Had she broken off with her fiancé because of him? Because of what they’d done together? Had his usual pattern of impetuous behavior ruined her hopes and dreams?
Exactly as his actions had ruined another person’s life many years ago.
Guilt had been his constant companion during the last month, roiling inside. Along with the guilt, another heated emotion had pounded in his chest as he worked beside her, observed her, listened for her voice in the office hallways. Desperate hope had bloomed; an emotion he’d been incredulous to find in his heart.
Idiota. Pazzo.
Si, he was an idiot and crazy to think the Princesse would ever look at him with anything other than disgust. Not after he’d shoved her into his bed, played the role of gigolo, and ruined her engagement. So, he’d stuffed the stupid emotions down until they whimpered in defeat.
Lise Helton’s personal life was her own business and had nothing to do with him.
Along with stamping out all his damned emotions, he’d been fairly busy monitoring her behavior at work. Trying to keep his plans on track, trying to keep her sabotage to a minimum. She’d defied every prediction he’d made to himself about how she’d react to his end-run around her with the other stockholders. Instead of spitting fire and yelling and losing her cool—
He’d been denied what he dreamed of.
He’d wanted to light a fire under the woman. One way or another.
The Princesse was made of stern stuff, though. She’d merely glared down her nose at him and then proceeded to calmly try and undermine his plans. Much to her regret, he hoped, she wasn’t making nearly the progress she’d made when he first arrived on the scene. No, he was steadily winning over the hearts and minds of not only the stockholders and the board members, but the average accountant, the lowliest delivery man—hell, even the Princesse’s own PA had started to warm to his charm.
It must irk her. It must irritate her. It must.
Yet she never let him see it.
He should fire her.
He’d thought about it a dozen times. A million times.
But he knew if he acted out, did what he wanted, her dismissal would hurt the company. So instead, he stomped down his emotions, stopped her sabotage, and seethed with frustration.
“Do you agree, Mr. Mattare?” Her cool, clipped voice reached across the long oak table.
He had no idea what she asked him. His hand clenched on his knee. “I wish to hear more.”
“Really?” One blonde brow rose. “I thought Ms. Gelson explained the data in perfectly clear terms.”
“My apologies,” he smiled, his teeth grinding. “Perhaps it is the language barrier.”
“I don’t mind explaining in more detail,” the eager Ms. Gelson gushed. “I’d be glad to do anything for Mr. Mattare.”
“Thank you, Cindy,” the Princesse said, her mouth firming in displeasure at the younger woman’s willingness. “I’m sure we’ll all be more attentive this time.”
She skimmed the line day after day.
The line of respect for her superior. The line of courtesy. The line of his temper.
He managed to keep his attention focused on the business as the meeting progressed. Though all the while, he watched her, watched her face, her movements.
Something was wrong.
Behind the calm, collected persona lurked something else. Something cracking the high and mighty façade she projected.
Last week he’d noticed the symptoms had grown worse. The tinge of pallor in her pearl skin had turned to outright pale pastiness. The smudges under her eyes now were dark circles. Her clothes hung on her. Her eyes weren’t the usual clear ice blue.
She tried to keep up appearances.
Yet it was obvious, there was something wrong.
He quickly squashed a zag of concern. It didn’t matter to him if she suffered because her fiancé finally figured her out and dumped her. In the long run, what man wanted a woman who couldn’t be trusted? He hadn’t thought about her stupid engagement when he’d been pounding into her, but he’d thought about it since.
A dozen times. A million times.
Lise Helton, for all her high-and-mighty ways, was a cheat. The type of woman he scorned. He held not an iota of concern for the woman. She deserved everything she got.
The meeting came to a close. The staff stood, gathering their papers, talking in low tones about their daily tasks. Vico rose from his chair, snapped his laptop closed and glanced to the end of the room.
She stood. And wobbled. Her hand landed on the table in front of her, propping her up.
Tensing, he forced himself to stay still instead of bounding down the room to her side.
A gleam of sweat on her brow glistened. He’d swear to it.
A sudden realization came to him.