘you’re trespassing on my patch.’
‘Basta! Get up, both of you!’ roared Colleoni’s voice from the doorway.
With another groan of dismay, Debbie reached back to steady herself, her hand coming into contact with the frills of her briefs which were lavishly exposed to public view. Scarlet with shame, she flipped down the hated petticoats and skirt as far as she could to restore her dignity and methodically set about undoing herself from the cursing redhead. Her eyes widened in shock at the breadth and coarseness of the woman’s vocabulary.
Two big male hands suddenly cupped beneath Debbie’s armpits and she felt herself lifted up into the air, a light scrap of thistledown instead of a well-built mother of a two-year-old. And then she was set down on her feet again.
Her head jerked around. Level with her eyes was the unmistakable spotless white shirt and the broad knot of Colleoni’s royal blue tie. Since she was above average height, she realised that he must be unusually tall but embarrassment stopped her from looking up at him.
‘I wish the floor would open up and swallow me,’ she muttered miserably to his tie.
“That can be arranged,’ he grated grimly stepping back as if she’d contaminate him with some foul disease.
Leaving her to squirm, he reached down and courteously helped the redhead to her feet, and was rewarded by a breathtaking display of femininity as the woman nervously clutched at the shelf that was Colleoni’s broad, pin-striped shoulder. Debbie, however, wasn’t mollified by the pathetic whimpering emerging from the pouting red lips.
‘I want a word with her,’ she said menacingly.
‘Save me!’ The woman cringed and clung, but didn’t forget to thrust out her ample chest in a way that threatened to split the stars and stripes forever. ‘Protect me,’ she implored. “That woman’s mad!’
Debbie noticed that Colleoni was ignoring the redhead completely and became aware that his frowning gaze had focused with a deep concentration somewhere around her breastbone. For a moment she was riveted by the raw sexual curl of his suddenly expressive mouth and then she realised why he seemed to be breathing so heavily.
Hastily she shot a quick look down at herself and groaned at the startling amount of her own bosom that had become exposed—almost, but mercifully not quite, to the tight, hard peaks thrusting out at the sprigged material. Appalled at the way the treacherous neckline had let her down, she wriggled the modesty piece back in place again, feeling hotter and hotter as the disapproving silence deepened.
She knew she’d never get the business back now. She felt her stomach somersault with the awful realisation that her late delivery and the mortifying scene had counted against her.
Most men would have found the situation amusing—especially the ratio of flesh per metre of fabric. This guy evidently had firm ideas about women and, although he’d been red-blooded enough to spend a little while staring at her half-exposed breasts, his ideas of womanhood didn’t include females who rolled around the floor dressed in fancy costumes.
‘I’m not mad; I’ve just had enough of being sabotaged!’ she said irritably, adjusting the puff sleeves and restoring some of her dignity. But not much. ‘Look,’ she continued sharply to Miss Stars and Stripes, ‘I know it’s not your fault you’re working my area, but—’
‘Shove off!’ said the woman rudely, bending down to pick up the scattered cling-filmed sandwiches and return them to her basket. ‘I’m delivering samples. Ask him. It’s his sister who’s got the franchise. Pia Colleoni. She’s the boss of City Lights,’ she sneered.
‘City Lights! His sister?’ Debbie’s husky voice ran out on her.
‘Sister-in-law,’ corrected Colleoni. ‘Leave the sandwiches,’ he said disdainfully to Miss Stars and Stripes. ‘I’ll let you know.’
Lithe and supple, as if his muscles had been liquefied, he strolled back into his office, confident that the matter was closed. But
