He watched the faint embarrassed blush creep into her cheeks, the way she tried to conceal her expression by looking down. He saw the truth staring him in the face. She had settled down because she had found the right man and it hadn’t been him. It had never been him and, who knew, maybe this other man had been on the scene all along? After all, it hadn’t been as if he had kept tabs on her. They had spent many periods of time apart, pursuing their separate careers. There would have been ample opportunity for her to have had someone else in the background. Someone else making love to her, turning her on. It was a thought that had not crossed his mind before but, now that it had, it took root and rapidly sprouted poisonous tendrils that curled into every corner of his mind.
‘For the best,’ he said into the tense silence. ‘As most things turn out to be, in my opinion. After all, have we not both found our perfect partners?’ His head seethed with images of her betrayal. Three years and he was discovering that the rage he felt towards her had only been papered over.
Francesca looked at him uncertainly, wondering what was going on behind the polite words.
‘I have come to a decision,’ he said abruptly, handing her back her papers and pointedly looking at his watch. A man on the move. A busy man who had only so much time to spend walking down a mildly interesting memory lane. He stood up and left sufficient money on the table to more than cover the cost of the drinks, ignoring her protests as she stuffed the papers back into her bag. He likewise ignored the businesslike outstretched hand as she half rose to her feet.
‘That’s okay,’ she said quickly. ‘I understand. Neither of us expected…Good luck with your wedding.’
‘You have the job.’
It took a few seconds for what he’d said to sink in, during which time Francesca stared at him in blank amazement. ‘What?’ she stammered.
‘You heard me. You have the job. You’ll be hearing from me within the next week.’
‘But I don’t want the job!’
Angelo paused to focus all his attention on her. ‘Reason being?’ he asked softly.
‘Reason being that we used to be lovers, Angelo! We can be adult and have a conversation because we have no choice, but there’s no way that I’m prepared to work for you! It would be…a joke! And how do you imagine your wife-to-be would feel knowing that the woman providing the food for her wedding is her husband’s ex-lover?’
‘I am glad you used the term ex. And why on earth should Georgina be aware of the fact that once, years ago, we had a fling? It is an irrelevance. I am hiring you on the basis of the fact that I like your menu.’ He didn’t bother to pretend to himself that this excuse was even close to the truth. He had only to choose a caterer, order them to do precisely what he wanted, and they would oblige. Money always made people very amenable, and money was something he had in bucket loads. No, he wanted to cure himself of the gaping wound caused by her treachery. He wanted to still his raging mind from the torturous knowledge that he had been used like a plaything while she cavorted with another man behind his back. He wanted her in a position from which he could exact long overdue revenge.
‘I don’t want the job. Thanks all the same.’
‘I don’t believe I offered you a choice.’
Their eyes clashed and Francesca refused to look away. ‘And what influence do you have over what I decide to do, Angelo? Are you going to throw me into a dungeon somewhere if I don’t do what you want?’ She gave a short laugh of disbelief. ‘We’re not living in the Middle Ages and you’re not my master! I can get by without this job just nicely!’
‘Can you, though?’ He made a show of mulling it over. ‘Really, I have found that London is a very small place. One word in the right ear and…’ He gave an exaggerated helpless shrug that left her in no doubt as to the implication of his threat. ‘I mean, how would it seem to prospective clients were they to know that you had turned down the job of a lifetime because you were afraid that you would not be up to the task?’
‘You wouldn’t.’ But the colour had left her face. He would. He would destroy what she had built up because once upon a time she had bruised his manly ego. It was an insane reaction, but she knew that underneath that highly sophisticated exterior he was all Italian. It was what made him so potently attractive—the passion behind the steely self-control. She felt faint.
‘I might not,’ he conceded magnanimously. ‘But are you willing to take the chance? To lose what you have? Your boyfriend works with you, which I assume means that you may well be jeopardising his future as well as your own—’