The Italian's Unexpected Baby

‘Yes,’ Alessandro told her shortly. ‘Show me your dress.’

Her mouth dropped open before she snapped it shut. ‘My…dress?’

‘Yes, your dress. I want to make sure it is suitable. As my companion, how you look is important.’

‘Your companion…’ Her mind spun emptily again. Surely he wasn’t suggesting…?

‘We are attending together,’ Alessandro clarified pointedly, as if to highlight the utter impossibility of whatever she might have been thinking. ‘You must be suitably attired. Now show me the dress.’

Wordlessly Mia rose from her seat. She had no idea what Alessandro Costa considered suitably attired, but she had a feeling her plain black cocktail dress, bought from the bargain rack, wasn’t going to be it. Unless he wanted her to be discreet, even invisible, as Henry Dillard had? As she was used to being from childhood, slipping in and out of the shadows, trying not to draw attention to herself, in case she provoked her father’s anger? Because in all truth she wasn’t sure she knew how to be anything else.

She grabbed the dress and returned to the office, holding it in front of her. ‘Will this do?’ she asked, unable to keep the faintest tremble from her voice. She’d never had her boss vet her clothing choices before, and she didn’t like it. She certainly didn’t like feeling controlled, even in as small a matter as this. She’d had enough of that in her life, and she didn’t want or need any more, not even by the boss whose good side she was trying to stay on.

‘You intended to wear that?’ Alessandro sounded both scandalised and completely derisive. ‘Did you want to be mistaken for one of the serving staff?’

Mia’s chin went up. ‘It’s perfectly appropriate.’

‘It’s perfectly dreadful, like something a junior secretary would wear to the office Christmas party.’

She had worn it to such a party, and so Mia did not deign to reply to his remark. Alessandro might be offensively blunt, but there was more perception and truth to his remarks than she wanted to acknowledge.

‘You can’t wear it,’ he stated. ‘You won’t.’

‘I don’t have anything else,’ Mia returned. ‘So if you wish for me to attend…’

‘Then I will make sure you do have something.’ He slid his phone out of his pocket. ‘I will not have you on my arm looking like Cinderella still in her rags.’

‘So you’ll be my fairy godmother?’ Mia quipped before she could attempt a more measured reply. What was it about this man that made her hackles rise, everything in her resist? Henry Dillard had certainly never made her respond like this, but then Henry Dillard had never spoken to her in such an arrogant, autocratic way. He’d been affably incompetent, content to let her organise everything.

Alessandro’s eyes gleamed like molten silver as his mouth quirked the tiniest bit, making her respond to him. Again. A very inconvenient response, when her stomach fizzed and her heart leapt. Mia was determined to ignore it. ‘Now, that is the first time anyone has called me that,’ he said, his mouth curving deeper, and Mia forced herself to look away.

Alessandro angled his body away from Mia as he spoke into the phone, asking for a personal stylist to be brought to the office immediately. His right-hand man, Luca, took the rather unexpected request in his stride.

Ending the call, Alessandro turned back to face Mia, trying not to notice the rise and fall of her chest with every agitated breath she took; clearly she didn’t like him deciding what she should wear, although she should be thankful he’d vetted her selection. That black bag of a dress looked cheap and boring and was hardly what he needed his companion for the evening to turn up in.

‘As your PA, I don’t see why I need to wear some fancy dress,’ Mia said, clearly striving to moderate her tone. ‘Or, in fact, why I need to attend this gala at all. It’s highly unusual…’

‘You need to attend because many of the guests there will be Dillard’s clients,’ Alessandro answered. ‘And you will know them better than I do. I require your knowledge in this matter.’

‘Still…’

‘And you need to wear a gown worthy of the occasion,’ Alessandro cut across her. He didn’t like her protestations; he was used to being obeyed instantly, and Mia James seemed not to have realised that.

‘The clients will know I’m Henry’s PA,’ she protested. ‘If I dress up like a proper guest, they’ll think I’m putting on airs—’

‘You are my PA now, and you are my guest,’ Alessandro returned. ‘You will wear an appropriate gown. I am sure there will be something you fancy from the selection provided.’ He gave her a quelling look. ‘Most women I know would be thrilled to have such an opportunity of choice.’

‘Somehow I don’t think I’m like most women you know,’ Mia returned tartly, making him smile.

‘That is very true. Even so, I would like you to pick a dress that is suitable.’

Mia nodded, setting her jaw, her eyes sparking like bits of blue ice. ‘Very well,’ she said, sounding far from pleased about the matter. Despite the difficulties of the situation, Alessandro would have thought she’d enjoy the opportunity to select a new gown.

‘The stylist will be here shortly,’ he told her. ‘Until then you may return to your work.’

With a brief, brisk nod Mia swivelled on her heel and walked out of the office, closing the door behind her with a firm click that was halfway to becoming a slam. It annoyed and amused Alessandro in equal measure. Normally he didn’t like people to oppose him; in fact, he hated any sign of disobedience or disrespect.

As he was a man of both drive and focus, work was a well-oiled machine and rebelliousness was inefficient as well as time-consuming. And, while Mia’s rebelliousness did annoy him, that contrary spark of defiance somehow…enflamed him.