Curious despite himself, he asked tightly how much she’d been paid and waited for her to triple the amount, which he had no intention of paying. Not with a million euros missing.
Gracie mentioned a figure and Rocco had to stop his shock from registering on his face. Her expression was so guileless and innocently defiant that he found himself inexplicably agreeing to pay her the pathetic sum, and had to wonder if that was even the minimum wage.
Gracie watched as Rocco pulled pen and paper out of a drawer and scrawled a couple of numbers and names on it before putting it into her numb hand.
‘That’s my executive assistant’s number if you need to get me. I’ll be in meetings all day on the other side of the city. You can use the phones in the apartment.’ His eyes flashed. ‘Needless to say, any calls to your brother will be recorded. I’ve also written down my old housekeeper’s number, so you can call to consult with her on what I’ll expect.’
Gracie looked down at the paper and then heard his mocking voice.
‘My main head of security is positioned right outside this apartment and he can see every movement in and out of the building. If you attempt to leave you’ll merely be brought back.’
She looked back and held up the paper, muttering caustically, ‘You mean I don’t have a direct line to God?’
Rocco smiled and it was wicked, making Gracie’s heart-rate and body temperature soar.
‘I reserve my private number for people I wish to speak to—not miscreants and thieves.’
His words had an instant effect on Gracie, causing a hot flush of anger to rise when she thought of the long struggle she and her brother had faced to drag themselves out of their adverse circumstances. ‘You know nothing about me. Nothing.’
His eyes turned cool. ‘I know all I need to know. Keep out of trouble until I see you again.’
Gracie watched as he turned and strode away, and shamingly her anger drained away as she found herself wondering what kind of person someone like Rocco would want to give his private number to and speak with in low, intimate tones.
Anger at her wayward imagination made her call defiantly after him, ‘Don’t think you can get away with this. You’re nothing but an … autocratic megalomaniac.’
Rocco turned around and Gracie’s heart stuttered to a halt when she saw the anger on his face. Fear gripped her, but it was fear because of her helpless physical response to him. This awful weak yearning he effortlessly precipitated.
‘If you’re so concerned then by all means call the police. And while you’re onto them you can fill them in on your brother’s recent activities. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to hear about his progress in the real world since prison.’
Gracie gulped. She felt sick. ‘You know I can’t do that.’
In that moment Gracie could see the long lineage of aristocratic forebears stamped onto Rocco’s arrogant features. He had her all boxed up and judged and right where he wanted her.
‘Well, then, you’d better get acquainted with this apartment—because it’s your home for the forseeable future.’
After he’d walked out Gracie tried hard to drum up anger or even hatred, but to her intense chagrin all she could seem to think of was the way he’d insisted on feeding her the previous evening.
CHAPTER FOUR
ROCCO sat in the back of his chauffeur-driven car. The London traffic was at a standstill. He could sense the tension in his driver and leaned forward to say, ‘Don’t sweat it, Emilio. I’m not too bothered about time.’
The driver’s shoulders visibly slumped a little. ‘Thanks, Boss.’
It was only when Rocco sat back again and flicked the switch to raise the privacy window that he went very still. He never usually went out of his way to put people at ease. He thrived on knowing that people never knew what to expect from him, or which way he’d jump. He was never rude to employees. He was scrupulously fair and polite. But he knew he possessed that edge. People were never entirely comfortable around him.
Except for Gracie O’Brien. She wasn’t comfortable around him either, but she stood up to him like no one else ever had.
With the utmost reluctance Rocco had to concede that there was a strong possibility she wasn’t lying when she said that she’d had nothing to do with her brother’s plans. She’d looked far too shocked the previous evening when he’d mentioned jail, and if she’d known what he’d done she’d have to have been aware that jail was an option. Plus there was the fact she’d come to the offices in the first place.
Nevertheless, he’d learnt a lesson about trusting his instincts when it had come to her brother, so he’d be a fool to trust her for a second. Even if everything else had checked out once she’d told him who her brother was.
His security contacts had access to confidential information. She was listed as his sister, no criminal record—unlike her brother. No other siblings. No mention of parents. A grandmother appeared to have brought them up briefly and then Social Services had taken over. They’d come from one of the roughest parts of London, and without even knowing the details Rocco could close his eyes and imagine the scene. Disadvantaged areas were the same the world over.
Going through her pitiful personal possessions, he’d come across a file full of sketches and text. It looked like a mock-up of a children’s book and he had to admit it was surprisingly good.
He’d also come across a photo of what had to be her and her brother when they were kids. She’d been freckle-faced, with a huge gap-toothed grin, red hair in pigtails, her arm tight around her smaller brother, who had looked skinny and nervous, shy behind thick glasses.
Rocco felt his chest grow tight. His fists clenched. He would not let those huge brown eyes get to him. Or her apparent vulnerability. She was as tough as nails. Clearly out to protect her brother at all costs, whatever her involvement. He’d never really known what that kind of loyalty was like and didn’t like the sensation of envy which lanced him. It was further evidence of their bond, and he would watch her like a hawk until her brother resurfaced.