The name of her father, perhaps?
“The statement I released says we met in London three years ago,” Rocco told her. “Tell Otto that Axel knew about that meeting. Let him think we’ve been seeing each other all this time and that Axel covered for us. Then block him.”
Her gaze flashed up. “That throws Axel under the bus.”
“Good. You said they’re at odds. Use it to make Otto believe this.” He waved between them.
She chewed the corner of her mouth then nodded jerkily and took her coffee to her room.
Rocco watched her go, still titillated by her lack of clothes, but prickling with a need to take action. He collected his phone from the wireless charging pad. Most of his messages were handled by staff. Very few people had his direct line and the only person he wanted to hear from was Silvio, but there was nothing yet, only a handful of congratulations from close associates.
Damn it.
He went into the kitchen to make his own coffee, brooding on the warring desires to protect his friend and give in to his desire for Mira.
“Do you know anyone at the Donatelli investment bank in Milan?” Mira had abruptly returned. She had pulled on a pair of flowing silk trousers and a white crop top that cupped her modest breasts and exposed her midriff. Her hair was scraped into a ponytail. “Someone with enough sway to tell Otto to kick rocks and shift my money back to me?”
Dio, he wanted to grab that ponytail and—
No. For Silvio’s sake, he had to keep his hands to himself.
“I know the owner. I’ll have my assistant set up a call.”
As much as it galled her to let Rocco take charge, Mira was grateful that he did.
Her anger with Otto only carried her so far. She had been conditioned to be a pleaser, so confrontation was uncomfortable for her.
Not Rocco. He was dispassionate and ruthless, countering arguments with cool logic.
“It’s not a gamble, Paolo, it’s math,” he said to the banker over the speakerphone while Mira listened in. “Otto promised her half of Vorstoben if she allowed him to use her assets to expand it. Now, he wants to give that half to someone else. The return on her investment has bottomed out. Her money can work harder elsewhere and, if you help her free it up, I’m sure she will allow you to assist her in finding places to do that.” He glanced at Mira.
She nodded.
“Let me call you back,” Paolo said.
Two hours later, the wheels were back in motion.
It was an intense day of similar calls and meetings, and feeling bombarded by Rocco’s dynamic aura, constantly aware of his deep voice, his solicitous questions around her comfort and his brief touches when he introduced her to someone or handed her a tablet to read.
All the while, they were under the microscope of sidelong looks and stares of curiosity. PR kept coming to them with inquiries. The markets were going crazy, wondering what their engagement meant for the competing companies. The whole world seemed to be wondering how Mira could throw aside one man and engage herself to another overnight.
“I’m sorry I’m not selling this better,” she said with agitation when they had a moment alone in his office.
“What do you mean?” Rocco glanced up from some papers he was holding.
“When people congratulate us.” She hugged herself. “I clam up and don’t know how to react.”
A faint smile twitched his mouth. “Is that why you blush and move closer to me? I thought you were selling it very well.”
Was she doing that? Now, she was even more self-conscious!
It was a relief to finally return to his apartment and dress for tonight’s event, not that she was in the mood for a red-carpet stroll and a movie premiere.
She took great care with her appearance, knowing they would be photographed, but she was anxious as she dressed in a blush-pink dress made of woven ribbons. Its straps formed a plunging neckline on a curve-hugging corset. The skirt fell apart below her hips so it was nothing more than streaming ribbons that brushed her bare legs and stopped well short of the satin heels that were delicately adorned with tiny crystals.
This isn’t me, she thought as she made her way to the lounge, legs caressed by the tails of silk. She usually chose safe, classic styles that allowed her to blend in.
“Wow,” Rocco said when she appeared. “You are a vision. Grazie.”
