His mobile phone buzzed and he lunged into his pocket and retrieved it, swiftly scanning the caller’s number. Realising that the call was from a Russian supermodel he’d been dating a few months earlier, he gritted his teeth, rejected the call and dropped the phone back in his pocket, appalled by the depth of his own disappointment.
What had he expected?
Lindsay Lockheart telling him she’d changed her mind about having an affair with him?
She didn’t want that, did she?
Clearly she wasn’t feeling anywhere near the depth of frustration that he was.
Loosening his tie with an impatient yank of his fingers, Alessio scowled as one of his team called his name and hurried up behind him.
Now what?
Hadn’t he made it clear that he wanted to be on his own?
Visibly nervous, the man stepped into the lift with him. ‘I assume from the questions you asked, that you’re not prepared to take the case?’
‘What case?’ His mind still on Lindsay Lockheart, Alessio snapped out the words and his junior colleague blinked in confusion, glancing back towards the meeting room as if checking there hadn’t been some mistake.
‘Well—that case,’ he muttered awkwardly. ‘He was hoping you’d take it on—at the moment his wife is so angry about his affair that she’s threatening to take him to the cleaners.’
‘Good for her.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Unable to hide his astonishment, his colleague fumbled with the file in his hands. ‘You—I don’t—he wants your advice.’
‘Enrico,’ Alessio’s voice was cool. ‘How old are those children??
?
Clearly startled by the question, the man checked the file. ‘The older girl is eight, the other one is a baby. Two little girls.’
Two little girls. Two little girls, whose lives were being smashed to pieces.
His mind on Lindsay Lockheart, Alessio took a deep breath.
‘She deserves every penny she can get. And my advice is that he should start thinking about his children and his responsibilities, instead of his own investments.’
Gaping at him, his junior colleague ran a finger around his collar as if it were strangling him. ‘So you want me to tell him—what exactly?’
Alessio couldn’t dispel the image of wide blue eyes and soft blonde hair.
‘Tell him to try couples counselling.’ His tone biting and sharp, he strode out of the lift and into his office, his body aching so badly it was almost a physical pain.
His personal assistant was hovering, looking harassed. ‘Your three o’clock meeting has been rescheduled.’
‘Why?’
‘Because there are too many journalists outside the building. You don’t want to go out there right now—it’s being dealt with.’
With an impatient frown, Alessio strode across to the window and stared down at the street below. Even from this height he could see the pack of photographers surrounding the front door of the Capelli offices.
‘For the past two weeks I’ve lived the life of a monk,’ he breathed. ‘What exactly are they after this time?’
‘Nothing new. Still the Lindsay Lockheart thing.’ His assistant put a neat pile of papers on his desk. ‘You asked for these—’
‘What Lindsay Lockheart thing?’
‘She’s been in the papers every day for the past two weeks.’