CHAPTER NINE
SEBASTIANO CHECKED HIS Rolex as he strode into SJC Towers, his London office building, completely oblivious to the wintry rain landing like icy pellets on his face. From the moment he’d woken up he’d known it was going to be an interesting day. Interesting as in the Chinese curse ‘interesting’—not ‘it’s going to be great’ interesting. Not that he held much with curses or proverbs.
But he wasn’t going to let noisy workmen, an unexpected early-morning visit from his now ex-mistress or a flat tyre derail him. He had been waiting for over two years for this day and finally his crusty old grandfather was going to give up on his stubbornness and hand over the reins of the family dynasty. And not before time!
Bert, his weekend security chief, gave him a nod as he approached the reception desk, not at all perplexed to see his boss arriving for work on a Sunday morning.
‘Catch the game yesterday, boss?’ Bert asked with a flashing grin.
‘Don’t gloat,’ Sebastiano advised. ‘It’s a very unattractive quality.’
Bert’s grin widened. ‘Yes sir!’
Their friendly rivalry was a source of great amusement to Sebastiano. Too often those around him hid behind a mask of eager deference to get on his good side all because he had been born into a life of wealth and privilege. It was irritating to say the least.
He caught a glimpse of the newspaper Bert had spread out on the desk showing a picture of Sebastiano leaving a posh, and utterly boring, cocktail party the night before. Evidently his now ex-mistress had seen the same photos on the Internet which was why she had decided to ambush him outside his Park Lane home after his early-morning run, wanting to know why he hadn’t invited her to attend with him.
In hindsight, ‘because it didn’t occur to me’ hadn’t been his best answer. Things had rapidly deteriorated after that, ending when she’d issued him with an ultimatum: either move their relationship forward or end it. Not that he could blame her for being frustrated. He’d pursued her a month ago with the ruthless determination that had seen him rise to the top of the Forbes 500 list by the age of thirty-one and he’d yet to sleep with her more than once.
Which wasn’t like him. He normally had a very healthy libido but he’d been off stride lately. Probably only this damned situation with his grandfather. Not to mention the twenty-hour days he had been putting in at the office to finalise a deal that would see him take over as industry leader in the hotel construction market.
Of course, he’d apologised to the world-renowned ballerina, but she hadn’t been impressed, blowing him a kiss over one elegant shoulder and purring that it was his loss as she had gracefully exited his life. Thinking about it now, he might suggest she give break-up lessons to some of his past involvements. She’d make a small fortune teaching basic relationship-exiting etiquette to others, particularly to the Spanish model who had thrown her hair brush at him when he’d suggested they part ways some months back.
‘Better luck next time, eh, boss?’ Bert chortled, feigning contrition. Sebastiano grunted. He knew Bert was referring to yesterday’s football match, in which his team had annihilated Sebastiano’s, but equally he could have applied the sentiment to his stalled sex life.
‘Your team wins again,’ Sebastiano said as he headed for the bank of elevators. ‘I’ll dock your wages by half.’
‘Yes sir!’ Bert’s grin widened as he checked the security monitors on his desk.
Stepping into the lift, Sebastiano stabbed the button for his floor and hoped that his adroit EA had found time to collate the reports he wanted to present to his grandfather this morning as part of his winning pitch. Ordinarily he’d never ask Paula to come in on a Sunday, but his grandfather had landed this visit on him at the last minute and he hadn’t wanted to leave anything to chance.
Not that his business acumen was the reason behind his grandfather’s reticence to hand him control of the company. No, what he wanted was to see Sebastiano settled down with a lovely donna who would one day become the mother of his multiple bambini. His grandfather wanted him to have something other than work to sustain him. Something called work-life balance. A modern-day catch cry if ever Sebastiano had heard one, and one he suspected his grandfather had acquired from his cherished wife. Whatever Nonna wanted, Nonna got.
‘How can I expect you to take on another demanding role when you already have so little time to relax?’ his grandfather had said over the phone a month ago. ‘Your grandmother and I just want to see you happy, Bastian. You know how we worry. I can’t die if I don’t know you will be taken care of.’
‘You know I can take care of myself,’ Sebastiano had growled. ‘And you’re not dying. At least, not right now.’
But his grandparents were old-world Italian. If there wasn’t a good woman cooking in his kitchen and warming his bed at night, they considered him to be living a lonely, substandard existence. And apparently having a housekeeper providing those hot meals, and as many women as a man could want offering to warm his bed, wasn’t what they were talking about.
More’s the pity.
Because for Sebastiano being busy was his work-life balance. He thrived on it. There wasn’t a day went by he didn’t wake up wanting to conquer some new business opportunity or some new corporate challenge. Love? Marriage? Both required a level of intimacy he didn’t have it in him to give.
Being a little removed from those around him had served him well over the years and he couldn’t see a reason to change that. And if some nights he had a lonely, late-night aperitif by himself, overlooking the glittering lights of whichever city he happened to be in at the time...well, so be it.
Right now he was in the prime of his life, and as he had just bought Britain’s largest steel and concrete supply company there was no better time to take over as head of Castiglione Europa. The two businesses dovetailed so beautifully that Sebastiano had already asked his marketing and sales team to work up a plan to move into the hotel refurbishment industry across Eastern Europe.
He just had to convince his hard-headed nonno to retire and see out his twilight years with the wife he adored in the family’s Amalfi coast villa. Then, and only then, could Sebastiano make up for the
