Within half an hour they knew where they could locate George, and after an hour and a half—during which time they sat in a very modern, very nice restaurant in front of cups of coffee, with Alessandro working via his smartphone and Kate pretending to be hard at it in front of her tablet—George came to meet them.
A wearily resigned George, who had obviously sussed why they had landed up in Toronto and at the hospital.
Kate’s heart went out to the older man. He was in one of his usual trademark brightly coloured outfits. She had always smiled at that. Even when he was in a suit his shirt was always jolly, his tie was always patterned, his hankies were always ridiculously gimmicky. He had told her once, laughing, that his wife chose his shirts, his daughter chose his handkerchiefs and his grandchildren chose his socks. So what chance did he ever have of looking debonair?
He seemed to have shrunk—or maybe she was only noticing that now because he looked so weary.
‘I know why you’ve come,’ were his opening words as he sat opposite them with a cup of coffee. He looked at Alessandro with resignation. ‘Of course I was going to be found out. I’d hoped that somehow I would have managed to start repaying what I... I want to say what I borrowed, but I realize, Mr Preda, that you probably won’t see it that way...’
‘You have no idea how I’m going to see it, George. So why don’t you start from the beginning and leave nothing out...?’
* * *
It was after six by the time their day was done. And every second of it had been spent at a high-voltage pace that had left Kate breathless, barely able to keep up.
Now, as she tripped along in Alessandro’s wake, she ran her fingers through her hair, which had unravelled, been scooped back up again, and then unravelled again—so heaven only knew what she looked like now. Not the consummate professional, she was betting.
‘Alessandro...’ she breathed, only realizing afterwards that it was the first time she had addressed him by his Christian name without feeling awkward.
Alessandro stopped en route to his very patient driver, who had been on call throughout the day and was probably as exhausted as she was.
He shot her an expressive and very wry look. ‘Well? Get it over and done with...’
‘What?’
‘A tender-hearted comment about my soft side... Have I turned into one of those, caring, sharing touchy-feely types who do foot massages for their loved ones every evening before running them a hot bath and cooking them a slap-up meal?’
‘I have seen a different side to you...’
‘Same side as always,’ Alessandro told her drily. ‘You’re just choosing to interpret it in a different way. There would have been no point prosecuting George.’
‘You did more than just not prosecute him,’ she pointed out.
But she wasn’t going to run away with a long explanation of exactly what had transpired over the past few hours. He might tell her that he had been as tough in his dealings as he always was, but he hadn’t.
George’s granddaughter was ill. Tears had sprung to his eyes as he had described the speed of little Imogen’s disease and their dismay when they had discovered that the prognosis in the UK was not favourable.
They had scoured the internet—searching for hope, really—and it had come in the form of a revolutionary breakthrough treatment in Toronto. But it was treatment that came at a price, and hence his dipping into money that didn’t belong to him. Because he had already used all his savings—every scrap of money that had been put aside for his retirement—on the initial consultations and the first lot of treatment.
Alessandro could have listened and stuck to the programme: You ripped me off and you’re out—save your excuses for the judge.
Even at her most optimistic she’d thought he might have acquitted George of blame, understood the extenuating circumstances and been sympathetic when it came to a repayment scheme.
Instead, he had not only heard the older man out and absolved him of having to repay the debt, but he had taken charge of everything. He had dealt with the bank, set up an account for George’s daughter, then spoken to the hospital, assured them that the treatment would be covered whatever the cost. He had also—and this had made her heart constrict—informed George that he would not have to see out his old age in penury.
Alessandro Preda, a hard man in the world of finance, a guy who was ruthless in his business dealings, had gone beyond the bounds of duty.
‘True,’ he agreed, stepping aside so that she could precede him into the car. ‘And of course he should have spoken to me before he did what he did...’ He sprawled back against the door, facing her, his handsome, lean face amused and speculative.
‘But all’s well that ends well...’ Kate inserted hurriedly. ‘Although we didn’t get to visit your client. Will that be on the agenda for tomorrow?’
‘Tell me you’re not about to stick on your business hat after the day we’ve had?’
Kate licked her lips, nervously aware of his eyes fastened to her face. She had completely forgotten throughout the course of the day that she had to be careful when she was around him. She had seen another side to him and had been swept away by the revelation.
Which didn’t change the fact that she still heartily disapproved of him on a number of fronts...
‘Because I’m too tired to start thinking about cutting deals...’
‘Of course.’
‘And I’m surprised you don’t feel the same.’
‘I suppose I could do with a little downtime...’
‘Splendid. Because tonight we’ll go out for dinner, do a little city exploring. We can both knock business on the head for a couple of hours—wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Dinner...? City exploring...?’ she asked, dry-mouthed.
‘Or you can call it “downtime”. Whatever you prefer. And you’re not going to be wearing a suit.’
‘But that’s pretty much all I—’
‘Then use the company account to buy something more suitable to wear. You have got a company account, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Then it’s settled. Today has been a day full of surprises,’ he murmured, in a soft voice that was as devastating to her senses as a caress. ‘I’ve surprised you. Now it’s your turn to surprise me... Be someone more than just the prim and proper busy little bee. Do you think you can do that? Or is it too much of an ask...?’
“IS IT TOO much of an ask?”
If he had just insisted on dinner, ignored her protests, basically commanded her to relax in his company, then reluctantly she would have agreed, because she would have had no choice. And she would have donned one of her various suits because it was vitally important to maintain the boundary lines between them.
Boundary lines that, yet again, were in danger of being breached.
But that amused, mocking, “Is it too much of an ask?” question had got her back up.
How buttoned up did he think she was? Did he imagine that she was incapable of ever letting her hair down? Did he think that she was such a dull Miss Prim and Proper, glued to her tablet, that she quailed at the prospect of shedding her work clothes and taking time out to be a normal young woman?
Or