His frown deepened; no wonder his grandfather had jumped to all the wrong conclusions. But why would she say that? And more importantly what was he going to do about it?
He recalled the slumberous way her eyes had moved over him when she’d been tying his tie. It had been from desire; he would have put money on it because his own body had sent the same message to his brain.
I want her, it had said, right now.
Sebastiano didn’t want to think about his grandfather’s reaction when he told him that, far from being his latest girlfriend, Poppy Connolly was nothing more than a temporary employee. But, instead of wasting his breath to try and convince the old man he was wrong, Sebastiano tried again to direct him away from his love life. ‘Let’s get down to business.’
‘No. Let’s save it for your trip to Italy.’
Sebastiano went as still as a stone. As a general rule he limited his trips to his home country as much as possible. Especially to the family casa where his memories were so strong. ‘What trip to Italy?’
‘For your grandmother and my sixtieth wedding anniversary. We are having a party. Bring your lovely Miss Connolly.’
Sebastiano couldn’t move as his grandfather stood up. A look of sorrow briefly clouded his nonno’s eyes, his voice quiet when he broke the lengthening silence between them.
‘We
need to put the past to bed, nipote mio, and we want you to come. No more excuses. No more putting work first. It is time to move forward.’ He cleared the emotion from his throat. ‘After I tell Evelina about Miss Connolly she will want to meet her. In fact, I will text her now.’
Sebastiano blinked. ‘Since when do you and Nonna text?’
‘Since I bought her a smart phone for her birthday.’
His grandfather pulled his own phone out of his pocket and pressed the keys with the agility of someone half his age.
Sebastiano watched him, brooding. He would do a lot of things for his grandparents—he would even cast aside his deeply buried memories of the past to attend their anniversary—but pretend he had a relationship with a woman he barely knew and who might have just set herself up to become the next Mrs Castiglione?
Not a chance in hell.
CHAPTER THREE
‘TWO HUNDRED AND fifty thousand pounds?’ Poppy stared at Sebastiano, who sat behind his desk like a leanly muscled King Tut with a pot of gold in front of him.
When he had requested to see her in his office she’d been convinced she was about to be fired. Instead he had offered her enough money to make her heart stop beating, in exchange for her pretending to be ‘the light of his life’, as he had condescendingly put it.
‘As in two hundred and fifty thousand pounds cash?’
‘You want more? Fine. Make it five hundred.’
Poppy’s mouth was so dry it was arid. The man was insane. Or drunk. She narrowed her gaze, scanning his face for signs she was right. ‘Have you been drinking?’
‘Not since last night, and unfortunately the effects have worn off by now.’
She glanced around, waiting for a camera crew to jump out from behind his Chesterfield and yell, ‘Surprise!’ Only they didn’t. All that happened was her heart thumped so fast she felt faint. ‘I don’t think this is very funny.’
‘I never joke about money. And you only have yourself to blame.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Something you said to my grandfather suggested that we were a couple. Something about handling me.’ His dark brows rose mockingly. ‘Which I can assure you, Miss Connolly, no woman will ever do.’
Poppy’s throat felt tight and uncomfortable. ‘I didn’t say I could handle you.’ She frowned. ‘Your grandfather said something about you needing a firm hand and I agreed. Then he said something in Italian that I didn’t get.’
‘Do you remember what it was?’
She gave him a look. ‘I grew up in the outskirts of Leeds, Mr Castiglione. My Italian starts with si and ends with ciao.’
‘Well, thanks to my grandfather mistaking you for my latest mistress, it’s about to extend to a few days on the Amalfi coast. So, what’s your price?’