‘Why do I think you already know the answer to that question?’
He offered a cunning smile. ‘Carlotta mentioned that you spend your time on a farm in... Where is it, exactly?’
Her heart missed a beat, but she fought to keep her expression neutral as she wondered what else Carlotta had told him about her. Had she mentioned her mother at all?
‘It’s a place in southwest England, in Devon.’
His gaze wandered lazily over her clothes. ‘Some sort of hippie commune, I gather?’ he drawled.
‘It’s a little more than that.’
A lot more, in fact. It was a vital place for respite and support. But she wasn’t going to elaborate just for him to disparage her. Or, heaven forbid, decipher why it was that her mother lived there and she devoted every minute she could spare to it.
‘And what do you do there?’
‘I’m a social worker by profession, but I currently volunteer there.’
Since her employment contract had ended, and there were no funds to hire her even on a temporary basis, Faye had been offering her services for free at New Paths Centre while she looked for another job. As much as she hated to admit it, Carlotta’s bequest would do financial wonders for New Paths and also fund other much-needed centres—a project she’d been pouring her energy into since she’d left university, with little to no success.
‘If you’re in between jobs, what’s the great hurry to return to your farm?’
His voice oozed the
kind of disdain people reserved for shameless freeloaders. But Faye didn’t waste any effort on being affronted. She was used to being judged by her appearance. She stared back without answering. While he remained completely unaffected her silence.
‘Perhaps you’d be better disposed to stay if I informed you that your work here wouldn’t be voluntary?’ His thin smile didn’t take the sting out of his words. ‘Casa di Fiorenti has a reputation for paying its employees well. Even its interns.’
He named a price that made her gasp. And immediately suspicious.
‘Are you serious?’ With just one month’s pay she’d be able to secure her mother’s room and board at New Paths for another year.
‘That’s for a mid-level employee. As Luigi’s stepdaughter—’
‘I don’t want any handouts. Any job I undertake will be rewarded on merit, not because of my connection to Luigi,’ she cut in, this time showing her affront.
His smile hardened. ‘Believe me, you will work for it. I have no appetite for scroungers. What I intended to state was that as Luigi’s stepdaughter you would be required to learn about the company from the ground up, as my parents required of me, preferably with a year at a cocoa-growing facility overseas. But, since you don’t have that kind of time to spare, you’ll stay here in Naples, where I can keep my eye on you.’
She flushed, the tension easing out of her even as he eyed her mockingly. ‘Oh. I see.’
‘The most appropriate place for you to start will be in the research and development department. I will reserve the right to rotate your position as I see fit.’
Faye wanted to protest at his assumption that she’d fall in line with his wishes. Or even stay in Italy. But as she glared at him for his high-handedness she knew she wouldn’t walk away. Wouldn’t squander the chance to make a significant impact.
Her mother’s continued care and well-being would be assured at New Paths. And, as heartbreaking as it was to acknowledge it, her mother would probably not even register Faye’s absence.
Pain twisted deep and she clutched the armrests tighter to hold it inside.
‘No need to look so concerned, Faye. A hard day’s work never killed anyone, as far as I know,’ Maceo drawled, shattering her anguished thoughts.
She raised her chin. ‘Save your insults, signor. I’m not afraid of hard work. As a matter of fact, you can put me to work immediately. The sooner I’m done here, the sooner we can be rid of each other.’
The triumphant gleam in his tawny eyes made the hairs on her nape quiver. And, after a beat, he once again helped himself to a scrutiny of her. A shiver flowed down from her neck, encompassing her body with a hot, electric awareness that left her peculiarly breathless.
‘Curb your enthusiasm. I cannot, as you say, put you to work. Casa di Fiorenti has a professional reputation to safeguard. That includes a strict dress code in which you currently fall woefully short. And, as you weren’t planning on being in Naples more than a day or two, I doubt you have the right attire to work anywhere besides your beloved farm,’ he stated drily.
Her flush deepened but she refused to lower her gaze. While her taste in clothes was consciously individual, and she appreciated it didn’t suit a corporate environment, she wasn’t about to turn herself inside out to please this man.
‘I’ll accommodate your dress code...but only up to a point. I’m not changing who I am to suit anyone.’ She gave herself an inner high-five when her voice emerged firm and strong.