Why, when you so obviously don’t like me, would you want to employ me?’
‘You know...I’ve asked myself that very question,’ he said.
He moved closer to her—close enough to reach out and lift her chin between his thumb and forefinger. His warmth seared her skin, making her catch her breath.
‘And?’ It came out as a croak. She was trying not to let him affect her, trying not to breathe in the tantalising freshness of his cologne.
He shrugged. ‘I need an assistant. You’re looking for a position.’
‘I had a position—or as good as,’ she interjected. ‘Until you came and snatched it from me.’
His hand fell away from her, although his eyes never left her face. ‘Well, maybe I’m just nursing a masochistic need to have you working for me.’
‘So you can remind me every day of how badly I treated you?’ If she had treated him badly. Think! she urged herself, but nothing would come.
Andreas’s laugh was infused with irony. ‘I thought I made that clear when I saw you last Friday? Your actions in the past left no indelible marks.’
‘Well, that’s all right, then, isn’t it?’ she breathed, silently disturbed by his chilling declaration. ‘And you’d still take me on after you’ve intimated that the job I was applying for was out of my league. This is obviously a far more responsible position, and you’ve already said I’m lacking in experience. What makes you imagine I’m up to meeting all your requirements?’
‘Oh, you’ll meet them, Magenta. Rest assured about that.’
He wasn’t saying anything, but something in the dark penetration of his eyes made her shiver. Somehow he didn’t seem to be just talking about his requirements of a PA.
‘Well, thanks, but no thanks,’ she said, turning away.
‘You’ll walk away knowing that the lease on your flat is hanging in the balance and that you don’t even have the resources to renew it?’
She swung round to face him, the tears she had been fighting since the moment he’d strode in and ripped all her hopes apart now glistening unashamedly in her eyes. ‘How did you know that?’
‘You’ve just confirmed it,’ he said. ‘Apart from which one of my colleagues who attended your first interview mentioned the letter that you asked for.’
‘The letter?’ she murmured, and was suddenly mortifyingly aware of what he meant.
She’d made a fool of herself at that first interview by prematurely believing, from the way the conversation was going, that they were already offering her the job. She’d been so desperately relieved that she’d asked if she could have their offer in a formal letter, which she could pass on to her landlord’s agents. It didn’t take half a brain—let alone a keen mind like his—to work out the reason why.
‘So you decided to capitalise on my misfortune?’
‘I’m offering you a job.’
‘Not the sort I’m willing to take.’
‘On the contrary, Magenta. I think you’ll take any job you can get. And may I point out that I’m not the one implying anything improper? You are.’
‘You’re not?’
‘No. And I’m not sure what you’re getting so falsely modest and indignant about,’ he stated. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time you’d sold yourself to the highest bidder.’
It was obvious that he believed what he was saying, and that he would never cease to remind her of it or to exact retribution for it—which was the only reason, she was sure, that he was offering her the position now.
‘I’ve never sold myself!’ she emphasised, trying to ignore the goading little voice inside her head that was asking, How do you know? ‘I haven’t,’ she reiterated, trying to convince herself in spite of it. ‘And I’m not selling myself to you, Andreas,’ she tagged on. But there was desolation in her eyes as she realised that for her own sake, and especially for Theo’s welfare, she had very little choice but to accept his offer.
His mouth compressed with evident satisfaction as a knock on the door announced the arrival of the coffee.
‘Well, we’ll see, shall we?’ he said, knowing as well as she did that she was beaten.
CHAPTER THREE
MAGENTA WOKE WITH a start, sweating and trembling. She had been dreaming that she was looking for something and didn’t even know what it was, but as the trembling subsided and the fog lifted from her brain things started to become a little clearer.
She had been sobbing while she was asleep because of something she had lost and desperately wanted back, but it wasn’t anything tangible that she had been looking for. She knew it had been something to do with Andreas....
She was lying on top of the bed, where she had slumped, drained and exhausted, after coming home from that interview today and after that unsettling time in his office. She’d remembered so much. The restaurant. His father and grandmother. Even snatches of their brief but tempestuous affair. But there were aspects of their relationship that still continued to elude her. Like what had happened to make him so hostile towards her? Had it been to do with her modelling career? And why was he so convinced that Marcus Rushford was Theo’s father?
Think!
She lay there for a while, until her brain felt fit to burst, and then with a frustrated groan forced herself off the bed and into the bathroom.
Her body had changed very little since her teenage years, she thought, catching a glimpse of the tall, slender figure in the mirror. And ever since she had grown up her unusual looks had attracted far more attention from the opposite sex than she’d wanted or encouraged—and because of it a name she hadn’t even earned.
Stepping into the shower, Magenta thought reluctantly of how her mother’s reputation hadn’t helped. With no father, and no knowledge of any, she recalled that she’d had a string of ‘uncles’ who had drifted in and out of her young life. Her mother had been unable to maintain a steady relationship with any man. One disastrous affair after another had led to her seeking solace by drinking too much, and it had been her daughter who had always borne the brunt of it. Add the stigma of her birth poverty, because Jeanette James had never been able to work, and Magenta’s schooldays had been hard—both at home and in the classroom. Somehow she had never quite fit in with her classmates, and consequently had never made friends easily. For that reason she had grown up wanting to rise above the situation she was in. And because of her face and figure—both accidents of birth—a modelling career had seemed the only way to do it.
Her physical attributes together with her background, however, had caused men to expect more from her, Magenta thought bitterly, than she’d been prepared to give. But she had resisted them all until...
By instinct alone she knew that there had only ever been one man who had set her body on fire, and that man was Andreas Visconti. But everything he had said to her today—and the other night in the wine bar—implied the contrary. For some reason he truly
