Swiping the access card and pressing the button for the executive floor, she waited patiently for the lift to open out onto the stylish elegance that denoted that one had truly arrived in the world. Crossing the softly carpeted floor into Mr Castiglione’s outer office, Poppy paused to take in the sweeping views of London she so rarely got to see. Despite the pale grey sky the city looked picture-perfect with its seamless blend of new-and old-world architecture. It was as if nothing could touch a person from way up here, but Poppy knew that, once you got down to ground level, things could not only touch you; they could destroy you if you let them.
Caught up as she was by dark, unwanted memories, she jumped when a deep male voice cursed loudly, shattering the stillness.
Heart thumping, Poppy turned to find who it was, but no one was about. Then another curse coloured the air and she realised it was coming from inside her boss’s office.
Always too curious for her own good, she stepped forward on light feet and paused at the open doorway to Mr Castiglione’s internal space. She sucked in a sharp breath as she saw the man himself standing, legs braced wide, in front of the plate glass windows.
She’d recognise him anywhere, of course. Powerful. Untamed. Stunningly good-looking. He raked a hand through his hair, mussing it into untidy black waves. He was tall for an Italian, and muscular, as if he worked out every day and then some. Since he was reputed to work about twenty hours a day, Poppy didn’t know where he found the time, but she was glad he did. He was eye-candy extraordinaire. Or ‘sex on a stick’, as Maryann was wont to say.
As if he sensed her silent perusal, he shot round from studying the phone in his hand, his brilliant green eyes piercing her straight to her core. For a moment Poppy forgot to breathe. Then he spoke, his aggravated gaze sweeping over her and lighting tiny spot fires of sensation in its wake.
‘Who the hell are you?’
‘I’m an intern.’ Poppy cleared the frog from her throat. ‘Poppy. Poppy Connolly. I work for you.’
His
frown deepened as he looked her up and down again. ‘Since when have jeans and a sweater been considered appropriate office attire?’
Poppy flushed at the dressing down. ‘It’s a Sunday,’ she explained, forcing herself not to tuck thick strands of her untidy brown hair behind her ear. ‘And I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be in.’ Which wasn’t really much of an explanation when he stood before her in a snowy-white dress shirt, red tie and dark trousers that did little to hide his powerful thighs.
‘Yes, it is a Sunday. So why are you here?’
‘I have a week left and I wanted to finish up a presentation for Mr Adams. He said it would be fine if I came in.’
One dark eyebrow rose. ‘Taking dedication a bit far, isn’t it?’
‘Not if you want to get ahead,’ she said simply. ‘And I’d love to work here when I graduate. Being flexible and committed are just two of the things interns can do to stand out.’
Sure that he was about to toss her out of his office, maybe via one of those plate glass windows, she was surprised when instead he asked, ‘What are the others?’
‘Be punctual, treat the position like a job and dress for success.’ She ticked off each item on her fingers.
His gaze fell to her ancient skinny jeans and Poppy tried not to cringe. When she had first started at SJC five weeks ago she had imagined one day meeting this man, who was reported to be some sort of corporate god, but in her imaginings it hadn’t quite gone like this.
‘Broke that one, I see,’ he said sardonically.
Poppy felt heat creep into her cheeks and realised that her heart was beating at double its normal rate. Probably ‘finding your boss attractive’ wasn’t on that special intern’s list either, and she tried to crank up the wheels of her sluggish brain to think of a way to salvage the rapidly deteriorating situation.
When the phone rang on his desk it broke the taught silence between them and also threw Poppy a welcome lifeline.
‘Let me get that,’ she said in her most businesslike manner.
Before he could respond, she had made it to his desk and snatched up the phone. She smiled widely at him as she chirped, ‘Mr Castiglione’s office,’ in her most professional voice.
Her smile dimmed as she strained to listen to the teary sound of a woman on the other end of the line. She had a heavily accented voice and, coupled with her distress, Poppy could just make out, ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ and, ‘Is Sebastiano in?’
‘Yes, he is here,’ Poppy said, all too aware that the man they were discussing had not taken his eyes off her. ‘Yes, of course. Just a moment.’ Not knowing which button on the handset was the mute, she held out the phone. ‘It’s for you,’ she half-whispered.
Once more his eyebrow climbed his forehead. ‘What a surprise.’
Feeling as if she had mucked up again, she stepped back from his radiating warmth as he moved closer and took the phone.
‘Yes?’ he barked into it.
Seeing his scowl instantly deepen, Poppy decided to take the initiative and make him a coffee. She had noticed the red light glowing on the coffee machine in his outer office and, since there was no cup on his desk, it stood to reason that he’d intended to make one but hadn’t had the time.
Well, she would fix that and earn herself some Brownie points in the process. Maybe some of the ones she had lost handing him a call that, now that she thought about, was most likely from his current girlfriend. Or ex, given that the woman was crying. His short-term conquests were the stuff of legend around the office. As was the expensive break-up-and-move-on jewellery he supposedly got Paula to buy for them at the end.