The Italian Tycoon's Mistress

Amy felt a rush of angry blood to her head. This was beyond arrogance, but she was caught between a rock and a hard place. There was no way that she could throw him out of her office because he was, as he had made sure to point out, her boss for the time being and, more chillingly, might well be her boss for rather longer if Antonio somehow found himself having to take early retirement. Antonio was now in his seventies and the doctor had told her that the pneumonia might be far more debilitating at his age than it would have been had he been younger, especially when his angina was taken into consideration.

‘I resent your implication that this outfit lacks professionalism!’

‘Now why on earth would I be tempted to imply that?’ Rocco looked around him pointedly. At the grimy walls of the office, the tattered carpet, the cheap bookshelves groaning under the weight of law and land management books.

‘You, Mr Losi, are an extremely offensive person,’ Amy said through gritted teeth and was rewarded with a thunderous frown.

‘I will choose to ignore that observation.’

‘And, furthermore, the state of my office has nothing to do with the quality of my work! Or maybe things work differently in New York?’

Rocco could hardly believe his ears. Just who did this pip-squeak think she was? The brown almond-shaped eyes were glittering with anger and it took some effort to call upon his formidable self-control. That, in itself, was a novel experience.

‘I think we’re getting off the point here, Miss Hogan.’ His voice was cold and measured. ‘In order of priority, I want to see your credentials, look in detail at this project you are working on and have a run-down of the cost. Additionally, I want to have a report from you on my desk by tomorrow morning, covering all the money that has been spent over the past two years on non-profit-making schemes and the few you have done that have actually benefited the company.’

Amy gaped and then laughed out loud. ‘I’m afraid that just won’t be possible.’

‘Sorry. I don’t believe I just heard that.’

‘There’s no way I can do all that in time for tomorrow morning. Richard should have all that information anyway. Now, was there anything else?’ Okay, so she was reacting, allowing the man to get to her, but she couldn’t help herself. She stood up and stretched out her hand in dismissal. Rocco looked at the outstretched hand coolly and didn’t budge.

‘Sit back down, Miss Hogan. I’m not nearly through with you.’

‘I could have that information to you by the end of the week,’ she said, resuming her seat and looking with deep loathing at the man calmly sitting opposite her.

‘You say you’re twenty-six.’ Rocco crossed his legs and ignored the olive branch she had extended. His allotted time to be spent here had come and gone and he realised that he was rather enjoying this clash of intellect and personality. To his mild surprise. ‘Which means you’ve been working for Losi Construction for what…? Four years…? You must have certainly made your presence felt quite strongly in a short space of time to have warranted the heady climb you’ve enjoyed.’

‘Ten years,’ Amy admitted grudgingly.

‘Ten years? That doesn’t add up.’

‘Doesn’t add up to what?’

‘To you leaving university.’

The silence stretched interminably. ‘I didn’t go to university, Mr Losi. I joined your father’s firm straight from school.’

Rocco couldn’t have looked more stunned if she had announced that she had been raised by a pack of wolves in Africa.

‘Not everyone gets the chance to go to university!’ Amy snapped defensively. ‘It’s a privilege, not a right.’ She couldn’t withstand the direct look in those piercing blue eyes and she lowered hers so that she could stare at the tip of a letter propped up on the desk.

‘You mean your grades were insufficient to get you into sixth form?’

‘I mean, Mr Losi—’ she drew in a deep breath and shot him a quick glance from under her lashes ‘—that my mother died when I was young and I was brought up single-handedly by my father. He developed Alzheimer’s when I was fourteen, and by the time I was sixteen I had no choice but to let the social services find somewhere for him to live. I finished my exams but I couldn’t continue my studies. I got a job working with your father and was lucky enough to be able to stay with a foster family until I was old enough to move out and find somewhere to rent. I would have loved to have been able to continue on at school and to have gone to university, but I could barely manage with Dad at home. I didn’t have a choice.’ She fiddled with the pen on her desk, knowing that he was staring at her. This was his big chance now, she thought bitterly. She had no credentials, no degree in a useful subject.

