details.
Isobel sighed and disconnected from the internet. She would find out the truth, she told herself with determination, and she would start by putting some questions to Marco tonight over dinner.
With that thought in mind, she got to her feet and went inside to get ready.
It was strange… She was usually so eager to get a story, and not at all nervous. But as she headed downstairs a little while later her confident business mood felt as if it was evaporating—a fact that wasn’t helped when she rounded a corner and caught sight of her reflection in the hallway mirror. The black skirt and blouse she was wearing were OK for the office, but for dinner with Marco they seemed suddenly lamentably dull.
Isobel frowned. She had interviewed a lot of different people over the years, and this was the first time she had ever worried about what she was wearing! Usually she was totally focused on getting the story. And that was how she should be now, she told herself firmly. It wasn’t as if she was out to impress Marco—which was just as well, considering his usual dinner companions were movie stars and models. This was just work.
Trying to forget the stupid undercurrents that were whirring around inside her, she held her head high and moved down the corridor in search of her quarry.
A door was open a little further along, and as she looked in she saw Marco sitting behind a desk in a large book-lined study. He was immersed in paperwork and didn’t hear her until she knocked on the door. Then he sat back and smiled.
Something about that lazy, casual smile and the way his gaze drifted over her appearance made her senses start to spin. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…’
‘That’s OK—I’m just finished. Come on in,’ he invited.
It entertained him to watch her reactions to him—she was so cautious, like a gazelle poised for flight. And even her dress sense seemed to verge on the side of caution. She looked smart, but in a very efficient, non-sexual way. The black top she was wearing was loose and completely hid her curves. Anyone would think she was scared of allowing a man to look at her body, he thought. And why did she insist on scraping her hair back into a ponytail like that?
Isobel tried to pretend that she didn’t notice the analytical way he was dissecting her appearance, but she could feel herself tensing even more. OK, she knew she was not model material, but he had no right to look at her like that!
‘So, what are you working on?’
Her voice was deliberately cool and businesslike, and he laughed. ‘With a question like that, I take it you’re still working as well?’
‘Well…that
is
why I’m here.’ She tried to angle her head up in a way that told him that she didn’t care what he thought about her—that there might be a million women in France who would give anything to be here in his company and would probably dress up for him, but she wasn’t one of them. She was totally work-orientated.
To her consternation he just kept looking at her, with that gleam in the darkness of his eyes, as if she were a very interesting sub-species and as if to say,
I know you’re not immune to me.
But that was in her imagination, she warned herself hastily. Maybe he looked at every woman with that same provocative gleam in his eye.
‘So, you were telling me what you are working on?’ She tried to jog him lightly into continuing.
‘I wasn’t, actually,’ he replied with amusement. ‘But seeing as you are enquiring so…nicely…I’ll tell you. I’m putting a deal together to buy a French company called Cheri Bon.’
‘The name rings a bell…’ She frowned. ‘Oh, yes—I read about them last year. It’s a confectionery company that started out as a small family-run concern and made it big very quickly. Didn’t they get into financial trouble because they’d overstretched themselves?’
‘Well done.’ He looked impressed. ‘Obviously all that reading material next to your
Isobel sighed and disconnected from the internet. She would find out the truth, she told herself with determination, and she would start by putting some questions to Marco tonight over dinner.
With that thought in mind, she got to her feet and went inside to get ready.
It was strange… She was usually so eager to get a story, and not at all nervous. But as she headed downstairs a little while later her confident business mood felt as if it was evaporating—a fact that wasn’t helped when she rounded a corner and caught sight of her reflection in the hallway mirror. The black skirt and blouse she was wearing were OK for the office, but for dinner with Marco they seemed suddenly lamentably dull.
Isobel frowned. She had interviewed a lot of different people over the years, and this was the first time she had ever worried about what she was wearing! Usually she was totally focused on getting the story. And that was how she should be now, she told herself firmly. It wasn’t as if she was out to impress Marco—which was just as well, considering his usual dinner companions were movie stars and models. This was just work.
Trying to forget the stupid undercurrents that were whirring around inside her, she held her head high and moved down the corridor in search of her quarry.
A door was open a little further along, and as she looked in she saw Marco sitting behind a desk in a large book-lined study. He was immersed in paperwork and didn’t hear her until she knocked on the door. Then he sat back and smiled.
Something about that lazy, casual smile and the way his gaze drifted over her appearance made her senses start to spin. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…’
‘That’s OK—I’m just finished. Come on in,’ he invited.
It entertained him to watch her reactions to him—she was so cautious, like a gazelle poised for flight. And even her dress sense seemed to verge on the side of caution. She looked smart, but in a very efficient, non-sexual way. The black top she was wearing was loose and completely hid her curves. Anyone would think she was scared of allowing a man to look at her body, he thought. And why did she insist on scraping her hair back into a ponytail like that?
Isobel tried to pretend that she didn’t notice the analytical way he was dissecting her appearance, but she could feel herself tensing even more. OK, she knew she was not model material, but he had no right to look at her like that!
‘So, what are you working on?’
Her voice was deliberately cool and businesslike, and he laughed. ‘With a question like that, I take it you’re still working as well?’
‘Well…that
is
why I’m here.’ She tried to angle her head up in a way that told him that she didn’t care what he thought about her—that there might be a million women in France who would give anything to be here in his company and would probably dress up for him, but she wasn’t one of them. She was totally work-orientated.
To her consternation he just kept looking at her, with that gleam in the darkness of his eyes, as if she were a very interesting sub-species and as if to say,
I know you’re not immune to me.
But that was in her imagination, she warned herself hastily. Maybe he looked at every woman with that same provocative gleam in his eye.
‘So, you were telling me what you are working on?’ She tried to jog him lightly into continuing.
‘I wasn’t, actually,’ he replied with amusement. ‘But seeing as you are enquiring so…nicely…I’ll tell you. I’m putting a deal together to buy a French company called Cheri Bon.’
‘The name rings a bell…’ She frowned. ‘Oh, yes—I read about them last year. It’s a confectionery company that started out as a small family-run concern and made it big very quickly. Didn’t they get into financial trouble because they’d overstretched themselves?’
‘Well done.’ He looked impressed. ‘Obviously all that reading material next to your
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