‘You took her place?’ Cesare’s tone held a spiky note she didn’t bother to analyse.
‘For two weeks. Jo couldn’t afford to lose the job. She goes back next week.’
‘I thought you said you had your own job.’
‘I do.’
Ida chewed her lip, thinking of the customer base she’d built up through hard work, and the efforts she and Jo had made to retain that. Ida had worked all hours between the bar and her cleaning jobs, trying to juggle everything. Jo had pitched in when she was well enough, taking over some of Ida’s night shift office-cleaning, which was why Ida hadn’t expected her at home last night.
Yet even if Ida returned to London it would need to be to a completely different area if she wanted to stay under the radar. She’d have to give up her clients and start from scratch.
‘Ida?’
Cesare regarded her with a curious look on his face, one she couldn’t identify. ‘You were only working there while your friend was sick?’
It was none of his business, but she was tired of shoring up the barriers between them.
‘For a fortnight. Last night was my last shift and she’ll go back in two days. Do you know how long the mail will take?’
He stared at her as if puzzling something out. But what was there to puzzle? He’d made up his mind about her character years before.
Unless he intended to rescind his suggestion for an affair? Maybe the fact she’d worked in the barhadprompted the suggestion after all.
Ida’s pulse quickened, not in excitement but, to her amazement, with nerves. As if she didn’t want him to change his mind. She took her time digesting that.
Instead of being outraged at Cesare’s proposition she felt intrigued.
Tempted.
‘Forget the mail,’ he said brusquely. ‘Give it all to Dorotea to package up and I’ll have it delivered.’
‘I’ll write out the address and—’
‘I have it.’
Ida frowned. He sounded out of sorts, grumpier than before, though why that should be she had no idea.
‘Great. Thanks. I’ll get them.’
Cesare shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and watched her go, trying to tamp down his wholly masculine response to her gently swaying hips and the swish of that skirt around her bare legs. The pearlescent gleam of her bare shoulders and the combination of bright, upswept hair revealing a slender neck drove a punch of longing into his gut.
His jaw firmed. It didn’t matter what she looked like. She was still the woman who’d helped blackmail him for his money and connections.
Except she hasn’t tried to get anything from you in years.
Only because she had Calogero to fall back on until they fell out. And the prospect of a healthy divorce settlement to look forward to.
Cesare dragged his hands from his pockets and opened the French doors, needing fresh air. He stepped outside, breathing in the scents of sunshine on old stonework and freshly mown grass. Of all the exquisite, expensive perfumes his luxury goods company produced, none compared to the scent of home. This place grounded him.
To think he’d almost lost it, along with everything his family had worked for, because of Calogero.
Yet it wasn’t relief he felt. His emotions were in turmoil, buffeted by Ida’s revelations.
Her fear of her grandfather’s henchman evoked sympathy. The way she’d stood up to Cesare appealed too, even as it frustrated him. It felt like drawing blood from a stone, getting information from her.
Why would she want to share with you? She doesn’t like you. Just as you don’t like her.
And yet...