She put her glass down on the small coaster as she attempted to push her inappropriate thoughts aside and rescue the interview. ‘Mamma didn’t mean it, Gian. You know what she can be like...’
‘Yes.’ Gian held in a pained sigh. ‘I do.’
Too well he recalled joining the Romanos at their dinner table as a small boy.‘Straccione,’Angela would say, ruffling his hair as he took a seat at the table. It had sounded like an affectionate tease; after all, how could the son of a duke and duchess be a ragamuffin and a beggar?
Except Angela had found the cruellest knife to dig into his heart, and she knew how to twist it, for Gian had always felt like a beggar for company.
Gian wasn’t quite sure why Angela rattled him so much.
Ariana did too, albeit it in an increasingly different way.
He did not want Ariana working here. And not just because of her precious ways but because of this...this pull, this awareness, this attraction that did not sit well with him. ‘Let’s just leave things there, shall we?’ he suggested. ‘While we’re still able to be civil. I could put you in touch with the director at Hotel Rav—’ He went to name his closest rival but Ariana cut in even before he had finished.
‘I was already offered a job there, and in several other hotels as well, but each time it was in return for some media coverage. I really don’t want cameras following me on my first day.’
‘Fair enough.’ While he understood that, the rest he didn’t get. ‘Whatareyou hoping to achieve by this, Ariana?’
‘More than I am right now,’ she said, and gave a hollow laugh.
He looked at her then.
Properly looked.
Ariana was, of course, exquisitely beautiful, with a delicate bone structure, but he suddenly noticed that rather than the trademark black eyes of her father and brothers, or the icy blue ones of her mother, Ariana’s eyes were a deep navy-violet, almost as if they’d tried to get from blue to black, but had surrendered just shy of arrival.
Gian rather wished he hadn’t noticed the beguiling colour of them and rapidly diverted his gaze back to her résumé.
‘Why don’t you formally interview me?’ Ariana suggested. ‘As if we don’t know each other. Surely you can do that?’
‘Of course, but if you want an honest interview, what happens if you are not successful?’ She wouldn’t be, he knew, but as he looked up she held his gaze as she answered.
‘Then I shall walk away, knowing I tried.’
Walk away, Gian wanted to warn her, for there was a sudden energy between them that could never end well.
He scanned through her supposed work experience and attempted to wipe out a lifetime of history so they could face each other as two strangers. In the end, he reverted to his usual interview technique. ‘Tell me about a recent time when you had to deal with a difficult client or contact...’
She wouldn’t be able to, Gian was certain.
‘Well...’ Ariana thought for a moment. ‘I wanted an interview with the owner of a very prestigious hotel, but I did not want to utilise my family contacts as I felt that would do me no favours.’
Gian felt his lips tighten when it became clear that she was speaking about trying to get in contact with him. ‘Ariana,’ he cut in, ‘may I suggest that you don’t make the person interviewing you thedifficult contact.’
‘But he was difficult. My goal was to get a full audience,’ Ariana continued, ‘and so I sent in my résumé, but when I heard nothing back...’
‘You sent in an application?’ Gian started scrolling through his computer,almostapologetic now, because an application from Ariana Romanoshouldhave been flagged—at the very least so he could personally reject her. ‘Vanda has been on leave over the festive period...’ He paused, for he could find nothing. ‘When did you send it?’
‘This morning,’ Ariana replied, and then took a sip of her champagne.
‘This morning.’ Gian sighed, and leaned back in his chair. He looked upon the epitome of instant gratification. When Ariana wanted something she wanted it now!
‘So, when I heard nothing back, I printed off my résumé and took it to him personally.’
‘And what was the result?’
‘I made him smile,’ Ariana said.
‘No,’ Gian corrected, ‘you didn’t.’