‘Right. So your credentials rest entirely on experience.’

‘As a clerk. Then as your father’s assistant. We worked together to build up a scheme to help the community and eventually I was given responsibility for managing it on my own.’

‘I see.’ Rocco felt himself grapple in unfamiliar territory. ‘And where…is your father now?’

‘He died two years ago.’ It would never stop hurting to talk about it, which was why she never did. ‘It was a blessing. He was very confused towards the end. He couldn’t remember who I was, kept getting me mixed up with Mum. So. There you have it.’ He had dragged this out of her and she hated him for it. ‘Would you like me to have this all typed up and on your desk as well? My life history?’

Rocco flushed darkly. ‘There is no need for sarcasm.’

‘Oh, was I being sarcastic?’ She clung with relief to her need to attack. ‘I thought I was just obeying your instructions.’

‘My father trusted you and naturally I will give you credit for that trust.’ He shrugged and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. ‘However sympathetic I am towards the hardships that propelled you out of school prematurely and into the working environment, that does not mean that the sums of money being spent on charitable causes should remain unchecked. I am here to run a business and the first rule of business is that a company survives only if it makes money.’

‘I realise that,’ Amy said impatiently.

‘Do you?’ He sat back, once again comfortable with his persona. He had left England with nothing and climbed his way up solely on his own abilities. The value of making money had been embedded in him from the first moment he had begun working and living in New York.

‘Of course I do!’

‘In which case you will not mind me inspecting every penny that has been spent by your little outfit over the past two years.’

‘The information will be with you by the end of the week.’ And Lord only knew how he was going to react to the figures. He thought in black and white. No profit, no use. The concept of not making profit for the sake of returning to the community would be lost on him.

‘I don’t want it on my desk,’ Rocco said slowly.

‘But…’

‘I want you to bring it to me. Hand deliver the bad news, so to speak. That way we can go through it all together and you will be able to better understand why I intend to bring your cosy little office here to an end should I find myself having to linger here longer than I anticipate.’ He stood up, noticing that her face had drained of colour, and impatiently told himself that he was first and foremost a businessman. And not just any businessman. His shrewdness was legendary. How shrewd would he be if he allowed an unreasonable tug of compassion to undermine his ability to run a company?

‘Your father would never stand for it,’ Amy said confidently.

‘My father is in hospital, Miss Hogan, and the running of this company is entirely entrusted to me.’

‘Which is ludicrous, considering…’

‘Considering…what?’ Cold blue eyes narrowed threateningly. He stood up, all six feet two of dominant alpha male, and stared at her, waiting for an answer to a remark Amy knew she should never have made in the first place.

‘Considering…this is probably small potatoes to you,’ she improvised rapidly. ‘A bit dull, I imagine. You must do things differently over in New York and you might want to consider that when you start making your decisions.’ Considering, she thought to herself, that you’ve seen your father the grand total of four times in a decade. She knew that because Antonio had told her, because he had sheltered her under his wing and she had somehow become the child he had never really had.

‘Thank you so much for your advice,’ Rocco drawled, flicking on his mobile so that he could tell his driver to come for him. He tucked it into the pocket of his shirt and smiled coolly at her. ‘Though I rarely follow advice. I have usually found that it tends to be loaded and not necessarily in my favour.’ She looked down but he could feel her stewing, itching to fling him some caustic remark, and the enjoyment he had felt earlier kicked in him again.

‘Friday,’ he told her. ‘At my office. Bring the books and everything to do with whatever you’re working on at the moment and whatever you may happen to have in the pipeline. I’ll be waiting for you at three-thirty.’

Outside, the gang of teenage youths had dispersed, replaced by two girls with pushchairs who were chatting. They looked young enough to be at school. Around him, the scenery consisted of cluttered streets leading off the main road. Edward was there, waiting. He must have just gone around the corner for a cup of tea until Rocco called him.

