Secrets of a Powerful Man

CHAPTER ONE


‘THERE’S SOMEONE HERE to see you. A man...’

Darcey looked up from her desk, surprised that her usually unflappable secretary sounded flustered.

‘He says his name is Salvatore Castellano,’ Sue continued. ‘He has been referred to you by James Forbes and wishes to arrange speech therapy for his daughter.’

‘But James knows that the unit is closing.’ Darcey was puzzled. James Forbes was head of the paediatric cochlear implant programme at the hospital and he had been vociferous in his condemnation of the financial cuts affecting the speech therapy unit.

Sue shrugged. ‘I explained that, but Mr Castellano is insistent that he wants to see you.’ She added in a conspiratorial voice, ‘I think he’s used to getting his own way, and he is demanding to speak to you. He’s very Mediterranean—you know the type... Dark and intense. I know I shouldn’t say this when I’ve been married to Brian for twenty-four years, but he’s hot.’

He was demanding to see her? Darcey’s brows rose, but she had to admit she was intrigued by this man who was responsible for turning Sue into a wilting heap of hormones. Fortunately she had no concerns that he might have the same effect on her. She was off hot men. From now on she would be perfectly happy with lukewarm and safe, perhaps even slightly boring, but definitely not a showman...like her ex-husband.

She glanced out of the window and noticed a sleek black saloon car parked next to her Mini. Her contract with the health authority had been terminated and she did not have to meet this Salvatore Castellano. But what the hell? There was only an empty house waiting for her, and a solitary dinner—if she could be bothered to cook.

‘You’d better show him in.’

Sue stepped back into the corridor and Darcey returned to the task of clearing the drawers in her desk. The filing cabinets had been emptied and all that remained to do was take down the certificates on the wall which gave details of her qualifications: BSc (Hons), MSc in Speech and Language Therapy and an Advanced Clinical Skills Diploma for speech and language therapists to work with the deaf.

It was a pity that being an expert in her field had not been enough to save her job, she thought ruefully. The Inner London health authority’s budget had been drastically cut and she had been made redundant. Losing her job had forced her to think about her future—and acknowledge the necessity of coming to terms with her past. Her decision to take a career break for a couple of months over the summer was primarily so that she could make plans for the private practice she intended to set up. But, more importantly, she was hoping to put her divorce behind her and get over her cheating rat of an ex-husband once and for all.

Her gaze fell on the nameplate on her desk. She had become Darcey Rivers when she had married Marcus and had kept his name after the divorce because she was reluctant to revert back to her maiden name and the notoriety that went with it. It had been painfully humiliating when she had realised that Marcus had married her because he had hoped that joining the famous theatrical Hart family would boost his acting career. Unfortunately she had been so in love with him, so bowled over by his wit and charm and undeniable good looks, that with uncharacteristic impulsiveness she had accepted his proposal four months after they’d met.

Darcey walked over to the window and picked up the potted plant on the sill. She had inherited the Maidenhair Fern two years ago, when she had taken up the post of senior specialist speech and language therapist. It had been half-dead and Sue had offered to throw it out— apparently this type of fern was notoriously difficult to grow successfully. But Darcey liked a challenge, and under her care the plant had thrived and was now a mass of bright green lacy leaves.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll take you home with me,’ she murmured. She had read that plants responded if you talked to them, and her words of encouragement seemed to have worked—although that was strictly between her and the fern. After all, she was a highly educated professional and sensible was her middle name; her family and friends would be astonished if they knew that she talked to plants.

The office door opened again, and she turned her head to see Sue usher a man into the room. Sunlight streamed through the window and danced across his rugged features. Darcey’s first thought was that he was nothing like Marcus. But neither was he lukewarm, and he was definitely not safe. Now she understood what Sue had meant when she had said he was hot!

He looked as though he belonged to another century, when knights on horseback had fought bloody battles and rescued damsels in distress. Startled by the wild excesses of her imagination, Darcey forced herself to study him objectively, but the image of an ancient king still remained in her mind. Perhaps it was the dangerously sexy combination of black jeans and shirt and the well-worn leather jacket that emphasised the width of his shoulders. His height was equally impressive; the top of his head brushed the door frame and she estimated that he must be several inches over six feet tall.