An Heir For The World's Richest Man

‘You’re not going to give me the courtesy of an answer?’

‘I believe one of the first things we discussed at the start of your employment was not to ask questions you already know the answers to. Would you like me to repeat mine? Because you haven’t given me a satisfactory answer.’

‘Every answer you need is in that letter. I’m resigning for personal reasons. Effective immediately after the requisite notice period.’

The gaze he flicked at the letter was filled with such singeing disdain, Saffron was surprised it didn’t catch fire.

‘You’re not flighty. You’re supremely efficient. Dependable. Level-headed. One of the most hardworking people I know. In the past four years, there hasn’t been a single task you haven’t executed to my satisfaction,’ he drawled, angling his body back to lounge in the high-backed, throne-like chair a vaunted French furniture designer had fashioned exclusively for him. The stance threw his gladiator-like frame into high-definition relief, the sunlight doing its part to showcase his perfect body.

Saffron’s thighs snapped together as heat singed her feminine core and burrowed deep, sensuously, into her pelvis, reminding how it’d felt to have that body up close, personal...naked.

Inside her.

‘Thank you. I’m glad you noticed.’

Her sarcasm went over his head. As with most things he thought beneath his regard. Why was she even surprised?

‘Which is why I’m puzzled by your need to couch your so-called resignation in such...whimsical, flowery prose. You’re “honoured by the opportunity” to have worked with me? You wish me “the brightest of futures”? Your experience with me will remain “an unforgettable experience”?’ he recited.

Fine, so she’d let her nerves run away with her in the early hours of the morning when she’d redrafted the letter yet again, but did he really need to repeat it in such mocking tones? ‘Believe it or not, everything on there is true—’

‘Everything on here is nonsense!’ His deep voice was a merciless scythe through her response. ‘Your resignation is not accepted. Especially not at such a crucial point in my dealings with Lavinia. We’ve been going about this all wrong. It’s time to flip the script. To win her over we have to show her what she doesn’t know she’s missing. Let’s take her out of her comfort zone, in the most enticing way. You think you can handle that?’

Saffron fought the urge to clench her fists and stamp her foot. That would achieve absolutely nothing. Besides, as Joao had so coldly categorised, she wasn’t flighty. She was dependable. Level-headed. Hard-working. Obedient.

Qualities she’d striven for as an orphan. Everything the nuns at St Agnes’s Home For Children had assured her would secure foster parents and eventually parents who would adopt her, only for her to be passed over time and again in favour of others. She’d shed silent tears—because it wouldn’t have done for Sister Zeta to hear her crying and be disappointed in her—when bratty Selena had been chosen instead of her that week before Christmas when she was seven.

She’d been overwhelmed with sorrow when eight months later another smiling couple had walked away with a child that wasn’t her.

Through every heart-rending repetition of those events, she hadn’t shown any outward sign of distress or, even worse, thrown a tantrum like some of the other children. Eventually when her moment had finally arrived at the ripe old age of fourteen, she had refrained from exhibiting any outward signs of elation, lest it be misconstrued.

She’d maintained that self-possession through the two happy years she’d spent with her foster mother, and then through the harrowing eighteen months when her health had rapidly declined. Saffie had kept tearless vigils by her bedside, made the solemn promise that, no, she wouldn’t succumb to loneliness, that, yes, she would seek another family for herself when the time came, no matter what.

When, a week before her eighteenth birthday, Saffron had buried her foster mother, she’d buoyed up everyone at the small funeral gathering, recounting her fondest memories of that wonderful woman and drawing smiles to everyone’s faces. And she’d made sure she was completely alone before shedding a single tear.

It was near enough with that same composure that she pivoted away from Joao’s desk and returned to her desk. Where she placed a call to a number she knew by heart.

Once the call was done, she reached for the velvet box with not quite steady hands and returned to her boss’s office.

‘Are you coming down with an ailment?’ Joao demanded, a healthy dose of that Brazilian temper melting away a layer of indifference. ‘Would you like me to summon the company doctor for you?’

