And even though he was still smiling, somehow it didn’t reach his eyes—somehow, as Caitlyn headed for the door, she felt as if he was warning her.
It wasn’t so much a question of juggling her life around her career, Caitlyn thought at seven the next morning, as Jeremy pressed the remote control and the heavy gates opened to Lazzaro’s impressive home—working closely with the great Ranaldi there could be no life. The role of Lazzaro’s PA, as she’d found out in her first week, was an all-consuming one. They either met at the hotel or at his home—whatever his schedule dictated—and, boy, did his schedule dictate. In the week she’d been working for him, Caitlyn had racked up more air miles than she’d had in her entire life up to now. Lazzaro used helicopters the way other people used taxis, and Interstate trips for a two-hour meeting barely merited comment. Waking before sunrise, showering and dressing before Lazzaro’s driver collected her, and the draining day began—then she’d crawl into bed, often not before midnight, only to sit bolt-upright as her alarm trilled and the whole exhausting circus started again….
Taking a final gulp of her take-away coffee, and hoping the caffeine would get to work soon, Caitlyn wearily climbed out of the car and, fixing a smile in place, knocked on his heavy front door, wondering what sort of mood she was going to find behind it.
‘Good morning!’ Used to not getting an answer, Caitlyn pushed it open, her high heels echoing on the floorboards, then silencing whenever she hit one of the thick luxurious rugs. Her new shoes were already starting to hurt as she called out into the empty hallway—this was only the third time she’d been to his home in the morning, and on both other occasions Lazzaro had greeted her from the kitchen with the briefest of good mornings and a rapid rundown of their schedule.
But not this morning.
Feeling like an intruder, she walked along the darkened hallway—the luxurious surrounds were not quite familiar enough yet to fail to impress. His Toorak mansion home had been meticulously decorated, with no expense spared—exquisite antique furniture clashed marvellously with the latest in everything modern—but it was definitely a male home. Feminine touches were markedly absent—no flowers brightening corners, no splashes of colour to take away the rather austere lines, no photos on the heavy wooden furniture to draw the eye.
Glancing into the lounge as she walked past, she saw the usually immaculate room was dishevelled—given the ungodly hour, it hadn’t been attended to by the housekeeper—but it was the cushions that were tossed on the floor that had Caitlyn pausing. Like a cat sniffing the air, sensing an intruder, she caught an unwelcome whiff of a heavy, exotic perfume, saw the impressive stereo system flashing like a beacon in the darkness. Presumably he hadn’t had time to turn it off before he’d headed to bed. Knowing it shouldn’t irk her, but accepting that it did, Caitlyn gave her head a little shake and her mind a little talking-to as she headed into the kitchen.
Get used to it, Caitlyn. Living in Lazzaro’s pocket, she was going to have to get used to stumbling on his loose change—oh, and there was plenty: Lucy, Tabitha, Mandy, Tanya…Each name twisted the knife in her stomach a notch as it purred down the phone—and each time Lazzaro refused to take the call it loosened a little. Maybe it was Bonita, Caitlyn thought drily—the woman whose calls he took without question; a woman whose thick, throaty voice could haul Lazzaro out of any meeting.
Caitlyn gave an uncomfortable swallow, wondering if it was Bonita she was about to meet and telling herself she could deal with it—reminding herself that she was his employee, his assistant.
It mustn’t matter a jot how she felt about him.
Still, no amount of reminding herself of her place in his life was going to stop it hurting, and as she entered the kitchen Caitlyn tried and simultaneously failed not to notice the empty champagne bottle on the stone bench…tried and failed not to notice the two glasses beside it.
Tried and failed not to notice the lipstick marks on one of the glasses.
For an appalling moment she wondered if she was disturbing something—braced herself as she heard footsteps on the stairwell for the sight of some ravishing, exotic beauty.