is a lifetime in the stock market,’ he told Mia. ‘Henry Dillard should have known that.’
Mia drew a quick breath. ‘As I said, longevity—’
‘Was one of Dillard’s assets. It isn’t any more.’ He swivelled to face her, tilting his head up to meet her blue, blue eyes. As their gazes met and tangled something clanged inside him, like an almighty bell. He felt it reverberate through his whole body, and he thought Mia did as well, judging from the way her pupils dilated, and she moistened her lips with her tongue.
‘Sit down,’ he ordered, and surprise flared briefly in her eyes before she complied silently, taking the seat across from him, so the desk was between them.
That was better. Now he wouldn’t be distracted. He wouldn’t let himself.
‘Next, please,’ he ordered, and calmly Mia took him through the rest of the clients—all of them old money, with an outdated view of investment, wealth, risk, everything. Dillard Investments was an institution that had lazily rested on its well-worn laurels for far too long…which was exactly why Alessandro had bought it.
Finished with the files, he glanced at Mia, who was sitting perfectly straight in her seat, legs to the side, ankles neatly crossed, her expression deliberately serene. She looked like a duchess. It annoyed Alessandro, as everything about her seemed to, which was a reaction he knew didn’t make sense, and yet it was. It was, because he’d much rather be annoyed by her than affected. Which he also was. Unfortunately.
‘Thank you for this,’ he finally said, his voice clipped.
‘Will there be anything else?’
‘How well do you know Dillard’s clients?’
Surprise rippled across the placid expression on her face, like wind on water, and then she gave a tiny shrug. ‘Fairly well, I suppose.’
‘Do you interact with them often?’
‘When they visit the office, yes. I chat with them, give them coffee, that sort of thing.’ She paused, her gaze scanning his face, looking for clues as to what he wanted from her. ‘I’ve also organised the annual summer party for clients and their families, held at Mr Dillard’s estate in Surrey, every year.’
‘You have?’ He would have expected Dillard to hire an event planner for such a high-profile event, but perhaps he was too indifferent even for that. ‘That must have been quite time consuming.’
‘Yes, but rewarding. I enjoy meeting and seeing the families. I’ve become friends with some of them, in a professional capacity only, of course. But after seven years, I believe I can say that I know many of them quite well.’
Alessandro could picture it—Mia circulating quietly through the crowds, always at the ready to help, providing whatever was needed—a tissue, a glass of champagne, a shoulder to cry on. Learning the secrets and weaknesses of Dillard’s clients and their families, as well as their strengths.
Which made Mia James invaluable…for now. She could help him to get to know Dillard’s clients, so he could make a more informed decision about which to pursue or keep.
‘So,’ Mia asked as he continued to stare at her, his mind clicking over, ‘was there anything else you needed?’
‘Yes,’ Alessandro stated as realisation unfurled and then crystallised inside him. ‘Your attendance at a charity gala with me tonight.’
MIA STARED AT Alessandro’s determined, unyielding expression, registering the iron in his eyes, the laser-like focus of his gaze, and tried to make sense of his request.
‘Pardon?’ she finally said, wishing she didn’t feel wrong-footed by his invitation. She’d been doing her best to be the perfect, unflappable PA since he’d stormed into the office, practically vibrating with energy. At moments like this it felt like no more than a flimsy façade.
‘A charity gala at the Ritz,’ Alessandro clarified, his voice now very slightly edged with impatience, as if she wasn’t catching on quickly enough. ‘Many of Dillard’s clients will be there. I’m attending to reassure them of their assets’ safety. You will attend with me.’
A command, then, and one she couldn’t afford to disobey. Still, Mia’s mind whirled. She’d never attended such a highbrow function, and in what capacity? As his PA? As his date?
No, of course not. She was mad to think that way even for a second, and yet somehow the way he’d said ‘with me’ had felt…
Possessive. As if he were staking his claim on her, branding her with his words.
But of course that wasn’t what he meant. The prospect horrified her, and would undoubtedly horrify him even more. Alessandro Costa most certainly didn’t think of her like that. And she most certainly didn’t want him to.
But why did he need her at such an event? When she’d been Henry Dillard’s PA, she’d always had a quiet, unnoticeable presence. Invisible on purpose, gliding through the shadows. She’d attended the summer party, yes, but only as the organiser, slipping quietly behind the scenes, doing her best to be both indispensable and out of the way.
She’d never gone to any other of Henry’s many social functions—the balls and cocktail parties, fundraisers and expensive, boozy dinners in Michelin-starred restaurants. Of course she hadn’t.
‘I’m not sure…’ she began, and then stopped, because she wasn’t sure what she was trying to say. That she wasn’t the kind of person he should ask? That she didn’t normally go to these events? That she’d be out of her depth? All three, but the last thing she wanted to do was admit her weakness or unsuitability. Alessandro Costa seemed as if he was simply waiting for her to give him one good reason to fire her, and she was determined not to humour him in that regard.
‘You’re not sure…?’ he prompted, an edge to his voice, as if he was daring her.
Mia lifted her chin. ‘When is the gala?’
The tiniest smile quirked the corner of his mouth, electrifying her. The man was devastating already, but heaven help her if he smiled. His eyes turned to silver and Mia’s insides turned molten. She swallowed audibly and kept her chin up.
‘Seven o’clock.’
Mia’s mind raced. It was undoubtedly a black-tie event, formal wear absolutely necessary, and her only appropriate outfit was a basic and rather boring black cocktail dress, back at her flat in Wimbledon. It would take nearly an hour to get there, and then back again…
‘What is it?’ Alessandro demanded, now definitely starting to sound annoyed. ‘Why are you looking like this won’t be possible, when I can assure you it is?’
‘No reason,’ Mia said quickly. She’d manage. Somehow she’d manage. ‘I’ll be ready at seven.’
‘Six forty-five,’ Alessandro returned. ‘On the dot. I like to be punctual.’
Back at her desk Mia couldn’t concentrate
