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“I’m pretty sure they’d stretch themselves to do this, though,” Marco continued. “And at the very least, by throwing their hat into the ring, they’re going to make it harder for you to play hardball. If they can’t get the company, they’ll drive the price up for us. It’s win, win, for them.”
Dante ran a hand over his jaw, nodding once. “Let’s meet again in two days,” he declared. “Guys, get the due diligence cranking. I don’t want any hold ups at our end. Marco—you know what you have to do.”
Marco’s eyes glittered when they met Dante’s. Portia shivered. Everyone stood—meeting adjourned, meaning she was free to go, and she couldn’t wait. Suddenly, she could no longer bear to be in the same room as Marco, breathing his air, hearing him speak. She had to get out.
“I’ll be at my desk,” she murmured, for Dante’s hearing alone, scooping up her things and leaving with a heavy breath of relief.
They were all so distractedby the bombshell Marco had just dropped that no one watched Portia gather her things, and no one noticed Marco watching her, but he did. He couldn’t help it.
She was wearing silk, and he’d always been a sucker for silk on a woman, the way it clung and hugged and had such a sensual feel to it. This particular blouse ran over her breasts like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination—not that he needed his imagination where Portia was concerned. He had his memories, and they were so white hot he couldn’t look at them without being burned.
Clutching several notepads and her tablet to her chest, she kept her head bent, eyes averted as she strode from the room, the design of the skirt emphasizing the curves of her bottom, so he watched her all the way to the door, just as he’d done at his place, when she’d left the other day.
Two weeks ago, he reminded himself grimly.
He remembered the date because it had been on the contracts he’d signed.
Fortunately, he’d had the Valentino rabbit-hole to disappear into since then, so he’d been able to stay busy enough not to contemplate calling her and asking her to come over and sign some other document pledging meaningless sex that they wouldn’t discuss with another soul, but hell, that didn’t mean he hadn’t had some moments of temptation.
Right now was a big one…
He took a step towards the door, figuring she’d be at her desk and the rest of the family was in here, wading through the surprise of betrayal at the hands of the Valentinos, yet again. But Raf forestalled him, drawing Marco into a conversation he couldn’t easily escape, even when thoughts of silk draped over breasts was calling to him with the intensity of a thousand sultry voices.
* * *
“Do me a favour?”Dante said, striding out of his office and pausing besides Portia’s desk.
It was a turn of phrase. Doing favours for Dante was part and parcel of her job. She paused, mid-way through typing the email and fixed her steady green gaze on him. It was strange to think that so many people found Dante intimidating. Portia had, when she’d interviewed for the job. He had one of those no-nonsense bearings that spoke of such inner-strength it was impossible not to be awed by it. But over the last eighteen months, she’d become used to that, and had even gotten beyond it. She liked Dante. They were friends, in a sense. His tragic history was something he kept close to his chest, but knowing who and what he’d lost, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. When he was hard-edged, it was because he’d had to become that way, to protect himself from further pain. And when he was soft with her, it showed how much he trusted her, that he could let his barriers down with Portia.
“Can you call Marco? Make sure he’s coming this afternoon.”
She hoped there was no betraying blush in her cheeks; her face felt warm suddenly.
“The meeting’s scheduled. I sent out formal requests via email yesterday.”
“Yeah, but this is Marco. Remember he’s got a bit of an allergy to checking emails or arriving at anything he’s supposed to be at. He’s probably in Cancun or somewhere by now. I tried, but couldn’t get through.”
Portia silently disagreed. True, she’d seen first-hand Marco’s partying lifestyle, but she’d also seen something more than that. The way he’d been at the meeting a couple of days ago had shown her that he paid more attention to the company than anyone gave him credit for. If he was right about the Valentinos, then he’d found the smoking gun when there was presumably still time to move the targets.
Dante was staring at her, waiting for her to say something. Portia floundered. What did he want?
To know Marco would be at the meeting.
Right.
Great.
“I’ll…call him,” she said, with no intention of doing any such thing. “Leave it with me.”
“Thanks.” He dipped his head, returned to his office, closing the door.
Portia stared mutinously at it before lifting the receiver off her desk phone and putting a call through to the general assistants on the floor below.
“I need you to make a call for me, Becky,” she delegated with crisp efficiency. “And please let me know if there are any problems.” With that, she shunted Marco neatly off her radar and onto someone else’s, expelling a big sigh of relief.
The meeting startedin the afternoon and ran way over the allotted time, so it was nearly half six before Portia was finished taking notes and ready to bustle back to her own desk, escaping, once again, the strange, heavy magnetism of Marco’s presence.
He had arrived only a few minutes late, dressed as though he’d stopped in on his way to dinner in Soho, all chic designer casual, messy but sexy, and she’d had to admit she was impressed by the level of information he not only brought to the meeting but knew completely off the top of his head.