Rocco didn’t immediately go to the car. He stood and carried on his leisurely inspection of the area, then he looked behind him to the office.

Nightmare though it was to be thrown into this situation, when he himself had his own extensive businesses to run, he had to admit that at least it wasn’t going to be boring.

They might all be scuttling around right now, whispering about him behind his back, but they would be very happy when he dragged the company into the twenty-first century and quadrupled the profits, which he was pretty certain he could do without a great deal of effort.

That was one of the most disillusioning things about life, he thought grimly. Money always ended up talking…

CHAPTER TWO

AMY made sure that she was at the headquarters well before the appointed time of three-thirty. She had had three days to consider the threat that Rocco’s presence posed and several missed hours of sleep to work out that the best way of dealing with the man was to creep around him as much as she was capable of doing. Shooting her mouth off and turning up late for their meeting through some misplaced urge to prove a point would bring his wrath hurtling down on her like a ton of bricks.

It didn’t help that she had been to see Antonio the day before, to find that the cocktail of antibiotics being fed into him was not working as efficiently as they had expected. He certainly couldn’t be asked pivotal questions regarding the company. In fact, he dozed on and off for the duration of her visit and she was rewarded, on the way out, by the depressing news from the consultant that Antonio would certainly remain in hospital for at least another three weeks, after which he would benefit from a recuperative break in Italy where his relatives could look after him and where the concerns of his business would not intrude on his recovery. Rocco had been making all the necessary phone calls to get things moving in that direction.

Which left a worst-case scenario, as far as Amy was concerned.

Rocco would take over and begin making his changes, and change one would be to exterminate her and her fellow members of staff.

Depressingly, the only person she felt she could possibly discuss this with was Antonio, who was not available for comment. Antonio had always been the first person she turned to with a problem, the only shoulder she had really ever cried on, and having him out of reach was a severe blow.

She half expected Rocco to keep her waiting, having read somewhere that this was an age-old ploy for establishing superiority, but she was shown directly into his office to find him sitting behind his father’s desk with a stack of files in front of him that looked depressingly familiar.

His face was unsmiling and as coldly handsome as she remembered. A face that would drive any portrait painter into the throes of excitement, with its perfect bone structure and harshly beautiful lines, but one that just filled her with dislike. She found his stunning eyes hard and forbidding and his emotional detachment radiated around him like a dangerous force field. It was difficult to maintain her self-composure when faced with this and when he nodded to the chair facing him, she sunk into it with relief.

‘You’re on time,’ he drawled, leaning back in the chair. ‘Amazing. I gather from your colleagues here that your timetables don’t often dovetail with everyone else’s.’

Amy ventured a polite smile. ‘It’s difficult when you’re working out in the field, Mr Losi. Sometimes, things have a tendency to overrun and, with the long drive out to Stratford, I can get behind schedule with meetings. I’ve brought the files you wanted.’ She reached down to her briefcase, snapped it open and extracted a clear window envelope bulging with various project notes.

Instead of reaching over for them, Rocco didn’t move a muscle.

‘Bad news for you, I’m afraid, Miss Hogan.’ He tapped softly on the arm of his chair with one finger and continued looking at her with those incredible, shuttered blue eyes. ‘Although I suspect you already know what’s coming if you have been to visit my father.’

‘I think it’s excellent news if you’re talking about the doctor’s suggestion that he go to Italy to recuperate.’ Keep it upbeat, she thought. Don’t let him register any trepidation because Rocco Losi would be onto it like a shark scenting blood. Of course, he could do as he liked and no doubt would, but she wouldn’t give up without a fight and she certainly wouldn’t abandon her dignity in the process. ‘You have no idea how hard he’s been working over the past couple of years. He’s due for a rest, even if it’s not exactly in circumstances he could have foreseen.’

‘There was no necessity for him to be working flat out,’ Rocco said, not bothering to pull any punches. ‘Not if he had had members of staff on whom he could rely.’

