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‘Alessandro...’ she breathed, only realizing afterwards that it was the first time she had addressed him by his Christian name without feeling awkward.
Alessandro stopped en route to his very patient driver, who had been on call throughout the day and was probably as exhausted as she was.
He shot her an expressive and very wry look. ‘Well? Get it over and done with...’
‘What?’
‘A tender-hearted comment about my soft side... Have I turned into one of those, caring, sharing touchy-feely types who do foot massages for their loved ones every evening before running them a hot bath and cooking them a slap-up meal?’
‘I have seen a different side to you...’
‘Same side as always,’ Alessandro told her drily. ‘You’re just choosing to interpret it in a different way. There would have been no point prosecuting George.’
‘You did more than just not prosecute him,’ she pointed out.
But she wasn’t going to run away with a long explanation of exactly what had transpired over the past few hours. He might tell her that he had been as tough in his dealings as he always was, but he hadn’t.
George’s granddaughter was ill. Tears had sprung to his eyes as he had described the speed of little Imogen’s disease and their dismay when they had discovered that the prognosis in the UK was not favourable.
They had scoured the internet—searching for hope, really—and it had come in the form of a revolutionary breakthrough treatment in Toronto. But it was treatment that came at a price, and hence his dipping into money that didn’t belong to him. Because he had already used all his savings—every scrap of money that had been put aside for his retirement—on the initial consultations and the first lot of treatment.
Alessandro could have listened and stuck to the programme: You ripped me off and you’re out—save your excuses for the judge.
Even at her most optimistic she’d thought he might have acquitted George of blame, understood the extenuating circumstances and been sympathetic when it came to a repayment scheme.^^
Instead, he had not only heard the older man out and absolved him of having to repay the debt, but he had taken charge of everything. He had dealt with the bank, set up an account for George’s daughter, then spoken to the hospital, assured them that the treatment would be covered whatever the cost. He had also—and this had made her heart constrict—informed George that he would not have to see out his old age in penury.
Alessandro Preda, a hard man in the world of finance, a guy who was ruthless in his business dealings, had gone beyond the bounds of duty.
‘True,’ he agreed, stepping aside so that she could precede him into the car. ‘And of course he should have spoken to me before he did what he did...’ He sprawled back against the door, facing her, his handsome, lean face amused and speculative.
‘But all’s well that ends well...’ Kate inserted hurriedly. ‘Although we didn’t get to visit your client. Will that be on the agenda for tomorrow?’
‘Tell me you’re not about to stick on your business hat after the day we’ve had?’
Kate licked her lips, nervously aware of his eyes fastened to her face. She had completely forgotten throughout the course of the day that she had to be careful when she was around him. She had seen another side to him and had been swept away by the revelation.
Which didn’t change the fact that she still heartily disapproved of him on a number of fronts...
‘Because I’m too tired to start thinking about cutting deals...’
‘Of course.’
‘And I’m surprised you don’t feel the same.’
‘I suppose I could do with a little downtime...’
‘Splendid. Because tonight we’ll go out for dinner, do a little city exploring. We can both knock business on the head for a couple of hours—wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Dinner...? City exploring...?’ she asked, dry-mouthed.
‘Or you can call it “downtime”. Whatever you prefer. And you’re not going to be wearing a suit.’
‘But that’s pretty much all I—’
‘Then use the company account to buy something more suitable to wear. You have got a company account, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Then it’s settled. Today has been a day full of surprises,’ he murmured, in a soft voice that was as devastating to her senses as a caress. ‘I’ve surprised you. Now it’s your turn to surprise me... Be someone more than just the prim and proper busy little bee. Do you think you can do that? Or is it too much of an ask...?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
“IS IT TOO much of an ask?”
If he had just insisted on dinner, ignored her protests, basically commanded her to relax in his company, then reluctantly she would have agreed, because she would have had no choice. And she would have donned one of her various suits because it was vitally important to maintain the boundary lines between them.
Boundary lines that, yet again, were in danger of being breached.
But that amused, mocking, “Is it too much of an ask?” question had got her back up.
How buttoned up did he think she was? Did he imagine that she was incapable of ever letting her hair down? Did he think that she was such a dull Miss Prim and Proper, glued to her tablet, that she quailed at the prospect of shedding her work clothes and taking time out to be a normal young woman?
Or maybe he thought that she just quailed when the shedding of her work clothes threatened to take place in his company. The man might have shown her a side that was curiously empathetic in his dealings with George, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still the arrogant guy who took what he wanted from women and chucked them out when he decided the time had come to move on.
But if he insisted that she go shopping—that she use the company account to buy stuff she probably would never wear again—then why not?
Toronto was full of wonderful shops. Shops that lined the streets or were packed into malls.
It was still so hot outside that she opted for the Eaton Centre. She had no idea what she intended buying. It wouldn’t take long. She loathed shopping. It was just one of those things that needed doing now and again, under duress.
Her mother had been a shopper. Kate could remember being dragged from shop to shop, spending money they could ill afford on garish outfits. By the age of eleven she had grown accustomed to sitting outside changing rooms, her head firmly planted in a book, while her mother tried on clothes. It had been toe-curlingly embarrassing. She had so desperately wanted her mother just to...to look like all the other mothers. How hard would that have been? Plain trousers? Tops that didn’t cling or have plunging necklines? Shoes that didn’t have five-inch heels and were never, ever worn with tight white jeans? How hard would it have been for her just to avoid wearing bright red?
Her mother had never complained at the little digs she had thoughtlessly inflicted over the years. The not-so-gentle hints that maybe she should tone it down. She had laughed and told her to loosen up a little—had tried to get her out of her jeans and baggy jumpers into the occasional dress. Shirley Watson might not have been good when it came to all the stuff Kate had considered crucially important, she might have failed to take the appropriate level of interest in parents’ evenings and homework projects, but she had never tired of trying to dress her up.
Kate had resisted all those efforts, and had continued doing so even when her mother had no longer been around, trying to steer her in a different direction from the one she wanted.
So now here she was.
And as she browsed through the shops she saw herself through her mother’s eyes. Always a little drab. Never making anything of what she had been given.
Those were Alessandro’s eyes also.
A streak of rebellion coursed through her, and as she shopped she was guiltily aware that she was enjoying shopping for maybe the first time in her life.
She wasn’t buying clothes to project the image she wanted the world to see. She was buying clothes because she liked the way they looked on her. Two dresses, a skirt that reached to mid-thigh, tops that had no buttons...and shoes that had heels and weren’t black.
Though she still avoided red.
She had no idea where they would be going after the ‘city exploring’ Alessandro had suggested, but she didn’t care.
She took her time soaking in the bath, washed her hair and left it loose, so that it tumbled down her back in a cascade of waves, and wore one of the dresses she had bought—a sleek, pale coral affair that did a little clinging. And she wore the high sandals she had bought too.
As she stared at her reflection in the mirror she could feel her heart beating wildly. Because this was not the Kate Watson she had spent her life cultivating.
This was a young woman who had a life—and an exciting one.
‘Okay...’ She grinned sheepishly at the stranger in the mirror. ‘So we both know that that’s a bit of an exaggeration—but what’s the harm in having a life for one evening? Dispelling the ideas Alessandro has about me? Mum, if you could see me now, you’d be proud.’
On the spur of the moment she took a selfie and sent it to her mother, and minutes later, as she headed down to meet Alessandro in the bar, she smiled at the response she got—which was a series of exclamation marks and smiley faces.
