Out-of-bounds. Off-limits.
The day he’d met Lise Helton still echoed in his mind and in his body.
“Mr. Mattare.” The receptionist had jumped from her chair like a jumping jack as soon as she’d spotted him and his entourage walking through the plate-glass doors. “Welcome to HSF Financial.”
He hadn’t been surprised that she recognized him. The news of the takeover of one of the biggest English financial firms by an upstart Italian billionaire had spilled over all the front pages of Europe’s tabloids and newspapers. “If you could direct me to the conference room, I believe management is waiting for me.”
“Certainly, sir.”
His solicitor murmured various suggestions in his ear as the elevator had risen to the top floor. His suggestions were not necessary. Vico knew exactly what he needed to do as a first step.
Clean house.
The firm was top-heavy and filled with a variety of people he’d call con artists using nepotism or cronyism to game their way into the money. Well, now HSF was his and the money was his. His duty was to fire them all.
Lise Helton was at the top of the list.
No twenty-nine-year-old woman held the CFO position in this kind of company on the strength of her resume or talent alone. Considering the fact her father had been the “H” in the firm’s name, Vico was sure her position derived entirely from this connection.
The conference room’s double oak doors opened in front of him and the whispers coming from the crowd inside went silent.
“Mr. Mattare.” James Forrester, the last of the founders of HSF who was still alive, stepped forward. “Welcome. This is my…the management of HSF.”
His bland brown eyes and sloping shoulders told a tale Vico had heard throughout the past four months of negotiations with this man. A tale of tired refrains and dusty excuses. Forrester was glad to let go of the reins and Vico was glad that this was the last he’d see of the man.
“Grazie.” He stepped forward, right to the front of the room, right to the head of the long oak table where a dozen of his new employees sat slouched in lazy abandonment.
He gave them all a pointed look.
They rose at once in a halting, jerky pattern, their pasty faces going white, their blank eyes suddenly wide and filled with fear.
Buona. Molto bene.
His gaze moved over each one, taking stock and making judgments. Not until he got to the end of the table did he spot her. Lise Helton. This had to be her because no one else appeared to be younger than forty years old.
She hadn’t risen. Of all of them, she should be the most obsequious and deferential since she carried not much more experience than a college graduate. Yet, she hadn’t risen.
She’d arched a brow when he frowned at her and kept her seat.
Then, all at once, he’d really taken her in.
Her stark beauty had stunned him. The clean line of her jaw, the blonde glow of her hair, the ice blue of her eyes. One look at her and he’d wanted to yank her into his arms. Ruffle her composure. Put fire into those ice eyes. Make her wild for him.
The memory of those instinctive reactions made him burn with disgust even now, even two months later.
“Dio.” He stared blankly into his dark closet, remembering. Remembering the stillness of the moment. The realization of his vulnerability to the woman.
His reaction had been unacceptable and contemptible. No woman would be allowed to have such a hold on him. He'd thrust his lust and shock away, replacing it with cold determination. She wouldn’t last a day, much less the month he’d been willing to give her. However, his decision had run into a formidable wall of opposition surrounding her with protection.
Today had been the day he’d finally breached that wall.
Ironic. Ms. Helton would have many surprises waiting for her tomorrow.
An evil chuckle rumbled from his throat.
Shrugging out of his suit coat, he hung it carefully in the closet. His silk shirt came next, and then his linen pants. Not even now, after many years of wealth, did he take anything for granted. His possessions reminded him of how much he'd achieved. All of them told him daily how far he’d come from his childhood, roaming the dirty slums of Naples.
Vico padded into the sumptuous bathroom he’d designed himself and turned on the shower. The warm sandstone tile contrasted nicely with the black-and-gold fixtures. Steam instantly billowed, filling the large room, enveloping the sunken tub and long length of mirrors in a fine mist.
This had been a long day of tough negotiations with the other main stockholders of HSF. Still, he’d convinced the majority of them to fall in with his ideas. Lise Helton might hold her father’s stock, but she didn’t have enough to stop his plans. The company would go in a new direction, focusing on the core competencies of derivatives and futures contracts, moving away from the old standbys of stocks and bonds.