Read an Excerpt
Sicilian Engagement
By Rachel Lyndhurst, Alethea Spiridon Hopson, Kate Fall Entangled Publishing, LLC
Copyright © 2014 Rachel Lyndhurst
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-62266-218-0
CHAPTER 1
"I can't believe you put me forward for this job, Geoffrey." Lora Pryce-Howard glared at her brother as they stood in the marble-floored foyer of the Royal Grand Hotel, London. "I have a business of my own to run, in case you've forgotten."
"I know, I know." He gripped her by the elbow and whispered anxiously into her ear. His breath was hot and damp. "But I haven't got anyone else who fits the bill for this temporary assignment on my staffing agency books right now."
She recoiled from his touch and shot him a look like hot daggers. "The only person you have on your books right now is Henry the cleaner, and he's hardly qualified. What the hell made you agree to a placement like this when you knew you had nobody to fill it? Or were you that confident I'd come to the rescue?"
He let out a long breath. "We need the money really badly, remember? Mummy's care home fees are overdue, and we have to make some money fast or she'll be evicted."
"We? I've paid the last six months' worth."
"Yes, yes, sorry. Things are looking up, I promise you. It's just short-term cash flow, that's all." Geoffrey pulled a grimy handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow. "Besides, it seems a shame to waste your old nanny qualifications."
Lora chose not to mention his own erratic employment record. "It's fortunate the next month is quiet at the holistic center for me; otherwise, I wouldn't even consider helping you. My nannying days are over, and I like being my own boss."
He shoved the handkerchief back in his pocket, unfolded. "You're a fab sister, and I hate to think I'm tearing you away from all those posh ladies who need their monthly massage, but family is family."
God, her brother was an idiot, and the tight bun she had wrestled her long chestnut hair into for this nanny/PA interview was making her scalp hurt. She didn't feel particularly comfortable in her cheap black skirt suit, either, but this wasn't the first time she'd dug her brother out of an embarrassing hole, and it probably wouldn't be the last. However, she'd promised her mother she'd look after Geoffrey outside in the big, bad world so she was doing her best. Even if he was testing her sanity. "It's not just massage; it's Shiatsu body work."
There was a sudden buzz of activity as smartly dressed people flitted in and out of the heavy double doors in front of them. Leather soles and sharp heels echoed between the marble floor and vaulted ceiling.
"Oh my God." Geoffrey wiped his forehead. "It's your interview next. Best behavior now. Remember, this is the man they call 'The Shark.'"
She remembered very well. Geoffrey had gone a strange gray color when he'd first mentioned it, and he was looking decidedly queasy again now. "Oh yes, that," she said and wanted to groan at the tacky moniker. "He sounds utterly terrifying."
She had done a quick Internet search on Lorenzo Ferrante before driving into London that morning and discovered the trashy European press were all over him but rarely appeared to get a good photo shot. He was called "The Shark" because his blood was so cold that if he stopped moving, he'd suffocate. He might have a reputation for being a ruthless, heartless businessman, but she suspected in real life he was probably a five-foot twerp. More of a sardine than a shark ...
"Good luck, darling. See you back at base." There was a distinct wobble in Geoffrey's voice as he backed away toward the exit. "I'm heading off now."
"What?" The rims of his pale gray eyes were distinctly pink, a sure sign of guilt. Lora swallowed. "You're leaving me here?"
He grinned pathetically and was halfway through the door before saying, "Work to do, sweetie pie, work to do!"
Before she could utter another word, a woman in a pinstriped suit dress appeared by her side. "Miss Pryce-Howard?"
Lora looked down into the woman's pinched face. "Yes, that's me."
The woman nodded and didn't smile. "Follow me. Mr. Ferrante will see you now."
Well, she could do cold and unsmiling, too. "Good. About time," Lora said and followed the older woman to the formidable, dark wooden double doors.
Lora took a deep breath and pushed one side open. He was just a man, and she had nothing to be afraid of, but as she heard the door swish shut, her spine stiffened. Lorenzo Ferrante stood on the opposite side of an imposing mahogany boardroom table. Easily six foot plus, he leaned forward, resting his palms flat on the polished surface as he scrutinized her with glacial blue eyes.
Well, he wasn't exactly a twerp. In fact, he was more striking than anything she'd seen of him online — sharp, angular bone structure, a strong jaw as smooth and polished as the wood beneath his manicured fingertips. He had excellent hair — dark as night and cropped hard into the edges of his face. Longer on the top, the designer cut was subtle but screamed expensive. If he used product, it didn't show. The whole pristine result was effortless. His snow-white shirt was the perfect foil for his olive skin, and his charcoal black suit and tie were a sartorial warning that he was not a man to be messed with.
