An Heir for the World's Richest Man

‘Something along the lines of being a vampire who just takes and takes?’

Heat flowed into her cheeks. Joao rammed his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to trace the flow with his fingers. ‘I didn’t... I... Perhaps I could’ve phrased that better.’

‘Only perhaps?’

Her lips pursed. ‘So you were thinking about my speech...and?’

‘You don’t want a pay rise and you protest when I offer other incentives so I’ve decided to double the charitable donations I’ll be making this year instead. We’ll have a working dinner this evening and you can bring your list.’

‘My list?’

He shrugged. ‘You hurled the accusation, Saffie. You can help me become the better man.’

He returned to his office in a better mood.

Which lasted for a handful of hours, right until the moment his EA froze before the lift doors leading to his penthouse.

‘Problem?’ he asked, aware of the tension in his voice.

‘Why are we having dinner in your...in the penthouse?’

‘Because you left a notification in my diary that four of my ten departments are using every conference room and dining space for client mixers and would appreciate a ten-minute meet-and-greet if I had the chance? Did you forget, Saffie?’

She flushed. ‘Oh... I... Yes, it slipped my mind.’

Joao held the lift door open as it went to close. ‘Get in the lift, Saffie. I promise the only blood-red thing I’m after is the colour of my wine.’

She slanted an irritated glance at him. ‘I’m not going to live that down, am I?’

A quiet satisfaction pulsed through him when she entered without protest. ‘Likening your boss to a vampire? It’s a subject I’m looking forward to discussing thoroughly at your next evaluation.’

She stared at him for several beats; blue eyes dark with apprehension and uncustomary uncertainty met his.

She sailed past him in heels that made her shapely legs seem endless. Her pinstriped dress tastefully followed her curves, with a zip that extended from her nape to the hem, and set his fingers tingling with torturous visions of him undressing her.

He took a sustaining breath as the lift doors glided shut.

Sim, they were swimming in uncharted waters. But it was a challenge he welcomed. Relished, even.

They exited into his penthouse and Saffie paused, her curious gaze flicking through the living room. It occurred to him that, despite their close working relationship, she’d only been up here a handful of times.

While work consumed a significant part of his life, he also relished the pleasures his lifestyle brought him. A helicopter on the roof of his building ensured he could be in any one of his four London or country residences within half an hour, entertaining clients or friends away from the office.

The setting sun slanted sultry light into the living room, directly onto the wide plush sofa, the orange glow uncomfortably reminiscent of a certain divan in Morocco.

Before he could halt it, memory returned full force, bombarding him with fiery blasts.

Gritting his teeth, he headed towards his dining room, relieved when his executive chef arrived minutes later and placed her dish of baby bok choy and noodle salad with shaved truffles in front of her, then returned with his chosen prime-cut Brazilian wagyu steak.

He picked up the bottle of red Chilean, a vintage from his personal vineyard, decanted and left to breathe by his chef, and frowned when Saffie shook her head.

‘None for me, thanks. I have a headache.’

Like many things this week, that was a first. He redirected the crystal decanter to his own glass, aware he was frowning as he poured.

‘Have you taken anything for it?’

She shrugged, although her gaze remained on her plate. ‘I’ve been busy.’