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Clearly he’d completely forgotten about her.
She pushed the laptop away and took a sip of her tea, feeling sick in a way that had nothing to do with the tiny being she nurtured in her womb. That man—that ruthless, arrogant, philandering man—was her baby’s father. And she knew she would have to tell him so.
She shuddered with dread at the thought of Alessandro’s reaction. Disbelief? Displeasure? He was not going to be pleased, of that Mia was completely certain. And, judging by the way he handled hostile takeovers, he was going to expect Mia to fall in with his plans, whatever they would be.
And what would they be? Would he want to, heaven forbid, get rid of their child, considering him or her an inconvenience he couldn’t abide? Or would he throw money at her, to make her go away? She knew he would want to do something, but she had no idea what it would be.
And what did she want? Never to see Alessandro Costa again, preferably. Perhaps he wanted the same thing. Hopefully they could come to an agreement, even if this wasn’t a scenario either of them had envisioned or wanted.
Of course, she had to get in touch with him first, and Mia didn’t really know how to do that. She’d never had his personal information and she certainly wasn’t going to find it online. The best she could hope for was to call the headquarters of Costa International and hope the message was passed on. After that…it was surely up to him. The thought comforted her. All she could do was try, surely.
The next morning, Mia made the call to Costa International in Rome, and got the switchboard.
‘I’d like to speak to Alessandro Costa, please.’ She tried to make her voice sound confident and firm, and had a feeling she failed.
‘I’m afraid he’s not available.’
‘This is important and personal. Is there another number on which I could reach him?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
Mia bit her lip, fighting both frustration and a treacherous relief. She’d tried… ‘Then may I leave a message?’ she asked, and the receptionist’s voice was toneless as she answered.
‘Of course.’
‘And can I be sure it will get to him?’ Mia pressed, determined to make a good effort. ‘It’s important.’
‘Of course.’
She left her name and number. ‘Please do give him the message,’ she said, knowing she was probably annoying the receptionist but needing, as a matter of principle, to communicate the urgency of the matter. ‘It’s important.’
‘He’ll get the message,’ the receptionist assured her in a bored voice, and then disconnected the call.
Mia sat back, feeling the tiniest bit relieved. She’d made the effort. She’d tried to be in touch. If Alessandro didn’t get the message…
Guilt needled her at the thought. She knew she could ask her boss for his personal details, although whether he’d be willing to give them out, she didn’t know. Still, she supposed she could try harder.
But the grim truth was, she didn’t want to. She knew what it was like to be controlled by a man, someone who dictated what she wore and ate and did. Her father had done all of the above, simply because he could. Mia had lost track of the times he’d insisted she change her clothes, or told her she couldn’t go out, or insisted the dinner her mother had made was inedible when it had been fine. Her entire childhood had been one of barely endured oppression, and she could not bear the thought of opening herself up to that again.
Alessandro might not be as odiously domineering as her father, but already in their short relationship he’d told her what to do, what to wear, where to go. It was obvious to Mia that he was someone who liked being in control, not just of his employees, but everyone in his life. And she could not let him be in control of her, or her child. Not like that.
She’d tried. She’d left a message, she’d said it was important. And that, Mia told herself, pushing away the guilt that still pricked her, was all she could do.
A year later
He hadn’t meant to look her up. He’d excised her from his mind and memory, or done his very best to, even if some nights he still woke up with dreams of her lingering in his mind like an enticing mist, making him remember. Making him want.
In his waking hours, he thought of her not at all, an act of sheer, determined will, and yet, a year later, as he returned to the office of Dillard Investments that he’d done his best to avoid for the last twelve months, he realised some part of him had been thinking of her all along.
Alessandro had worked hard this last year to incorporate Dillard’s clients and assets into his ever-increasing portfolio. He hadn’t been back to London in all that time, but now, with another recent British acquisition under his belt, he had needed to return to the former office of Dillard Investments, now part of Costa International.
As he strode through Henry Dillard’s old office he tried not to look at that desk. Yet even when he was determinedly not looking at it, he was remembering. Remembering Mia’s innocent and yet overwhelming response, the way her body had clasped his in complete embrace and surrender. The dazed look in her eyes afterwards, the way her fingers had fumbled as she’d buttoned her blouse. And the next day, when she’d asked for a transfer before he’d been able to order it himself.
A year on, Alessandro could reluctantly acknowledge that perhaps he should have taken a bit more care with Mia’s rather abrupt transfer. And now she was on the other side of the world, admittedly by her own choice, but he hadn’t even checked whether she’d settled in or was enjoying her job.
It would be the right thing, Alessandro mused, to check on her, just to see how she was doing, that she was enjoying Los Angles and her position with the Arras Hotel Group.
He wouldn’t have to talk to her; she wouldn’t even have to know. He could ask Eric Foster, the CEO of the Arras Group, a man he’d put in place to run the half-dozen exclusive hotels located on the west coast of America that he’d taken over five years ago. This was nothing more than a courtesy call, a way to clear his conscience…if it needed clearing in the first place.