‘That won’t be necessary. I’m absolutely fine. In fact, I’m more than fine. I’m seeing things a little more clearly for the first time in a long while.’

He tensed, his eyes probing deeper. ‘And those things include resigning from a job that you stated in your last evaluation was “the most fulfilling thing” in your life?’

She bit the inside of her cheek, regret for those exposing words drenching her. But again, it was one of the many faults in her life she intended to rectify sharpish. ‘Yes.’

Tense seconds ticked by as he eyed her. ‘You do realise you could’ve stated a number of reasons for resigning besides this personal excuse you’re holding so preciously to your chest?’

The observation stopped her short.

Had it been deliberate? Did she, on some subliminal level, wish him to see beneath her façade, to the heart of her single, deepest desire? To that yearning that had started with a deathbed promise and blossomed soon after her foster mother’s passing, when Saffron had realised she was once again alone in the world, and had known she wouldn’t feel whole again until she fulfilled it? A yearning that had momentarily faded against the brilliant supernova that was Joao, only to re-emerge invigorated, viscerally demanding fulfilment?

No.

One night had been enough. The last thing she wanted was to reveal any more of her vulnerabilities to a man like Joao Oliviera. A man who breathed and bled commerce. A man who dropped his lovers swiftly and without mercy the moment they harboured the barest notions of permanence. A man without a family and a blatantly stated anathema towards ever encumbering himself with one.

‘I was hoping you’d respect my privacy and leave it at that.’

‘We have never deluded one another, Saffie. Let us not start now.’

Her breath caught at the accented way he pronounced her shortened name. Saahfie.

Each time it sent electric shivers down her spine, made her breasts tingle and her belly flip-flop in giddy excitement. This time was no different despite the volatile tension arcing between them.

But his statement made her breath catch for different, more terrible, reasons.

She had lived through months, perhaps even years of delusion.

Ultimately, that shameful realisation that she was chasing dreams, and wasting precious time doing so, was why she stood before him now.

‘Your letter threw up red flags. I’m acknowledging those flags and demanding to know what’s going on. Especially since we parted company only a few hours ago and you gave no inkling of pulling this stunt.’

‘Firstly, it’s not a stunt. Secondly, did it occur to you that I might not want to do this for ever? You might imagine you have immortal blood flowing through your veins and are therefore going to live for ever. Some of us are more cognisant of our mortality. So pardon me if I’ve realised that I don’t want to work until two a.m. on a Monday morning only to turn around and return to the office at seven-thirty to put in another eighteen hours.’

A dark frown descended over his brows and something like disappointment shot through his eyes. For whatever reason his anger didn’t grate as much as his disappointment. ‘That’s the problem? You’re complaining about your workload? You have my permission to hire yourself another assistant.’

She eased her grip on the box, breached the last few steps to his desk and set it down. ‘I can’t accept this. Even if I weren’t leaving, it would still be too much. I’ve donated the flowers to the gala organisers for the charity dinner you’re attending this evening. Prepare for Lady Monroe’s effusiveness when she sees you tonight. She believes they’ll easily fetch twenty thousand pounds if they’re auctioned off—’

‘Pelo amor de—enough with this lifeless performance. Tell me what you want and let’s get it out of the way so we can get back to work! Give away the flowers if you wish but the necklace is yours.’

‘Joao—’

‘It cannot be money. I already pay you ten times more than your closest rival. I’d offer to triple that salary but I suspect you’d say—’

‘It’s not money.’

He gave a brisk nod. ‘Bom, we’re getting somewhere. What is it, then?’

Her heart stuttered. She couldn’t tell him. Not everything and certainly not what had triggered her decision to walk away. His indifference since their night in Morocco had said everything.

At best, that disappointment on his face would deepen. At worse, he’d mock her for letting emotions get the better of her.

But she wasn’t a robot.

Her life was flashing past before her eyes and she’d already given him more years than she’d originally planned. And with every day she sacrificed her innermost needs on the altar of Joao’s newest business obsession, she despaired a little more.