He was silent, looking her up and down, and then his gaze dropped to a pile of paperwork on his desk. "You're not quite what I expected."
The deep, richly accented tone of his voice knocked the wind out of her for a moment, but she regained her equilibrium and countered his rudeness. "I'm not?" She arched her eyebrows.
He looked at her again, but beyond the chill factor, his expression was unreadable. Perhaps Lorenzo Ferrante really was as cold and forbidding as his reputation suggested. 100 percent ruthless tycoon. He'd reduced grown men to tears in less than thirty seconds from the gossip she'd read, but she was a big girl and wouldn't be bullied by anyone, not even by a man who made her feel as if she was being slowly dissected with a scalpel. She swallowed hard and pasted on a smile, trying not to speculate about what kind of a father this man was to his children.
"Take a seat." He gestured to the black leather chair in front of her and then sank into a much larger executive one himself. His tone was brisk as he flicked through a sheaf of documents. "According to my paperwork, you are Miss Lora Pryce-Howard, is that correct? And you have recently finished a contract with Meridian Enterprises?"
Dear God, why had Geoffrey submitted a partially fake CV as part of this debacle? Was there no end to his stupidity? The way Lorenzo was looking at her now was even more searching than his excruciating head-to-toe appraisal when she'd first entered his lair. Perhaps he had his suspicions about her authenticity already, and maybe that was a good thing because she really didn't want this job. She was a qualified nanny, but it had been a long time since she'd done that kind of work, and her secretarial experience was scant, too, limited to working for a building site manager and a railway depot. This mess was entirely of Geoffrey's making.
"That's me. I spent the last six months working on a feminine hygiene campaign for them." At least Ferrante wasn't likely to want details about that particular fabrication Geoffrey had put on her CV
His reply was withering. "Nothing much to do with child care there, I imagine."
"Not in the slightest. I had my marketing hat on for that assignment." She forced her toes down hard into the carpet under the table, suppressing the urge to flee. Being a barefaced liar was a lot harder than she'd thought it would be, but she was up to her neck in this madness already, and she had to see it through to the end. In just four weeks of working for this man, there'd be enough money to pay their mother's care home arrears, and she could put it all behind her.
"Interesting."
"It paid the bills."
"Hmmm. It's the first time I've used your staffing agency. My usual one, Krug Appointments, is very good at matching my precise staffing requirements." He passed a Mont Blanc pen through his fingers while scrutinizing her again. "However, on this occasion, they were unable to offer me anyone suitable at all."
"Can I ask what your 'precise staffing requirements' are?" She fisted her hands under the table.
"Blond," he said and lowered his long, dark lashes to a document on the table. "Between five foot four and five foot seven, privately educated, exotic."
He stared at her again, and it was like having an ice cube trailed slowly over her body, sliding around her jaw to the base of her throat and melting into a trickle of awareness between her breasts. She could never have predicted that anger could feel so much like sexual arousal.
"I may not be blond or exotic, but I'm fully qualified for the roles of personal assistant and nanny." Her throat tickled with anxiety; the last thing she needed now was a coughing fit. "That's why the agency sent me. It's not very often they get a request for someone who will take on such a broad role."
"Quite." He pulled the lid off his pen and scribbled something on a notepad. "And that's why there's a much higher than standard fee."
That particular nugget of information was news to her. Bloody Geoffrey. "I'm not privy to the accounts of the agency, I'm afraid. And for what it's worth, you're not quite what I expected, either."
He was beautiful. A living, breathing cliché of tall, dark, and handsome that would make any woman within a hundred yards of him go soft in the head.
"Now I'm curious." A flare of his nostrils indicated he wasn't being playful. "Expand. What did you expect?"
"I never thought you'd have so much hair."
Damn. Her heart throbbed with adrenaline as she realized her flippant remark might cost her this job. She couldn't afford to blow this contract, however much she didn't want to do it. So why had she let her stupid mouth run away with her? This man was used to simpering sycophants, not a mouthy holistic therapist with a warped sense of humor. She'd somehow forgotten she was supposed to be putting herself forward as Ferrante's new, cooperative, and utterly professional employee.
"I should terminate this interview immediately for a remark like that." A muscle in his jaw flickered, and she felt her cheeks flare. "However, I'll overlook your insubordination this once. I hope your agency mentioned that I demand total loyalty and discretion from employees. My privacy and that of my children is of the utmost importance. The last thing I want is to find their pictures plastered all over the media or an employee expose of how I run my life being serialized for the masses."
"It goes without saying." Lora silently thanked her lucky stars that she'd only have to put up with this man for four weeks if she did end up getting the job. "I've worked for high-profile families before. Total discretion and, whatever other roles I may be given by you, the twins' needs come first. Is that correct?"
