An Heir for the World's Richest Man

He warmed his wine glass in his cupped hand. ‘Too busy to take ten seconds out of your time to take care of yourself?’

She pushed a piece of bok choy around her plate before spearing it with a fork. ‘Normally, it goes away by itself.’

He frowned. ‘Normally?’ he pressed, raising his glass to take a healthy mouthful. Something hot and heavy strummed inside him when her gaze fell to his mouth, then dropped to linger at his throat. She’d kissed him there that night in Morocco, he recalled a little too heatedly. Bit him, in fact.

‘Why are you interested in my health issues, Joao?’

‘This week you’ve accused me of working you to death or implied something just as unsavoury. So now I’m resolved to helping you get rid of your headache,’ he countered, that dart of displeasure at drinking alone evaporating in the thrill of their banter.

‘And you intend to do that by grilling me?’

‘It’s a good alternative to watching you push your dinner around your plate while you avoid my gaze.’ Standing, he went to the sleek cabinet, took out the medical pouch stored there and brought back the tablets. ‘Here.’

She set her silverware down in precise movements, lifted a pristine linen napkin to dab at her lips before accepting the mild headache pills.

Aggravatingly avoiding his gaze, she swallowed them. ‘There, all sorted. Now shall we get off the subject?’ she demanded in a tone far removed from her usual brisk delivery.

Joao settled back in his seat, forgoing the last bite of his excellent steak in favour of this discussion.

‘Certainly,’ he replied, his gaze clashing with eyes that were more grey than blue in the muted light of his private dining room. ‘Did you bring your list? I’m aiming for you to think much better of me by week’s end.’

She released her napkin with an abrupt toss, her face flaming. He curled his fingers tighter around his glass as the fierce desire to trace her cheek with his fingertips rammed deep.

‘If you’re trying to make me feel bad about what I said, don’t bother,’ she stated drolly.

He sipped and savoured another mouthful of wine. ‘What if I mean it, Saffie? Will that make you...bend a little?’

Her eyes went wide. After a moment, she swallowed. ‘I...I’m sure the charities in question will appreciate it.’

‘I’m not talking about other charities. I’m asking about you.’

Her nostrils flared delicately as she took a long breath. The action expanded her ribcage, drawing his gaze to her full, heavy breasts. ‘I guess that would be a start.’

‘Bem. Let’s do it.’

She eyed him a little warily, deepening his own questions about his motives. He already gave her far more than any other assistant. Was he really willing to go this far just to keep her?

Yes. Until his father was brought to heel, he would lasso the moon itself for her if required.

The little twinge that indicated his reasons weren’t wholly altruistic, he chose to ignore, holding his hand out for the tablet.

He perused the list, noting that more than half were family and children-orientated. A different sort of twinge niggled him, one that forced him to consider whether she’d truly meant to leave him to chase flight dreams of babies and family.

Joao realised he was frowning when he handed the tablet back. ‘Approved. You have my permission to gift each of them one hundred thousand pounds.’

Her lips parted in shock. ‘That...that’s too much.’

?

??I’m confident the organisations in question won’t feel the same. Thank me and let’s move on, Saffie.’

Her soft lips remained parted for another second, before her eyelashes swept down. ‘Thank you, Joao,’ she murmured huskily.

‘De nada. What’s next on the agenda?’

‘Vincent Gingham is calling you in thirty minutes. Maybe we should—’

‘Gingham can wait. You haven’t had any dessert yet. I had Chef Bouillard prepare your favourite.’ As if on cue, the Michelin-starred chef who travelled around the world with Joao and cooked almost every meal entered, holding aloft a silver platter. Joao nodded approvingly as he placed the dish in front of Saffron and retreated.