Whisked Away by Her Millionaire Boss

She stopped on the spot at the sight of Ben, newspaper spread open, laptop on, sitting at the huge table. If only he wasn’t so gorgeous...if only a sudden shyness hadn’t rendered her frozen. She felt a shyness cast in worry that there would be a lingering awkwardness after the previous night. Had she really called him hot?

But his expression as he looked up held nothing but warmth and his tone was matter-of-fact. ‘I ordered room service,’ he said. ‘But if you’d rather eat in the restaurant I can have it all moved down.’

‘Nope. This is perfect.’

‘The calm before the storm,’ he said.

‘I think the storm may be going on in my stomach,’ she said. ‘Nerves.’

‘What are you nervous about? Last night you weren’t daunted by all those people.’

‘It’s not the people. I want to do a good job.’

‘You will. Again, all you have to do is be yourself. That’s what I want—your opinion, your observations, your take. Then, in a couple of days, give me a rundown.’

His words did calm her—they made it sound easy, or at least doable—and she helped herself to scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. She smiled her thanks as he poured her a cup of coffee, then waved her hand and said, ‘You don’t need to entertain me. Go back to work. I want to run over the day’s itinerary.’

Even though she knew it by heart, it still seemed surreal. Two shows. One a tried-and-tested designer followed by an up-and-coming brand. Sudden excitement replaced her nerves as she realised that the challenge was a welcome one. That this really was a chance to show what she was made of. A step towards a better life for her daughter.

But even Jodie was forgotten once they arrived at the first show, which was being held in a former panettone bakery. The whole floor was exotic with flowering shrubs to act as a backdrop to the minimalistic designs—clothes that somehow combined geometry with fluidity, the exaggeratedly bizarre with the normal.

This was like nothing she had ever experienced before. The buzz, the atmosphere, the sheer extravag

ant feel of it all... Disbelief threatened again as they took their places in the front row, and after that the day became a blur of activity.

From the old bakery to a top designer’s show—in a basement which been converted into the equivalent of a medical operating theatre, complete with tables, surgical sheets and operating theatre spotlights to illuminate the catwalk. As they sat down a soundtrack of heart monitors and emergency calls mixed with opera added to the mood.

‘Is this normal?’ Sarah murmured to Ben. ‘I mean, how are we supposed to appreciate fashion against all this?’

Yet somehow, as the show started and the models sashayed or swaggered down the catwalk, it all worked. The models in their capes and scarves...the stark drama of it all.

Sarah wrote and wrote until her hands ached, praying she’d be able to read her notes later on.

She was utterly mesmerised by it all—by the colours and the buzz, the beauty and the professionalism of the models. By the intakes of breath, the smells, the hum, the silence, the applause, the sheer excitement. By the clothes—the bold cuts, the lavish quirks—and the sashay and sway of the models. The attire of the audience, their avid faces, the emotions of the room... All of it captured and fired her imagination and captivated her interest.

But throughout it all she was still aware of Ben—because whilst the rest of the room was avid, he wasn’t. His expression was one of cool interest, and at no point did she sense any genuine emotion or reaction.

She remembered what he’d said the previous day, that it was the ideas that led to the bottom line that floated his boat. For him this was simply a means to more money, more power, more success. Why did he still crave it so badly? What made him tick?

Studying his face, she had a sudden urge to shift closer to him, to tell him it was OK—that he had nothing left to prove. But that was absurd. So she turned her attention back to the next model, studied the outfit, jotted down more notes...

* * *

The next two days spun by in a frenzy of activity and colour and noise and parties. But at the end of each day there were no more glasses of wine sipped on the terrace overlooking the moonlit Milanese streets. Instead they both headed straight for their respective bedrooms.

Today Ben sat at the desk in the suite, waiting for Sarah to appear. A morning show and an early lunch party done, they’d returned to the hotel. She’d gone to get her notes for the presentation of her ideas so she’d be ready for a discussion on her observations and opinions.

He was looking forward to what she had to say. Because over the past few days he’d been blown away by her—had found himself sneaking little glances at her face, fascinated by her concentration, her sheer enjoyment, her genuine interest as she worked. Her focus was absolute, her energy unflagging. Every so often she would disappear, and he suspected she was speaking with her daughter, but she maintained a professional aspect at all times.

As the days had gone by he’d found himself thinking about her more and more, wondering about her life and how she had ended up as a single mother. At a guess he imagined a university relationship that had ended in pregnancy. But that didn’t make sense. Her daughter was six now—why wouldn’t Sarah have resumed her studies, or at least opted for a different, better job?

He looked up as she came in, sensing her nerves. It was strange that she had fitted into this setting with such poise and yet anything work-orientated caused her aplomb to waver slightly. As always, her beautiful hair was pulled away from her face—another mystery, another unasked question—and she had chosen a monochrome outfit. A long-sleeved black top tucked into an asymmetrically cut long white skirt, simply adorned with two black buttons. The overall effect was simple and arresting—truly the ordinary made extraordinary.

She placed her laptop on the table and then handed him a report, beautifully bound. As he opened it he saw from the layout that she’d made it look both professional and appealing.

‘It’s a summary of my ideas,’ she explained.

At first her voice betrayed her nerves. Her presentation was slightly breathless, her pitch a little high, the words a little fast. But then she got into her rhythm as her enthusiasm for the subject overtook her nerves. Her expression radiated her belief in her opinions and admiration touched him in recognition of the hard work and effort she’d put in.