The Legend of de Marco

For some reason his words made Gracie feel sad for him. She ran a hand over the back of the sleekly modern chair that faced his desk and returned her gaze to him. ‘I wonder when it becomes impossible to be too high, or see too far.’

The weight of silence that stretched between them became almost unbearable and Gracie looked away, feeling embarrassed. Where had that little philosophical observation come from?

To avoid Rocco’s black gaze she took in the sleek furnishings and modern art that hung suspended on steel wires against the clear windows. Other staff, undoubtedly the best at what they did, were visible through the glass walls of their own offices nearby, but no one was looking up. They were all too busy. Making millions for Rocco and his clients, Gracie surmised grimly. Her brother had been one of those employees and yet he’d stolen from the people who trusted Rocco with their money. Her insides twisted.

She looked back to Rocco and didn’t want him to guess the direction of her thoughts. She hunted for something—anything—to say. ‘Don’t you mind?’

‘Mind what?’

Gracie gestured with a hand. ‘That everyone can see you? You’ve no privacy?’

‘This office is soundproofed, so no one can hear my private conversations. And this way I can see everyone.’

Gracie looked at him and his face was a bland mask, no expression. It made her feel prickly, wanting a reaction. ‘You mean, that way you can control everything.’

Rocco shrugged minutely. ‘I couldn’t control your brother’s scheming to swindle money from me and my clients.’

Gracie looked down and clasped her hands together. He’d just articulated her own thoughts. She heard Rocco move and glanced up to see him standing at his window with his back to her, hands in his pockets. For a moment his powerful physique looked completely incongruous against the cityscape, as if he should be outside, battling something elemental and natural.

He turned then, so abruptly that he caught her staring, and Gracie blushed.

‘I hope you’re not lying about your a

bility to cook dinner.

I won’t stand for any attempt at insolence, Gracie. Tonight is important to me.’

Pain lanced Gracie and she spoke before she could censor herself. ‘Because you’re entertaining your fiancée?’

Rocco frowned. ‘How do you know about that?’

If she could have swallowed her own tongue she would have, but she said miserably, ‘I saw a headline outside.’

For a long moment Rocco just looked at her, and then said, ‘She is not my fiancée yet. Not that it’s any business of yours.’

Gracie remembered what he’d said before she’d opened her big mouth and said rebelliously, ‘If I did serve up fish fingers you’d have no one to blame but yourself.’

Once again she had the curious feeling that he was holding back a laugh, but then he glowered at her. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

‘Was that all?’

He nodded curtly, and before Gracie did or said something she’d really regret she turned and fled.

Rocco watched Gracie’s slim back retreating through his offices. He didn’t miss the fact that she caught the eye of more than one male employee, or that it made his insides tighten. How did she have the singular ability to constantly make him veer off course and gravitate towards her?

Her observation about his offices being too transparent had never been made before—by anyone. He felt inordinately exposed, because only he knew that his preoccupation with being able to see all around him came from his early days and the constant need to watch his back. It was also why he surrounded himself with people when he knew most others in his position preferred solitude. On some level, because he’d grown up surrounded by so many, it was one thing he hadn’t been able to let go of, and she’d effortlessly spotted it. Albeit without understanding it.

Most people assumed it was an aesthetic thing. But it was as if she’d known there was more to it. And then that comment about always striving to be at the highest point. Literally.

She disappeared into the elevator and Rocco sat down and swung his chair around to the view, so no one could see him. For the first time he actually did resent the lack of privacy. He rested his elbows on the armrests of his chair and his chin on steepled fingers. In that moment a very illicit and long-buried feeling of rebellion stirred his blood.

Mid-afternoon that day, Gracie was neck-deep in preparing her menu for the evening. She was hot and sweaty when George appeared in the kitchen, holding out a big white box.

‘For you, from the boss.’

Gracie wiped her hands on her apron and took it. Her silly heart started to thump. Some rogue part of her brain seemed to run away with itself and she couldn’t help imagining a beautiful chiffon dress in delicate shades of pink. And for a moment she couldn’t help fantasising that dinner this evening was for her and Rocco.

She laid the box on the table and opened it up with unsteady hands. It only took a few seconds for those traitorous images to crumble to dust. She reached in and pulled out a black pinafore dress and a white apron. Sheer tights and plain black court shoes. A note fell out too. The arrogant scrawl said, ‘Please wear this later. R.’