"Always." He dropped his pen onto the desk, and the clatter made her jump. "Your CV doesn't mention any foreign languages."
She took a moment to answer because she wanted to ask him more about the children, but he seemed distracted by the pen rolling toward the edge of the table. "French and German, not much Sardinian, I'm afraid."
"I'm Sicilian, not Sardinian." He fixed her with a glare that would turn molten lava back to stone. "There's a subtle difference."
Well done, again, Geoffrey.
"Oh, sorry." She bit her tongue into submission and took a deep, silent breath. This was not going well.
"So the formalities. You have no commitments on a day-to-day basis? Children of your own, ailing relatives, demanding husband?"
The hairs stood up on the back of her neck. "I was told this was a nine-to-five, live-out position. I work hard, and I'm efficient, so it's not relevant."
His black eyebrows rose. "I'd like an answer all the same."
"As I said, I'm efficient, and I will get the work done. I'm fully committed to every job I do." She pressed her lips together so hard they buzzed. "But in answer to your question, I'm not married, and I have no children.
She curled her toes tightly in her sensible shoes, trying not to think of how confused her mother had seemed recently and of how expensive the private nursing was.
"You've not been fully briefed about this role, have you?" His eyelids lowered and his fingers threaded into a tent shape, their tips touching his full bottom lip. "This isn't a nine-to-five position."
"Overtime is no problem."
He cocked his head to one side and inhaled slowly. "And because of the nature of the assignment, living out will be impossible."
Dread dripped slowly through her. "This sounds irregular —"
"Your agency has been highly compensated to accommodate irregular." There was the beginning of a smile on his lips. "And your brother seems anxious not to annoy me."
He knew Geoffrey was her brother? She had the distinct feeling she was the mouse being toyed with by a very big, powerful tomcat. There were big gaps here and questions that needed answering, but she didn't know where to start. So she might as well get right to the heart of the matter.
"What job exactly am I being interviewed for?"
"You've passed the interview, Miss Pryce-Howard. I checked your nanny references out yesterday, but I needed to check personally that you didn't have two heads and five children. The job is already yours." He stood up, leaned across the table, and took her hand in his. His grip sent a shockwave of awareness shooting straight to her breastbone. Her breath caught, and she was immobilized by the change in his features. A smiling Ferrante was even more gorgeous than a stern, forbidding one. Fine wrinkles fanned from the corners of his eyes, making them sparkle an even brighter blue. Symmetrical furrows ran from his Roman nose to the outer curve of his parted lips, and his white teeth were perfect, apart from a slight overlap on the lower set. He wasn't flawless, but he was beautiful. No wonder the glossy celebrity magazines were always chasing him. And she was now feeling very confused.
"Thank you," she said and pulled her hand free. "But I would like to know what is expected of me over the next four weeks so there are no misunderstandings."
He laughed and then rubbed his chin as she squirmed inwardly. "You are to act out the role of my fiancée and future stepmother of my children for one month or until the business deal I'm working on is finalized. This period is subject to a maximum time of six weeks to account for any legitimate delays. Any extension or reduction of the contract duration is negotiable, but I get the final say."
She must have misheard him. The Italian accent, yes that must be it. "Did you say fiancée?"
He ignored the question and yawned. "All expenses will be paid. Gifts, clothes, jewelry, and accessories remain yours upon termination. Except for the actual engagement ring; you have to hand that back. It's a family heirloom."
"Just stop there." This was turning into a nightmare. "I was told the role was that of nanny to small twin girls and some PA work, not an outrageous fake fiancée scam."
"Then your dear brother has not been entirely honest with you."
"I don't believe this is happening."
"Your CV isn't entirely irrelevant. The fact you've been a PA before indicates you know how to behave appropriately in most circumstances. I don't want a fiancée prone to emotional outbursts, and I need you to speak nicely. I also need to be confident you're safe to be around my children, so your nanny qualifications tell me you're not a danger — and you have been fully police checked." He wiggled the knot of his tie from side to side to loosen it. "There's a proper Norland College nanny to do the real work for the month. She'll fade into the background when we're in the public eye, part of my security team as far as anyone else is concerned."
Insult overrode anxiety, and she couldn't hold back. "What do you mean a 'proper nanny'? I spent years looking after children and took all the relevant examinations. I am a proper nanny."
His lips quirked, but the tight movement didn't progress into anything that would qualify as a smile. "Of course you are. But, for the record, there's one particular skill missing from your resume that gives the Norland nanny the edge over you."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Sicilian Engagement by Rachel Lyndhurst, Alethea Spiridon Hopson, Kate Fall. Copyright © 2014 Rachel Lyndhurst. Excerpted by permission of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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