‘No. Not that there’s anything wrong with cleaning,’ she defended fiercely as she thought of all her fellow workers at the Top Kleen agency, some of whom squeezed in as many hours as they could while juggling life and work and babies in the most adverse conditions imaginable. ‘As it happens, I actually have a day-job. I work for a big sales company and I’m training to be an office manager, but…’ Her words tailed off.
‘But?’ His voice was silken as he prompted her.
She forced herself to confront the dazzling sapphire blaze of his eyes. ‘My job isn’t particularly well paid. And living in London is expensive. So I top up my salary with a little cleaning work on the side.’ Jessica shrugged. ‘Lots of people do it.’
Not in his world, they didn’t—but didn’t her relatively impoverished state make his idea a little less audacious? Maybe they could both do each other a favour.
His eyes flickered over to the rain-splattered window which overlooked the glittering lights of London as he began to wonder what her hair was like underneath that hideous scarf. It might, he thought, be shorn close to her head and coloured in a variety of shades. In which case his suggestion would never be made—for it was inconceivable that Salvatore Cardini would ever be seen out in public with a woman like that!
‘How do you get home from here?’ he questioned idly.
How did he think she got home? By helicopter? ‘By bus.’
‘You’ll get wet.’
She followed the direction of his gaze. Droplets were scudding down the window and the rain was so thick that you could barely make out the distant buildings beyond. It really was the foulest of nights. ‘Looks that way. But that’s okay—I’m used to it. Don’t they say that rainwater is good for the skin—counteracts all the bad effects of central heating?’
Salvatore ignored the attempt at small talk. ‘I’ll get my driver to drop you off home. He’s waiting outside for me to finish.’
Jessica found herself flushing. ‘No, honestly, sir—that’s fine. I’ve got my brolly and a waterproof—’
‘Just accept it,’ he clipped out. ‘What time do you finish?’
‘Usually around eight—depends how quickly I work.’
‘Make it seven-thirty,’ he instructed.
‘But—’
‘No arguments.’ Salvatore glanced at the expensive gold timepiece which gleamed against his wrist and his mouth hardened into an odd kind of smile. ‘Consider it done,’ he drawled.
And punching out a number on his telephone, he began to speak rapidly in Italian before turning his back on her—as if she was of no real consequence at all.
JESSICA carried on working at an increased pace in order to get everything done in time, but something had changed and it wasn’t just because she was alone in the office with Salvatore. Reserve and shyness had entered her body along with the rapid thunder of her heart as it suddenly occurred to her what she had agreed to. It was like every wistful daydream come true—her gorgeous boss was insisting on giving her a lift home in his chauffeur-driven limo!
And what, Jessica?
You think this is the powerful Sicilian’s not-so-subtle attempt to get you, his office cleaner, alone away from the office? Maybe so that he can try to seduce you? Yes, sure he is—and he won’t really be collecting you in a car at all, but in a glass carriage!
Just accept his generosity with good grace, she told herself as she removed a smear from the coffee machine with a fierce wipe. Enjoy the novelty of a trip home in a luxurious car—it’ll make up for all the patronising remarks he made earlier.
At seven thirty on the dot, she picked up her bucket and cleared her throat. ‘I’ll go and get changed then, sir,’ she said, feeling faintly foolish. ‘Er, shall I meet you downstairs?’
‘Mmm?’ Salvatore glanced up at her, his eyes narrowing as if he’d forgotten she was there. ‘Yes, sure. Where?’
‘Do you know where the back entrance is? It’s a bit tricky to find.’
There wasn’t a flicker of reaction on his rugged features. ‘Not really, but no doubt I can manage without a map,’ he said drily. ‘The car will be waiting and I don’t like to wait. So don’t be long.’
‘I won’t,’ said Jessica, and sped off.
But her heart was thundering as she pulled off her pink overall and untied the scarf, wishing that she were wearing something other than a plain skirt and jumper with a great big waterproof coat to put on top.
Yet why should she? This wasn’t the kind of job that you dressed up for—dressed down for, more like. She took off her flat black shoes and put them in the locker along with her overall and scarf, then set about brushing her hair—which was her one redeeming feature. It fell to her shoulders and, although it was a rather boring shade of brown, it was good and thick and nearly always shiny.
Jessica squinted into the mirror. Her face looked pale and drained without make-up but she found the end of a tube of lip gloss at the bottom of her handbag and her fingers hovered over it with hesitation.
Would it look a little obvious, as if she might be expecting something, if she applied some make-up? But suddenly, Jessica didn’t care. A woman had her pride, and even if she happened to be wearing cheap clothes then surely it wasn’t a crime to want to make the best of a very bad job.
Fortunately, because she had knocked off slightly early, there was no one else around. None of the other cleaners offering to walk to the bus-stop with her—or, worse, witness her sliding into the back seat of a fancy car.
Why, to any other member of staff it would look… Jessica went pink around the ears. It would look highly suspicious and throw a not very flattering light on her character.
But there was no time for any further doubts. He had specifically told her not to be late, so she grabbed her bag and hurried out. And sure enough there sat a long, low limousine purring like a mighty cat by the back entrance.
Jessica gulped down the dryness in the back of her throat. It was odd to think of someone regarding this kind of car as normal—when in her world it was the type of vehicle which was usually used for weddings.
Convulsively, her fingers clenched around the strap of her handbag. Weddings? Weddings? Now what on earth had made that thought pop into her head? Probably because Salvatore had rather surprisingly asked her whether she was married. And why had he wanted to know that?
But there was no time for further thought because a uniformed chauffeur was actually opening the door of the luxury car—for her!
‘Thanks very much,’ she said hurriedly, trying to slide into the back of the car as decorously as possible—something which wasn’t especially easy since Salvatore was sitting on the other end of the soft leather seat, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. His arms were crossed and she couldn’t make out the expression on his face because the interior of the car was shadowed, but she saw the glint in his narrowed eyes as he watched her.
‘So here you are,’ he murmured, though his initial thought was one of disappointment. His crazy scheme was just that, he realised. Crazy. With her cheap and bulky coat concealing her slight frame and her pale face she looked just what she was. Ordinary. There was no way that this young woman could accompany him to anything, other than perhaps to help carry his shopping in to the apartment. Who would believe that a man like him was dating a woman like her? Nobody with more than one brain cell, that was for sure. ‘Where do you live?’
Jessica sat bolt upright. ‘Shepherd’s Bush.’ She gave the