The Italian Billionaire's Secret Love-Child(27)

Of course, she knew that he would probably not have spent all of his time in London, but still.



It took all her courage to take the bull by its horns and confront Riccardo on his own turf. It had been bad enough dealing with him in the safe confines of her own house, but, as she dressed carefully for the meeting she had never really anticipated, she could feel her stomach work itself into a series of knots.



Her normal morning routine had a nightmarish feel to it, and she had even sent Gina off to school with a chocolate bar nestled next to her sandwich and yoghurt. Then she had looked at herself in the mirror, a long, hard look. Not that it would make a scrap of difference, she wanted to present herself as a model human being. Fat chance of him falling in line with that plan, she thought, heading out and hailing the first taxi she could find so that she didn’t have to battle with the underground.



She didn’t know whether he would be in or not, and, as the taxi dropped her off in front of one of those paeans to modern architecture that left her cold, she half hoped that he would be out—somewhere safely abroad, tucked away on a continent far from her and Gina.



However, if he did happen to be around, then she was pretty certain that she would be ushered up to his office the minute she gave her name. A bit like a rabbit being shown straight to the lion’s den.



It was an analogy she wished she hadn’t thought of, as the girl at Reception put through a call and was told that Mr di Napoli was indeed in and, yes, having been given Charlotte’s name, he would see her.



Better than that, his secretary would fetch her from Reception! The girl at the desk looked at Charlotte with new-found respect. Maybe the neatly turned out blonde with the frankly unadventurous outfit had a bit more going for her than she’d originally thought.



Charlotte’s unadventurous outfit had been planned for a purpose. The purpose was to show Riccardo that when it came to Gina she meant business, that she was not going to be steamrollered by him, but neither was her intention to wage war or go on the immediate attack. Hence she had decided on a suit in a sensible colour. Grey. But it was a trouser suit, and she was wearing a cheerful burgundy jumper with the trousers.



Now if she could only get her mind to be as relaxed and confident as her outfit, she thought as the elevator purred its way up to the top floor, she might be getting somewhere.



But her mind refused to be reined in. Riccardo affected her. She wished it was simply a case of hate, which was what she had been at pains to imply, combined with a healthy dose of apprehension and resentment at the situation in which she now found herself, but there was something else. It was like a dangerous snake rustling in the undergrowth, and Charlotte knew that there was still an attraction there for her. Worse, she suspected that it had always been there, just lying in wait, and now that he had shown up on the scene it had surfaced and was gathering force.



Poor Ben. She had seen him the evening before and had apologetically told him that he should think of finding someone else.



‘I don’t deserve you, Ben,’ Charlotte had said truthfully, reaching across the table and linking her fingers through his. ‘You’re a nice guy, and you need a woman who doesn’t come with an armful of complications.’



‘You mean a woman who doesn’t come with a rival.’



‘No!’ She’d made a dismissive, snorting noise. ‘Riccardo? A rival? Not in a million years! But I’m in a messy situation just at the moment, and it’s not fair that you get caught up in the undertow.’#p#分页标题#e#



‘Maybe it’s a good thing that he knows about Gina.’



‘You wouldn’t say that if you knew the man.’ She had been pleased and relieved that Ben had taken it so well. In fact, they had parted on the best possible terms, agreeing to remain friends. Later she wondered whether he could ever have been right for her, or she right for him, if breaking up had been such a painless affair.



The elevator shuddered to a stop. She was aware that Riccardo’s secretary had been making polite conversation with her, and she wondered whether she could get away with murmuring something vague because the last thing she needed was a chat with someone she didn’t know. Not when she was fighting to control her desire to run away. She wondered what the pleasant, middle-aged, grey-haired woman would say if she blurted out the truth: that she had come to discuss her boss’s parental visiting rights to his eight-year-old daughter. How much greyer could grey hair turn?



Riccardo’s office was at the very end of a long corridor, on either side of which thick doors alerted the uninitiated that the people sitting behind them were very important. The double-fronted wooden doors at the end of the corridor thereby sent the clear message that the person behind them was beyond very important.