the woman from the top of her sleek blonde head to the slender heels of her black patent shoes. It was born in him to study women like that, Joanna was sure he wasn’t even aware that he did it, but God she hated it!
Beautiful, she seethed in jealous silence. Of course the woman had to be beautiful! Sandro would not accept anything less in a woman who worked within such close confines!
‘Grazi, Sonia,’ he murmured rather belatedly, just as ‘Sonia’ was about to walk through the door.
She sent him a glance and it spoke volumes. Sonia was offended that he had not introduced her to his wife. But Joanna was only relieved. She had no wish to be nice to his secretary when she was too busy trying to subdue a second bout of jealousy that was so strong it literally fizzed beneath the surface of her skin.
Did Sonia do more than his typing for him? Could she be the very discreet mistress?
The door closed them in once again, and Sandro’s attention was back on her. He studied her stiff-boned, firmly blank stance for a few moments, then sighed as though her very presence here irritated the hell out of him. He waved a long-suffering hand towards the seating area.
‘Sit down for goodness’ sake,’ he muttered. ‘Before your shaking legs give out on you.’
‘They’re not shaking,’ she denied, but went to sit down anyway, choosing one of the sofas and perching herself on the very edge, hoping he wouldn’t play his old trick of sitting himself down beside her. It was just another tactic he’d used to employ to completely unsettle her. He’d used to gain some kind of morbid gratification from placing her on the defensive.
But this time, she was relieved to see, he decided not to bother with that one. Instead he turned his attention to pouring out two cups of coffee.
Joanna watched his every move, every deft flick of those long brown fingers as he poured out two black coffees, added sugar to his own but none to hers, used the small silver spoon to stir the sugar, then silently handed a delicate white china cup and saucer to her, before going to sit down on the sofa opposite with his own.
And he did it all without bothering to ask her if that was how she liked her coffee. Sandro possessed almost instant total recall. He could remember names, places, facts and figures without having to try very hard. It was a major asset in his line of business, he had once told her, to possess fast recall of any information he might have acquired concerning the subject under consideration at the time. It saved him a lot of hassle because it meant he didn’t need to waste time going off to gather up the information.
On top of that, he was astute, very astute. Few people managed to con him. Though she was one of those few who had managed to do it. And in some ways she believed he’d found that harder to forgive than anything else she had done to him.
‘OK,’ he said flatly. ‘Let’s have it.’
She shook, rattling the delicate bone china cup in its saucer so badly she had to lean forward and put them down before she spilled the coffee all over herself.
Sandro crossed one elegant knee over the other. That was all, no other reaction whatsoever, but the action captured her restive attention. He was wearing charcoal-coloured socks, she noticed inconsequently. His shoes were hand-made lace-ups in a shining black leather.
‘I need some money,’ she mumbled, hating herself for having to ask him, of all people, for it.
‘How much?’
Just like that. No hint of surprise, no raised voice. She had never asked him for anything before, not even a tube of toothpaste. He knew that. The man with total recall would remember that telling little fact.
Which also meant he had already worked out that this was a dire situation for her.
‘F-five...’ The rest got stuck in her tension-locked throat and she had to swallow before she could say it. ‘Five thousand pounds.’
Still nothing. No reaction whatsoever. She even glanced up, wary, puzzled, searching his impassive face for a hint of what he was thinking.
She saw nothing.
‘That is a lot of money for you, Joanna,’ was the only comment he made.
‘I know,’ she admitted. ‘I’m s...’ Sorry, she had been going to say, but she stopped herself and instead got stiffly to her feet, unable to remain still beneath that dark level stare for a single moment longer.
With a tight restlessness she moved herself away from his close proximity, aware that his eyes were following her, aware that his brain was working faster than any other brain she had ever known.
Aware that he was waiting for her to tell him what she wanted the money for but was determined not to ask her himself.
Reaching his desk, she rested the flat of her hips against its edge and crossed her arms over her body so her icy fingers could curl tensely around her slender arms.
The silence between them began to stretch; she could feel it vibrating like a tautened wire between them. But, in a way, it made her want to do something to stop it, so she turned abruptly to face him, lifted her chin and forced herself to look directly into his carefully neutral eyes.
‘I have a proposition to put to you,’ she announced. ‘I need some m-money and, since you are the only person I know who has any, I thought you could give it me in the f-form of a settlement.’
‘A settlement to what?’
Her heart suddenly decided to stammer. ‘A divorce.’
No response, not even a flicker of those long, lush, lazy lashes, the super-controlled bastard!
‘I know you can’t possibly want to hang onto this so-called marriage of ours,’ she raced on quickly. ‘So I thought it might be best to make a clean break of it.’
‘For five thousand pounds?’
Her cheeks warmed with guilty colour. ‘Yes.’
‘So, let me get this straight,’ he recounted, ‘You want to divorce a multi-millionaire for the princely sum of five thousand pounds. Now that, Joanna, insults my ego,’ he informed her, moving at last to get rid of his own cup and saucer, then relaxing back again. ‘Why not go for the jackpot and demand half of everything I own?’ he suggested. ‘After all, you are entitled to it.’
No, she wasn’t. She wasn’t entitled to anything from Sandro, not even the five thousand she was asking him for. ‘I just want f-five thousand pounds,’ she reiterated, staring down at some unremarkable spot on the smooth grey carpet, because the next bit was going to be even harder to say, and she couldn’t look at him while she said it. ‘And I need it today, if you can lay your hands on that much.’
‘Cash?’
She swallowed, then nodded. ‘Please...’
No reply. Again she was forced to look up so she could search his face for a hint of what he was thinking—and she saw nothing but a sudden terrible gravity that almost cut her in two.
Face flushing, she dropped her gaze once more, agitated fingers picking at the fine woollen sleeves of her suit jacket.
‘Perhaps
