“Move,” she panted at him.
Something in her tone alerted him. He straightened and stepped aside.
Only luck kept her together until she got to the lavatory.
That and the fierce surge of pure hatred for the man.
Chapter 6
Vico stared out of his office windows, watching the late-spring storm engulf the London streets in a sheet of rain. The rolling grey clouds fit his mood—gloomy, but tense. The growl of the thunder rumbled through his bones and blood making him restless.
Lise Helton was still sick.
After their confrontation two weeks ago, he’d been even more curious, more concerned. More suspicious. But there’d been nothing he could do.
He stalked back to his steel-and-glass desk and sat.
Scanned his emails.
Stared at the computer screen.
His concern was merely for the company. Lise Helton was an important part of running this place. Important only for a few more months until he consolidated his power and control, and managed to wrench her loyal minions entirely from her grasp. Once he had accomplished this, Ms. Helton would be redundant. He’d planned the final confrontation down to the actual words he would use as he let her go. He’d dreamed about it, relished it during the last few weeks as his rage and guilt had swirled inside.
Vico tapped an answer to one email, then another.
She now resembled a ghost—wispy and white. A waif instead of the warrior he’d first met. Her eyes were hollow, although they continued to glare at him in their meetings. Yet he sensed it was a token fight. This ugly, unwanted connection between them told him clearly: she didn’t care about the company and the direction he took it. Not with the consuming zeal she had before.
He snapped off his computer and leaned back in his black leather chair.
The flu? After all this time?
Unlikely.
The tiny clutch in his gut, the one he’d been ignoring for two weeks, flared again. He knew it wasn’t an ulcer. He knew it was the old alert, the one he’d relied on to keep him alive and safe on the streets of Naples. The one he trusted when he decided what company to buy.
His gut told him this wasn’t the flu, this wasn’t a migraine, and this couldn’t be only emotional upheaval.
But what could he do about it? Ask for her doctor’s report? He didn’t think that was legal. Demand she take some time off? She still did her job well, so he’d have a hard time enforcing that, too. Insist she confide her thoughts and feelings to him? Insist she tell him the truth?
He snorted at the absurdity of the idea.
His phone buzzed.
Glancing at it, he let out a sigh. Family. He never ignored his family. Not now.
“Chiara.”
His sister bubbled. “Vico, you’ll never guess—”
Her words poured forth, needing no assistance or response from him. Leaning back even farther in his chair, he stared at the ceiling.
“Then, Momma and I went over to—”
Lise Helton was an emotional wreck, true. The clutch in his gut twisted. But maybe she was something more.
“So obviously we had to find—”
He had to do something. Had to find out for sure.
“Momma was sure you’d agree—”
The hard, hot clutch in his gut scorched the edges of his shame and fury.
“Vico?”
His sister’s voice tugged him back. “Si?”
“What’s wrong?”
What was it about women? Why did they immediately assume if a male went quiet, something was wrong? Why did they have the damn uncanny ability to know when there was something wrong?
“Not a thing.”
“Vico…”
The way she dragged out his name told him the story. He’d have to give her something or she’d never stop coming at him. And he knew for certain it wouldn’t be exclusively his sister. His close, loving family would be informed; something was wrong with Vico. Which would result in a flurry of phone calls, appeals to come home to Italy, threats of visits.
“I have an employee who is sick, that is all.”
“Perhaps I can help.” Chiara was a trained nurse, but what if the only thing Lise Helton needed was emotional and psychological help? He might very well be blowing this all out of proportion and jumping to wild conclusions.
His gut twisted.
“Vico?”
“It’s nothing, Chi.”
“Don’t give me your usual brushoff. You’re always, always helping me.”
“I’m not—”
“First with my schooling. Then with my wedding. Now with the new house.”
“Chi—”
“Let me help you this one time.” Her voice filled with determination. “You owe me a chance to pay you back.”
He owed her, the whole family, much, much more. He owed them for their forgiveness for something that really was unforgivable. He owed them for standing by him when no sane family would have. Giving his sister this information, he supposed, was nothing in the grand scheme of things.