Finally he turned to face her. Trepidation iced its way to her toes.
‘My decision and mine alone carries. Your timing wasn’t just wrong. It was detestable.’ His voice could have frozen water in the Sahara. ‘It also makes my decision incredibly easy.’
Her heart stopped. ‘Wh—what decision?’
‘Relieving you of your job, of course.’ The smile widened. ‘Congratulations. You’re fired.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘WHAT?’
‘Get out.’
Sasha remained frozen, unable to heed Marco de Cervantes’s command. Finally she forced out a breath.
‘No. You—you can’t do that. You can’t fire me.’ Somewhere at the back of her mind she knew this to be true—something about contracts … clauses—but her brain couldn’t seem to track after the blow it had been dealt.
‘I can do anything I want. I own the team. Which means I own you.’
‘Yes, but …’ She sucked in a breath and forced herself to focus. ‘Yes, you own the team, but you don’t own me. And you can’t fire me. I haven’t done anything wrong. Sure, the press interview was a little mistimed. But that isn’t grounds to sack me.’
‘Maybe those aren’t the only grounds I have.’
Cold dread eased up her spine. ‘What are you talking about?’
Marco regarded her for several seconds. Then his gaze slid to his brother. Reaching out, he carefully smoothed back a lock of hair from Rafael’s face. The poignancy of the gesture and the momentary softening of his features made Sasha’s heart ache for him, despite his anger at her. No one deserved to watch a loved one suffer. Not even Marco de Cervantes.
When his gaze locked onto her again Sasha wasn’t prepared for the mercurial shift from familial concern to dark fury.
‘You’re right. My brother’s bedside isn’t the place to discuss this.’ He came towards her, his long-legged stride purposeful and arrestingly graceful. His broad shoulders, the strength in his lean, muscled body demanded an audience. Sasha stared, unable to look away from the perfect body packed full of angry Spanish male.
In whose path she directly stood.
At the last second her legs unfroze long enough for her to step out of his way. ‘It’s okay. I’ll leave.’
‘Running away? Scared your past is catching up with you, Miss Fleming?’
She swallowed carefully, striving to maintain a neutral expression. Marco de Cervantes didn’t know. He couldn’t.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. My past has nothing to do with my contract with your team.’
He stared into her face for so long Sasha wanted to slam on the shades dangling uselessly from her fingers.
‘Extraordinary,’ he finally murmured.
‘What?’ she croaked.
‘You lie so flawlessly. Not even an eyelash betrays you. It’s no wonder Rafael was completely taken with you. What I don’t understand is why. He offered you what you wanted—money, prestige, a privileged lifestyle millions dream about but only few achieve. Isn’t that what women like you ultimately want? The chance to live in unimaginable luxury playing mistress of a castillo?’
‘Um, I don’t know what sort of women you’ve been cavorting with, but you know nothing about me.’
Impossibly, his features grew colder. ‘I know everything I need to know. So why didn’t you just take it? What’s your angle?’ His intense gaze bored into her, as if trying to burrow beneath her skin.
It took every control-gathering technique she’d learned not to step back from him.
‘I have no angle—’
‘Enough of your lies. Get out.’ He wrenched the door open, fully expecting her to comply.