And perhaps even hated him a fraction, too. For that indifference she knew would never change. For his inability to step down from his god-like throne and deign to acknowledge the needs of mere humans.

Her needs.

‘You want to know why I’m leaving? It’s simple. I’ve decided you’re not the answer to my every problem.’

His eyes narrowed into dark gold slits. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ he snapped. ‘Stop playing games and speak plainly!’

Irritation bristled through her. ‘Or else what? You’re going to stop me from walking out?’

Silence throbbed between them.

Slowly he rose, his impressive height dwarfing hers even from across the desk as he removed the cufflinks from his shirtsleeves, and meticulously folded them back.

She didn’t want to watch, didn’t want to acknowledge that extra dose of virile masculinity that made him impossible to ignore. But she couldn’t help herself. Her gaze dropped to follow every inch of silky-hair-dusted forearms that was exposed. Tiny lightning bolts fired through her, blazing her already aggravated libido as she wondered how those strong arms would feel banded around her waist again, drawing her close to the towering perfection of his hard, muscled body.

‘What is going on, Saffie?’ The low-voiced demand, wrapped in power and authority, jerked her from her lustful reverie.

Her fingers gripped the straps of her handbag. At no point had she deluded herself that resigning as Joao’s executive assistant after living and breathing the role for four full-on years would be easy. But she hadn’t anticipated it being this hard either. If he’d shown zero interest in her life outside the walls of his existence before Morocco, he’d been a million times more detached since.

He didn’t know about her childhood in the orphanage, about her short, happy spell with her foster mother. About her devastation when she’d been orphaned once again.

About the promise she’d made.

Her heart thundered as she panicked that he wouldn’t let go until she gave him something. She didn’t realise she was slicking a nervous tongue over her bottom lip until his gaze dropped to her mouth.

For a single moment, detachment vanished.

Then it returned full force, bruising her with its severity.

‘Do you remember how I came to be your assistant in the first place?’ Saffie asked, needing temporary relief from this quagmire.

His frown intensifying, he dropped the cufflinks in a drawer and slammed it shut. ‘I fail to see how that’s relevant.’

‘It’s relevant to me. I was supposed to be here temporarily, while my old boss, Mr Harcourt, was on holiday. You’d just fired your own assistant, remember?’

‘Barely. I’m still not seeing how this is material—’

‘My point is, I was supposed to be here for two weeks. I’ve been here for four years. And by the way, is it true you offered Mr Harcourt early retirement so you could keep me here?’

Again, he didn’t so much as blink. ‘Sim. I knew by the end of your first week that you were far more suited to me. Your talents were wasted creating company retreat spreadsheets so I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse,’ he said with zero remorse.

‘Well... I’m glad that’s out of the way.’

His jaw gritted but a wary gleam entered his eyes. A gleam that said he was realising that this wasn’t a tantrum or a stunt. That she might actually mean it. ‘Now that we’ve wandered uselessly down memory lane, can we get back on track? What would it take for you to end this? Name your price and I’ll make it happen.’

Name your price.

If only she could.

If only she didn’t know the futility of naming her actual price.

She stared at him, her heart hammering as it had every time she’d contemplated taking this final step.

Granted, the thought that she would one day soon wake up and not be in his presence left her bereft. But then she forced herself to think of what else she would be replacing that experience with. The fulfilment her heart and soul yearned for. A true connection. A life-affirming purpose. ‘My price is my freedom, Joao. I gave you two weeks, then I added four years to that. Now I want out.’

Leisurely he leaned forward, his bronzed forearms rippling as he resettled his weight on his hands, brought that red-hot sensuality dangerously closer, and glared at her across the desk. ‘You have one last chance to give me a clear, concise reason for this absurdity, Saffie.’

The urge to tussle with him sizzled bright and urgently within her. What did she have to lose? In a few short weeks, she’d be out of his life. He planned to conquer the world, while she planned to retreat from his orbit, hopefully to embark on a lifelong project her soul had screamed for since she was a child. Since she’d tasted loneliness and vowed to make her life more meaningful.

