They looked at each other. His thick black hair was so superbly cut that as she looked up at him she felt the oddest temptation to raise her hand and simply touch it, and to see if it fell back into perfect shape, but of course impulse had no place here, and anyway it was just a thought. But that made it a red button that said do not touch, and consequently made her itch to do so. ‘Including you?’ she persisted.
‘This is an interview, Ariana, the purpose of which is to find out more about you, not the other way around.’
Under her breath she muttered, ‘Your life is an interview then.’
‘Pardon?’
‘It just dawned on me, Gian, that you know an awful lot about me, but I know practically nothing about you.’
‘Good,’ he clipped.
It wasn’t good, though. Suddenly there was a whole lot that Ariana wanted to know about him, and her heart suddenly stopped with its ungainly trot and kicked into a gallop.
He angered her.
Only that wasn’t quite right, because anger didn’t make her thighs suddenly clamp, or her lips ache. And anger didn’t make her knickers damp or give her an urge to kiss that haughty, arrogant face. This was something else entirely, though her voice when she spoke was indeed cross. ‘Are you going to hire me or not, Gian?’
‘I am hesitant to.’
While he wanted to afford her a new start, Ariana working here spelt Trouble.
In more ways than one.
Yes, she was airy and spoilt and brattish, but he could almost feel the prickle of her under his skin and that was an attraction that was safer to deny. ‘If it doesn’t work out—’ he started.
‘It will work out,’ she broke in. ‘I shall make it so!’
And I will push all thoughts of fancying you aside, Ariana hurriedly thought.
‘You would still have to do the twelve-week induction.’ He wasn’t asking, he was telling. ‘It is mandatory that all my guest services staff have personally worked in every area of the hotel.’
‘Yes.’ Ariana nodded. ‘I’ll do the induction.’
‘If you are successful in your introductory period then there might be a position as a guest services assistant...’
‘But—’
‘My managers earn their titles, Ariana.’ He watched two spots of colour start to burn on her cheeks. ‘And there will be no favours and no concessions. From this point on, the trajectory of your career is in your hands. You will report on Monday at seven to Vanda, who deals with staff training, and any issues you have, you take to her, not me.’
‘Of course.’
He wasn’t sure she got it, though. ‘Ariana, this is my hotel, and I separate things, so if you work here you must understand that I don’t deal with the grumbles of minor staff. I don’t want to hear about your day; I simply do not want to know. I don’t want to hear you can’t handle vomit or difficult guests. You take it up with Vanda. Not my problem...’
‘Of course.’
‘And there shall be no stopping by my office for champagne. That stops today! In fact, as of now there will be no need to drop by my office at all.’
She pouted. ‘You said I could always come to you.’
He had.
And over the years she had.
Not all her confessionals took place in his office, though. They went way further back than that.
Once in Luctano, an eight-year-old Ariana, too scared to confide in her older brother Dante, had admitted to an eighteen-year-old Gian that she had stolen chocolate from the local store. She wouldn’t tell him why, just pleaded with him not to tell her father or Dante.
‘First, explain to me why you stole,’ Gian had persisted. ‘You have the money to pay.’
‘Stefano dared me to,’ Ariana had admitted. ‘I haven’t eaten it, though. The chocolate is still under my bed, but I feel ill when I try to say my prayers...’
Gian had taken her in to the store and Ariana had duly apologised and paid for the chocolate, and, no, he had not told Dante or Rafael. Instead he’d had a quiet word with Stefano. ‘You want to steal,’ he had said to the young boy, ‘then at least have the guts to do it yourself.’
Another time, some years later, Stefano had been caught smoking and Ariana had arrived here in Gian’s office and begged him to impersonate her father when the school inevitably rang.
‘Why would they ring here?’ Gian had frowned.
‘Because I told Stefano to say that Papà is here at La Fiordelise on business.’
Ariana was a minx and far too skilled at lying. Gian had of course declined to cover for Stefano, and had spoken to Rafael himself.
There was always drama surrounding Ariana, though it was not always of her own making—just two years ago, in the midst of her parents’ scandalous divorce, she had found out that her father was ill and Ariana had sat in Gian’s office, being fed tissues but not false promises.
Yes, he had kept his door open to her, but—
‘If I hire you,’ Gian said, very carefully, ‘all that stops.’
And suddenly, if the safety net of Gian was going to be removed, Ariana didn’t know if she wanted her career any more—not that he seemed to notice her dilemma.
‘Who the hell orders champagne at a job interview?’ Gian mused.
‘It was my first ever interview,’ Ariana admitted. ‘I sensed your irritation and was trying to drag things out.’
‘Well done, you, then,’ Gian said, and then sighed because he did not need Ariana under his precious roof, and the drama that would undoubtedly entail. ‘Why here, Ariana? Why La Fiordelise, Rome?’
‘Because I love it,’ she admitted. She looked up at the high ceilings and the gilded mirrors and the beauty that never failed to capture her heart. There was a sense of peace and calm that Gian had created, a haven that somehow made her feel safe. ‘I am sure your other hotels are stunning—in
