as he raked her with a single, scathing glance. ‘Where have you been?’
‘I’m sorry, were you looking for me?’
‘I wanted the files on Dillard’s less impressive clients. Did you think I’d be satisfied with only the top ten?’ Even for him, he sounded on edge, his body taut with barely suppressed tension.
‘I’m sorry, I was at lunch.’
‘For an hour and a half?’
Mia shook her head, a flush fighting its way up her throat and across her face. She’d been afraid of this exact scenario, and now that it was a reality she couldn’t handle it. He was still standing so close, and every time she took a breath she inhaled the aroma of his aftershave, felt his heat. ‘No, of course not.’ She drew herself up, holding onto the last threads of her composure. She could do this. She needed to do this. ‘If you must know, I went back to my flat to find a dress to wear this evening. But I will have the other files to you shortly, I promise.’
Alessandro stared at her for another agonising moment before he gave a brief, terse nod. ‘Very well. I expect files on all the other clients within the hour. Exactly.’
Mia had no doubt he’d been timing her to the second. The man was a stickler for detail…among other things. Back at her desk she hung her dress up on the back of a door and hurried to amass the files Alessandro had demanded. She’d be hard-pressed to do it in an hour, but she was determined to show Alessandro she could.
Fingers flying, mind racing, she managed to assemble everything and jot down relevant notes, stepping into Henry’s—now Alessandro’s—office with one minute to spare. Alessandro glanced at his watch as she stepped through the doors, and then one of his faint smiles quirked his mouth for no more than a second, making her catch her breath.
Heaven help her.
‘Impressive,’ he said after a moment, sounding both amused and reluctantly admiring. ‘I didn’t think you could do it in an hour.’
‘You underestimate me, Mr Costa.’
His gaze lingered on her, and Mia felt her body start to tingle and hum. ‘Maybe I do,’ he murmured, and held out his hand for the files.
Mia handed them to him, and then took him through each one, making sure to sit on the other side of the desk as he’d requested before.
It was surely better for her to have a little distance between them; being near him had the troubling side-effect of short-circuiting her brain. She didn’t know whether it was his intimidating presence, his undeniable charisma, or the unavoidable fact of his outrageously good looks that turned her mind to slush, but something about him did, and that was definitely not a good reaction to have to her boss, or even to anyone. Mia never wanted another person to have any power over her—not physical, not emotional, and certainly not sensual. Just thinking about it made goose-pimples rise on her flesh. Alessandro certainly had the last one…if she let him.
‘Is there anything else you need?’ she asked once they’d gone through all the files, her body tense from holding herself apart and doing her utmost not to notice the powerful muscles of his forearms when he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves, or the stubble now glinting on the hard line of his jaw. No, she was definitely not noticing anything like that.
‘Yes,’ Alessandro told her shortly. ‘Show me your dress.’
Her mouth dropped open before she snapped it shut. ‘My…dress?’
‘Yes, your dress. I want to make sure it is suitable. As my companion, how you look is important.’
‘Your companion…’ Her mind spun emptily again. Surely he wasn’t suggesting…?
‘We are attending together,’ Alessandro clarified pointedly, as if to highlight the utter impossibility of whatever she might have been thinking. ‘You must be suitably attired. Now show me the dress.’
Wordlessly Mia rose from her seat. She had no idea what Alessandro Costa considered suitably attired, but she had a feeling her plain black cocktail dress, bought from the bargain rack, wasn’t going to be it. Unless he wanted her to be discreet, even invisible, as Henry Dillard had? As she was used to being from childhood, slipping in and out of the shadows, trying not to draw attention to herself, in case she provoked her father’s anger? Because in all truth she wasn’t sure she knew how to be anything else.
She grabbed the dress and returned to the office, holding it in front of her. ‘Will this do?’ she asked, unable to keep the faintest tremble from her voice. She’d never had her boss vet her clothing choices before, and she didn’t like it. She certainly didn’t like feeling controlled, even in as small a matter as this. She’d had enough of that in her life, and she didn’t want or need any more, not even by the boss whose good side she was trying to stay on.
‘You intended to wear that?’ Alessandro sounded both scandalised and completely derisive. ‘Did you want to be mistaken for one of the serving staff?’
Mia’s chin went up. ‘It’s perfectly appropriate.’
‘It’s perfectly dreadful, like something a junior secretary would wear to the office Christmas party.’
She had worn it to such a party, and so Mia did not deign to reply to his remark. Alessandro might be offensively blunt, but there was more perception and truth to his remarks than she wanted to acknowledge.
‘You can’t wear it,’ he stated. ‘You won’t.’
‘I don’t have anything else,’ Mia returned. ‘So if you wish for me to attend…’
‘Then I will make sure you do have something.’ He slid his phone out of his pocket. ‘I will not have you on my arm looking like Cinderella still in her rags.’
‘So you’ll be my fairy godmother?’ Mia quipped before she could attempt a more measured reply. What was it about this man that made her hackles rise, everything in her resist? Henry Dillard had certainly never made her respond like this, but then Henry Dillard had never spoken to her in such an arrogant, autocratic way. He’d been affably incompetent, content to let her organise everything.
Alessandro’s eyes gleamed like molten silver as his mouth quirked the tiniest bit, making her respond to him. Again. A very inconvenient response, when her stomach fizzed and her heart leapt. Mia was determined to ignore it. ‘Now, that is the first time anyone has called me that,’ he said, his mouth curving deeper, and Mia forced herself to look away.
Alessandro angled his body away from Mia as he spoke into the phone, asking for a personal stylist to be brought to the office immediately. His right-hand man, Luca, took the rather unexpected request in his stride.
Ending the call, Alessandro turned back to face Mia, trying not to notice the rise and fall of her chest with every agitated breath she took; clearly she didn’t like him deciding what she should wear, although she should be thankful he’d vetted her selection. That black bag of a dress looked cheap and boring and was hardly what he needed his companion for the evening to turn up in.
‘As your PA, I don’t see why I need to wear some fancy dress,’ Mia said, clearly striving