‘I’m not about to be drawn on criticising anyone in this company,’ Amy told him. ‘Perhaps we should get down to the business of going through my files?’ Belatedly, she wondered whether she should have been a little less terse. Rocco Losi would have spent most of his adult life in a position of rising power, being fawned upon by people in the expectation that they might get something out of him. Men like him would be used to displays of subservience and would be conditioned to expect it. Putting him in his place wasn’t going to get her far, but then there was just so much ingratiating she was prepared to do. Criticising people who had supported her in the past was out of the question.

‘Oh, I have already had a preliminary look at some of the figures,’ Rocco said lazily. He sat forward and placed both elbows on the desk. ‘The last little project you did was cheap at a little over fifty thousand pounds, compared to the rest of your schemes…’

‘But only a small percentage of the total earnings of Losi Construction,’ Amy pointed out, stilling the nervous pounding inside her. ‘It was always agreed…’

‘I am so glad you used the past tense. Let me put you in the picture, Miss Hogan. I will be here for the next six months. Even when my father has fully recovered, it’s been recommended that he does not return to work full time. He will, naturally, remain in overall charge, but in name only. I will ensure that the company is running the way I want it to be before I go, in the capable hands of whomever I judge to be up to the job.’

‘Six months?’ Amy said weakly.

‘At least.’

‘Don’t you have other things to do? What about your company in New York? Shouldn’t you be rushing back there?’

‘Unlike this organisation, I can easily maintain links with my business concerns in America. I have people in place who are geared to assume responsibility in my absence. And there are such things as airplanes that can deliver me to America within hours if I need to be there.’

‘How very efficient.’

Rocco’s dark brows met in a frown. ‘Efficiency is the basis of a successful operation. Which brings me neatly to you.’ He relaxed back in his chair and proceeded to look at her very carefully.

‘I am extremely efficient at what I do.’

‘That’s as may be, but your level of efficiency isn’t really the crux of the matter here, is it? You’re supremely efficient at what you do. It’s simply that what you do brings no money into the company.’

‘There’s more to life than just making money.’ Two bright patches of angry colour had appeared on her cheeks and she found that she was leaning forward, her hands balled into fists. ‘I personally find it very sad when someone’s only focus in life is creating wealth. What do you do with all your money, Mr Losi? Stick it into bank accounts and then spend jolly evenings poring over your statements and patting yourself on the back at what a clever boy you’ve been?’

Rocco looked at the earnest face glaring stubbornly at him and felt it again. That sudden rush of invigoration. It was like tasting something powerfully addictive that he hadn’t tasted in a long time, not since he’d been building up his career, when the doubts had been balanced equally with the self-assurance. Success had become an assumption for him and successful men, he had discovered, invariably became surrounded by like-minded individuals, people whose sights were firmly set in the same direction. No one contradicted him because his vast power and influence rendered him virtually untouchable.

‘Oh, I can think of infinitely more interesting ways of spending an evening,’ he drawled, perversely enjoying the delicate flush that invaded her face as she cottoned on to the exact meaning of what he had said.

The sexual innuendo, leaping out of nowhere, crashed into Amy like a runaway freight train. For a few seconds her imagination took dangerous flight and painted pictures that she had to force herself to push away. He really was a stunningly attractive male, she conceded shakily. That black hair and those thick, luxuriant dark lashes that could droop to conceal his fabulous eyes, that wide, sexy mouth. She blinked and sat up a little straighter.

‘What do you intend to do, Mr Losi?’ She firmly brought the conversation back to business. ‘I have a staff of five very dedicated people, all of whom are one hundred per cent committed to what we do. Two of them are married and need the salary they earn. Well, we all do, come to that. I’m also in mid-project at the moment. It’s not just a question of me.’

‘Therefore…what?’

‘This is hopeless. I can’t see the point of being here.’ Amy stood up but then found that she was hovering.

