‘Which is just about the most hopeless piece of negotiation I’ve witnessed in a long time,’ he snapped. ‘What exactly do you want the money for, Rosie?’
She moved a little awkwardly, which had the unfortunate effect of making his gaze want to stray to the luscious swell of her breasts, which managed to transform a perfectly ordinary sweater into one of the most provocative pieces of clothing he’d ever seen. But, with a huge effort of will, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on her face.
‘I’d rather not say.’
‘Tough, because I’d rather you would. I might even make it a condition.’ He flicked her a disdainful look. ‘Or maybe you think you have the monopoly on conditions, Rosie?’
For a moment she seemed about to object, but maybe she realised she was on shaky ground because she chewed her bottom lip, before nodding in silent assent.
‘It’s to pay off the debts and buy Mum a house,’ she said at last. ‘Once the court judgement against her has been settled. She’s renting a cheap bedsit in the middle of London at the moment and we’d like her to have a little cottage in the country, near to where her sister lives.’
Corso leaned back in his chair, her selfless declaration taking him by surprise, reluctantly forcing him to reassess his jaundiced view of her. Because he didn’t want to think of her as thoughtful, or caring. In fact, he didn’t want to think about her at all. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you told me how she got herself into so much debt?’ he probed. ‘Since you’re expecting me to bankroll her future.’
Rosie wanted to tell him it was none of his business, but she could see that maybe it was. In a way, she hadmadeit his business, by asking him to increase his offer. And if she didn’t tell him, he would find out soon enough—if he were so inclined. So why not give him her version—even if there wasn’t really a way of conveying the facts which didn’t make her mother look a little sad?
She hoped her shrug hid the pain—because that was the trouble with remembering. It hurt. ‘My mother was never the same after Dad died.’
‘They were that rare thing,’ he observed. ‘A married couple who seemed genuinely to care for one another.’
She wondered if she had imagined the bitterness in his voice—but it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing she could ask him about, was it? ‘Yes, they did. They cared for each other very deeply. That’s probably why she missed him so badly after he died. She felt lost without him. She went to pieces and never seemed to put herself back together again. Way too soon after his death she went onto an online dating site to try to find herself a new partner—desperately looking to replace what she had with Dad.’ She hesitated. ‘So that, unfortunately, the predictable happened.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘The predictable being, what?’
She wanted to tell him to use his imagination, but what was the point? She didn’t think Corso would have a clue what she was talking about. He didn’t operate in the same kind of world she lived in and she doubted whether he evenhadan imagination. ‘She lost her heart to a man she’d never even met. How insane is that?’
‘Losingyour heart to anyone is something I’ve never understood,’ he said, his voice edged with acid. ‘But yes, that kind of behaviour is particularly insane.’ He leaned back in the sumptuous leather chair, the spring sunshine streaming in from the tall windows and setting the thick mane of his hair on fire. ‘So what happened?’
‘She gave him money every time he came up with yet another excuse about why he wasn’t able to meet her in person.’ Rosie gave a hollow laugh as the long-repressed words rushed from her mouth and she realised she’d never talked about it with anyone else, other than her sister. She had hidden it away, like a dirty little secret. ‘It was the usual story. He was expecting a bank transfer which had been held up. He was due a huge inheritance any day. An ex-partner owed him hundreds of thousands of pounds. To an outsider it would have sounded exactly what it was—a blatant lie and a scam. But whatever he told her, she believed him. She was putty in his hands—blinded by longing and influenced by the three most manipulative words in the English language.’
‘Those words being?’
‘Oh, come on.’ She met the question in his eyes. ‘Do you really not knowthat, Corso?’
He lifted his shoulders expressively. ‘I love you?’
And the craziest thing of all was that Rosie started wondering what it would be like if the flame-haired King were actually making that statement to her and that hemeantit—rather than as a scornful query. She shuddered. What was thematterwith her? Was she in danger of behaving as foolishly as her mother?
‘You’ve got it in one,’ she answered flippantly. ‘By the time Bianca and I found out, it was too late. She’d lost everything—and more.’ It had made her think a lot about grief. About loneliness. And for a while it had made her think that maybe she was lucky to have escaped all that. That maybe relationships weren’t everything they were cracked up to be, if you could hurt so badly once they ended.
She looked at Corso and perhaps she was hoping for a smidgeon of understanding or empathy in his eyes, but she could read nothing in that hard, metallic gaze.
‘Then perhaps we should acknowledge that my intervention is timely,’ was all he said. ‘And think about where we’re headed, going forward.’
Rosie sat up very straight. ‘Does that mean you agree to my price?’
‘You might want to think carefully about how you express yourself,’ he advised caustically. ‘Unless your intention is to make yourself sound like a commodity in the marketplace, being offered to the highest bidder.’
Corso heard her shocked intake of breath and, though something was urging him to go gently on her, he did not heed it. She was not the Rosie he remembered. She had become someone he didn’t know. She looked different. She sounded different. ‘Yes, I agree to your price,’ he continued coldly. ‘And because of that you will agree to my terms.’
A soft knock on the door interrupted him in mid-flow and, with a flicker of irritation, Corso looked up to see his assistant standing in the doorway. ‘Yes, Ivana—what is it?’
‘I have the Maraban ambassador on the line.’
He waved an impatient hand through the air. ‘Give me five minutes.’ As the door closed behind his assistant, he returned his gaze to Rosie. ‘You will meet me in Paris in exactly one week’s time.’
‘No way. I can’t just walk out of my job that quickly,’ she protested.
‘This is the deal. Take it or leave it. It’s not up for negotiation. We are showing the collection in three major cities—Paris, New York and London—and I want you there from the start. One of my assistants can liaise directly with your employers about temporarily replacing you, if that makes it simpler.’