It was easier to focus on incidentals because, despite her cool demeanour, Ariana could feel the crackle in the air that denoted thunder, and as the door closed on Luna, she stared at the pretty dish as she re-crossed her legs at the ankles.
‘Ariana.’ Gian’s voice was seemingly smooth but there was a barbed edge to his tone that tempted her to retrieve her bag and simply run. Gian carried on, ‘Before we continue this conversation, can I make one thing supremely clear?’
‘Of course,’ Ariana said. Unable to look at him any longer, she reached for a glass.
‘Your mother had no right to imply or suggest that I would be anything other than professional with the work experience girl—or, in fact, any of my staff!’
‘Well, you do have a formidable reputation...’ Ariana started and raised the glass to her lips.
‘With women,’ Gian interrupted and then tartly added, ‘Not teenage girls, which you were back then.’
Ariana nodded, the glass still hovering by her mouth. Even as he told her off, even as he scolded her for going too far, there was something else that had been said there—that she was different now compared to then.
She was a woman.
And Gian De Luca was a very good-looking man.
She had known that, of course. His undoubtedly handsome looks had always been there—something she had registered, but only at a surface level. Yet today it had felt as if she’d been handed a pair of magical eyeglasses and she wanted to weep as she saw colour for the first time.
He was beautiful.
Exquisitely so.
His jet-black hair framed a haughty face, and his mouth, though unsmiling, was plump in contrast to the razor-sharp cheekbones and straight nose.
She could not be in lust with Gian and work for him—that would never ever do!
She wanted to pull off those imaginary glasses, to be plunged back into a monotone world, where Gian De Luca was just, well...
Gian.
Not a name she wanted to roll on her tongue.
Not a mouth she now wanted to taste.
He was just Gian, she reminded herself.
The person she ran to when trouble loomed large.
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. ‘What are you 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 the difficult 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, almost apologetic now, because an application from Ariana Romano should have 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,’
