The Boss's Bought Mistress
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“Which is what would make it such a good story,” persisted Lucas. “It would be so out of character.”
“I may want to protect my step-sister,” said Giovanni grimly, “but there’s a limit to what I’m prepared to do.”
“No one’s asking you to go through with it,” placated Lucas. “Just join in with the game, that’s all. Buy the ring. Play cat and mouse with the cameras. The press will go wild and by the time they’ve finished chasing you, Miranda will be clean and sober. We can get her discharged somewhere quiet and you can call the whole thing off.”
Giovanni gave a stare that would have intimidated most men. “And who’s going to agree to be my wife?” he questioned sarcastically. “Any bright ideas?”
Lucas smiled. “Oh, come on, Giovanni — you practically have to fight them off!”
Giovanni shrugged. It was true. He could have his pick of any woman he wanted — whenever, wherever and however he wanted. If word went out that he was looking for a bride, then they would be lining up around the block. Women flocked to him like ants to jam — attracted to his good looks and legendary sex-appeal, as well as his massive bank account and starry address-book.
And therein lay the problem.
He flicked Lucas a questioning look. “And when it’s all over? What woman is going to take kindly to being dumped?”
“Not a one…unless you tell her the truth first. Number-one rule of spin — don’t tell lies; just be sparing with the facts.”
“But that would mean trusting them.”
“And there isn’t anyone…?”
Giovanni gave a brittle smile. A woman he could trust? Were there pots of gold at the ends of rainbows? His teenage years had been spent watching avaricious women bleed his father’s fortune dry. And when Giovanni was just sixteen, one of the women had even come to his room late at night — astonished when the rugged youth had turned down her offer of sex.
“No,” he answered shortly. “There isn’t.”
The silence that followed was splintered by a smart, seasoned rap on the door.
Giovanni stretched and yawned. “Yes, come in,” he said, without bothering to turn round.
The woman who pushed the tea trolley into the elegant drawing room was just short of her thirtieth birthday and didn’t really have a job description.
In the days when even the aristocracy had the bare minimum of people working for them, Misty Carmichael had a number of skills at her disposal. She was able to cook, clean and serve food and sometimes she was called on to do all three in rapid succession.
She looked across at her not-quite-Lord, but certainly her master — the arrogant but drop-dead-gorgeous Giovanni Cerruti. In four years of working for him, she had tried not to love him, or to react to him as a woman. It hadn’t been easy and it still wasn’t, but Giovanni had helped by managing to make her feel as if she was invisible.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“Please,” said Giovanni absently. “Well, I’ll give your idea some thought,
Lucas.”
But Lucas did not reply. He was watching the woman as she poured coffee — the steam making her pale cheeks grow pink.
Misty offered a plate of tiny macaroons, thinking how strained Giovanni looked. “Would you like a biscuit?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” said Giovanni impatiently. “You know I never eat between meals.”
Irritated, he glanced over at Lucas. Why the hell was he staring at Misty like that? He followed the direction of his spin-doctor’s eyes and for the first time noticed that Misty’s checked working dress was pulling very tightly across her bottom. Two tight globes thrusting against the man-made fiber. It was as though he was seeing her for the very first time and inexplicably, a nerve began to work in his cheek.
Misty glared at them both. What were they staring at? Had her hair suddenly turned green? “Will that be all?”
“Er, yes. Thank you.”
Lucas turned to Giovanni, who was still staring at Misty’s retreating bottom.
“Why not her?” he questioned simply once she had gone.
“Her?” Giovanni flared his haughty nostrils, and laughed. “Are you honestly suggesting I get engaged to one of the staff?”
“What’s wrong with getting engaged to a member of your staff?”
Giovanni’s jet black eyes narrowed as he stared at his spin doctor. “Madre di Dio! You are proposing that I ask Misty Carmichael? Are you crazy, Lucas? She serves the meals!”
“That could be useful,” said Lucas.
“And she is a single mother!” Giovanni exclaimed.
“So?”
“So I have my reputation to think about!”
Lucas shook his head. “But this is a bogus engagement, remember? Designed to take the heat off your sister’s spell in rehab. The more unsuitable the candidate, the more press coverage it will get. Think about it, Giovanni.”
Giovanni did, his arrogant lips curving with distaste. “She is plain…” he added disparagingly.
From the other side of the door, Misty froze. She had just crept back to hear the tail end of Giovanni’s conversation.
Plain?
She bit her lip and blinked rapidly. Plain?
So it was true what they said — that eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves. And how! Listening in to her employer’s conversation wasn’t her usual pastime, but who could blame her on this occasion?
The peculiar way that Giovanni and his new spin doctor had been staring at her had been enough to make her feel concerned, and with good cause, she now recognized.
“So ring and ask her,” came Lucas’s voice from the other side of the door.
Ask her what, she wondered?
Hurriedly, Misty pushed the tea trolley back into the kitchen. There was only a second to check her appearance in the mirror before the bell began to summon her back again.
Frizzy hair, flushed cheeks and PMS making her tummy look fat. She winced. Plain indeed. Why feel insulted by Giovanni’s description of her when it was nothing but the truth?