‘Rule one in business is to never let your emotions control your responses. Sit back down.’ Rocco stood up and began prowling through the office, hands firmly stuck in his trouser pockets, forcing Amy to twist around to follow his progress. He paused in front of the generous, old-fashioned bookshelf and perched on the protruding ledge that housed two orchids and a selection of exquisite artefacts that Antonio had collected over his years of travel. Amy swivelled her chair around so that she was facing him. The neat little navy-blue skirt she was wearing felt peculiar and she was vaguely aware that it rode up her thighs just a little too much for her liking.

‘I have studied the figures and have reached the obvious conclusion that your reckless indulging in altruistic projects will have to come to an end.’

‘There’s nothing reckless about—’

Rocco held up one imperious hand. ‘Which is not to say that I am a monster who does not appreciate the necessity to have a social conscience. However, I think you will agree that there is a far simpler way of helping.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I am prepared to agree to a set sum that will be given to charities of your choice.’

Amy looked at him with her mouth half open in stunned surprise, then she drew in a deep, steadying breath and said slowly, ‘It’s so easy for you, isn’t it? Need to prove you have a social conscience? Why, then, just fling a bit of money at a charity and you can sleep peacefully at nights. After all, where’s the point in actually taking any kind of interest in the community around you? That’s just tiresome, unproductive hard work, isn’t it? No precious money to be made there, so why waste time investing human resources in it? It doesn’t occur to you that there might be some kind of emotional fulfilment to be had from physically helping other people!’

Rocco clicked his tongue with impatience and irritation and pushed himself away from the ledge, moving towards her until he was towering over her. Then he leant over with his hands on either side of her chair, caging her in.

‘If you’re looking for emotional fulfilment, Miss Hogan, then might I suggest that you are in the wrong job. The figures you have been spending lavishly over the years simply do not add up.’ He stood up abruptly but continued to look down at her, his intimidating blue eyes narrowed. ‘Now let me see exactly what you are working on at the moment. Obviously I will extend some leeway to projects that are currently in the pipeline.’ He strode swiftly back to his desk and Amy reluctantly stood up to follow in his wake, clutching her batch of papers.

She had never met a man quite like him. He was as unfeeling and unmoveable as a rock. It came as no great surprise, when she thought about it. After all, what kind of man could mercilessly cut off all ties with his one surviving parent, whatever the reasons?

She edged round the desk and extracted the complex layout for what she was working on.

‘This is one of the more run-down council estates in the city centre,’ she explained tersely, shoving up the sleeves of her cotton top and propping herself up on both hands. ‘There’s a high level of single-parent families living here and consequently a lot of disaffected teenagers with nothing to do. It’s been a hard slog but we’ve managed to obtain planning permission to build a youth centre right here…’ She pointed to a highlighted dot on the map with one finger and felt all the enthusiasm and energy flowing into her as she contemplated her newest venture.

The residents were all in favour of this project. The tired, despairing mothers saw it as a way of cutting down on the petty crime continually being committed by bored adolescents, and even the kids she had talked to were keen in their own noncommittal, semi-sneering way.

She pulled out more plans of what they had in mind to build. Dee was a qualified architect and had done detailed drawings of what they could achieve given the restrictions of space. She lost sight of the fact that Rocco was an arch enemy to every word she was saying until she had finally finished talking a long while later, at which point cold reality washed back over her and she straightened up.

‘This is nothing like flinging money at a charity and leaving them to get on with it,’ she said heatedly.

‘No. Flinging money at a charity takes an hour or so while this takes several valuable months of time and effort.’

Rocco pushed back his chair and turned to look at her, clasping his hands behind his head.

‘But I have to admit you are very…passionate about what you do…’

‘We all are.’ Had it been necessary to use that particular description for her? she wondered.

‘And when it comes to work, passion, in the right place, can be a very good thing. Where do the rest of those people working with you fit in?’

’ Those people?’

Rocco recalled the long-haired men and the cropped-haired women and raised his eyebrows to suggest what he thought of them.

Amy read the message and bristled. ‘Freddy’s a chartered surveyor, Tim and Andy handle all the dealings with the people who need organising to work on turning our projects into reality, Dee’s the architect and Marcy’s our administrator.’