Once she was done with Joao, she highly doubted their paths would ever cross again.

Ignoring the twinge in her chest, she boldly stepped forward, placing both feet on the battle ground. ‘Very well. You want the unvarnished truth? You’re a brilliant businessman, Joao. But you’re also a ruthless vampire. You take and you take, and you think throwing diamonds and flowers and unimaginable perks grants you automatic authority over my life. Well, it doesn’t. I mapped out a path for myself when I joined your company. I put my plans on hold and now I’m making them a priority again. I’m resigning because I want more. More from life. I want freedom from being consumed by you. Freedom to dream of other things besides the acquisition of your next Fortune 500 company. Freedom to dream of a family. A baby. Of turning that dream into a reality.’ She paused, her insides shaking at the thought of taking that last, intensely ravaging but necessary step. ‘I want freedom from you.’

CHAPTER TWO

SILENCE PULSED IN the aftermath of his executive assistant’s terse monologue. Joao, stunned into uncharacteristic silence, coldly ticked off the myriad sensations zipping through him.

Shock. Banked fury.

Hardened disappointment.

Perplexity.

It was to that last one that he returned. That feeling of being caught off guard when he’d believed them to be perfectly in sync.

He stared at her, wondering whether this was her idea of a joke. But then his level-headed, capable assistant didn’t joke. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. Theirs was a well-oiled symbiosis that ran on a perfect synergy of efficiency, a mutual appreciation of hard work and the heady rewards and satisfaction of success.

At least it had.

Until that night when, drunk on success, their basest instincts had got the better of them. But they’d put that behind them. Saffie’s work hadn’t suffered. On the contrary, things had been better than ever. Granted, the first week after the Morocco incident he’d lived on tenterhooks, wondering if she would attempt to capitalise in some way on his error of judgement. Because giving in to uncontrolled hunger had been an error of judgement. Other men might approach lust with a cavalier attitude, but Joao Oliviera was singularly ruthless when it came to his bed partners. They were chosen strictly on a mutually agreed short-term basis from which he never strayed.

They weren’t chosen based on an unexpected but breathtaking desert mirage come to life, a punch of unstoppable lust that had nearly felled him and deep, dark craving that had blinded him to common sense until it was too late.

The fact that it’d happened, that for the space of one night he’d been no better than the man he despised the most in his life, still had the power to sour his day.

Sure, he hadn’t gone looking for it, and Saffron wasn’t a hooker on a street corner, but the acute absence of control still left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

Fortunately, like him, she’d been only too happy to bury the incident in the past. And while the realisation had initially grated, he’d eventually welcomed that discretion.

So what if the experience had the unsavoury ability to replay in his memory when he least expected it? What if those memories left him aroused and aching at the most inappropriate times?

It had rightly stayed in the past where it belonged, never to be repeated.

Except for some reason, while he’d believed his world was back on an even keel, Saffie had been making other plans.

Plans that threatened to wreak havoc on the most crucial undertaking of his life.

Suppressing his fury, he searched her face. Read the fierce determination on it and realised she actually meant it.

She meant to leave him. To free herself so she could chase so-called dreams.

For a family.

A baby.

She inhaled sharply and he realised he’d spoken the words out loud. Spat out, like one of the few foreign languages he wasn’t fluent in. Two terse words tossed out like the vile, bewildered curse he believed them to be because they had no place in his working day.

In his life.

Not since the day he’d wiped the word family from his soul.

Certainly not now when his goal was so close. When the chance to shatter his enemy once and for all was a mere handful of weeks away.

That off-kilter sensation deepened, that feeling of being flung unexpectedly into a turbulent ocean without a life jacket causing his gut to clench.

He had countless life jackets. Endless contingencies to ensure not a single thing in his life was irreplaceable. Yachts and planes and CEOs and leaders of the free world, all at his beck and call.

