An Heir for the World's Richest Man
She crossed the room, the feast of wealth and opulence all around her in the form of gold-leaf-embossed cabinetry, expensive suede sofas, Tiffany lamps and a fringed waterfall chandelier made of Swarovski crystals and flawless tanzanite, paling in comparison to Joao, who followed her to the thumb-printed safe set behind a French Impressionist painting.
She took out the necklace and held it out to him.
He looked from the necklace to her throat. ‘Turn around,’ he instructed a little gruffly.
Struggling to take one more breath, Saffie turned. He stepped close, enough for the suppressed power of his presence to engulf her like an expensive cloak. For her body to tremble when he brushed up against her back.
She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for better composure as the cool, heavy weight of priceless diamonds and rubies encircled her neck. She didn’t need the mirror to know it would be dazzling, and Joao’s satisfied nod when he caught her shoulders and spun her around to face him was sign enough that she’d passed his elegance test.
‘Perfeita,’ he murmured.
The warm glow the compliment sparked stayed with her long after they were ensconced in the back of a gleaming Rolls-Royce Phantom, the bodyguards Joao never travelled without in two SUVs in front and behind th
em as they travelled along the Bund towards their destination in Pudong.
He remained rigidly courteous as they alighted in front of the vaunted House of Pearls auction house twenty minutes later. The hosts of the event, dressed in sharp suits, fell over themselves to greet Joao, ushering them inside the hallowed red-carpeted room where the pre-auction champagne reception was being held.
Lavinia Archer was the first to spot Joao.
The septuagenarian, dressed in a stunning dove-grey gown and a haphazard combination of diamonds and pearls, smiled as they approached.
‘You’re a wicked one, Oliviera. Tempting me with that little puzzle you knew I wouldn’t be able to resist.’
He took her hand, placed a charming kiss on the back of it, before smiling. ‘I insist you call me Joao, and I’m glad my ruse worked but the credit must go to my executive assistant. You remember Saffron?’
Now she knew a little of his history, Saffie suspected her invitation to call him by his first name stemmed from not wanting anything in common with the man who’d sired him. What other demons lay beneath his smooth surface?
As if he’d caught her question, his sharp gaze flicked to her, and narrowed.
‘Of course.’ Lavinia turned to Saffie and gasped. ‘Goodness, what a fabulous necklace! It looks simply divine on you. Whatever you did to earn that, my dear, take my advice and keep doing it.’
Saffie tensed, and, although Lavinia’s tone was more generous awe than maliciously salacious, the blood froze in her veins.
Before Morocco comments like that would’ve bounced off her skin. After all, working for the richest man in the world came with the guarantee that the eyes of the world would be on her twenty-four-seven. So why were her insides churning now? Was she broadcasting her inability to think straight around the man?
Hysteria bubbled up her throat.
‘What’s wrong?’ Joao asked from beside her.
Frantically, she shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
His eyes narrowed, a disappointed gleam lighting the depths. ‘You’ve always spoken your mind to me, Saffie. Don’t start hiding now.’
But how could she tell him how exposed she felt? How one night with him had turned her emotions inside out so that she couldn’t even recognise them any more?
She glanced away from him, relief seeping into her when they were led from the reception room to the auction room. She was further saved from examining her feelings as a familiar, smiling face approached.
William Ashby III. The man who’d tried to poach her countless times in the past until she’d finally hinted that she might be in the market for a job soon. As with all things Will, he’d responded to her email on Monday to say she wouldn’t be accepting his job offer after all with cheerful charm.
Lanky, congenial and fair-headed with a work-less-play-harder ethic, he was as different from Joao as night from day. An English aristocrat with a few billion to his name, Will by his own admission did just enough to keep his company’s balance sheets in the black and spent the rest of his time chasing material highs.
And attempting to headhunt Saffie whenever they met.
‘I thought that was you,’ he said with a wide, boyish smile.
‘Hello, Will.’
His smile widened. ‘Almost didn’t recognise you over the sparkle of that bling,’ he teased.