Except Saffron Everhart had carved out a unique place in his life, set herself up on a pedestal marked exactly that. Irreplaceable.

And now that he needed her most...

He whirled away from his desk, strode to the wide floor-to-ceiling windows where he usually took one of his many espressos as he juggled the demands of his empire. He breathed through the tension riding his frame, his brain already in counter-strategy mode.

‘Let me get this straight. You’re ditching your career, and the countless benefits that come with it, to what? Go on some journey of self-discovery?’ he threw at her.

She took her time to answer. Time that grated along his nerves, fired up his already smouldering discontent.

It didn’t help that he usually welcomed her thoughtful consideration when answering his questions. That she wasn’t the type to blurt out the first thought in her head as some people did.

‘Yes, Joao. If you want to drill it down to one oversimplified statement. I’m leaving for me but I’m not ditching my career. Far from it. You can pour scorn all you want on it but my mind is made up. I have eight weeks of accrued vacation. I can stay and help train your next assistant or—’

He whirled to face her, a savage urgency to do something ripping through him. ‘You’re getting ahead of yourself. I haven’t agreed that you can leave,’ he bit out.

Her chin lifted. ‘Then it’s a good thing there are laws in this country preventing you from holding me in a job I don’t want any more, isn’t it?’

He smiled a smile he didn’t feel. ‘You wish to take me on in court?’

‘If you drive me to it, absolutely.’

Again, the absolute certainty that she meant it ploughed a jagged path through him. Something about the way she was holding herself, boldly meeting his gaze where others would’ve backed down, fired up a much different sensation in him.

It...drew him.

Otherwise why did he find himself standing in front of her, his gaze tracing the delicate lines of her throat, when he was across the room moments ago?

He smashed the sensation down and drilled deeper into the subject at hand.

‘When I said you were getting ahead of yourself, Saffie, I meant that we hadn’t exhaustively discussed the subject you just dropped in my lap. What do you mean, you’re not ditching your career? You’re going to work for someone else?’

She blinked. Attempted to regroup. ‘Well...yes, I am.’

‘Who?’ he fired back.

‘It doesn’t matter—’

‘Of course, it matters. Who is it, Saffie?’ At her hesitation, the churning in his gut intensified. ‘Tell me now,’ he breathed.

Her stubborn chin tilted higher, daring him in ways Joao wasn’t sure he wanted to discover. ‘It’s William Ashby.’

As competitors went, this one wasn’t a worthy one. Which absurdly infuriated him further. That she would leave him for someone significantly inferior businesswise... ‘I didn’t think you foolish, Saffie.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Do you really think I’ll allow you to take a position with my competitor, knowing what you know about my company?’

Twin flickers of anger and hurt darted across her face. ‘You think I’ll break your confidence? After...’ She stopped herself but he already knew.

Wasn’t this a subject he’d dwelt on for far too long in the past few weeks?

‘After what?’ he taunted. ‘After Morocco? Or are we finally getting to the heart of this little scene?’

She blinked, shook her head, drawing his attention to the rich gloss of her hair. What it’d felt like tumbling freely over him—

‘No, we’re not. I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Well, I do. Tell me Morocco is not why you’ve dropped this bombshell on my day and we can move on. And no, we won’t be moving onto this so-called dream of a family or child because we both know you don’t even have a boyfriend.’

Fire sparked in her eyes. ‘What makes you think you know everything about me?’

Her spirited reply drew him even closer. He rounded his desk, closed the gap between them, felt tendrils of her light floral perfume wrapping around him. ‘You’ve been in charge of organising my life for over four years. That means I’m equally aware of yours and it isn’t that much of a secret, Saffie—’

‘I beg to differ or you would’ve seen this coming, wouldn’t you?’

Joao took a breath. This wasn’t working. For whatever reason, his assistant seemed hell-bent on this path. This unsatisfactory desire to leave him high and dry at this most crucial juncture of his life.

‘You wish me to apologise for what happened in Morocco?’

Her eyes widened, the deep pools of blue pulling him in. ‘What? No. I said—’