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Alone, she determined as she entered the dining room an hour and a half later. The table was set for one, and an elegant chiffonier held a covered dish, a carafe of steaming coffee, and a jug of orange juice.
The morning newspaper lay folded within reach, and she scanned the newsprint as she ate, then when she was done she returned to her suite to freshen up and gather her notes.
Five minutes to showtime, she determined as she entered the informal lounge, and found Tony checking the audio equipment. The video recorder was set up in readiness.
‘Hi.’ He glanced up from the task in hand. ‘Sleep well?’
‘OK.’ There was no point in admitting to a restless night. ‘You?’
‘Fine. Woke early, did a few warm-ups in the gym, then swam a few lengths of the indoor lap pool.’ He offered a grin. ‘Santos granted permission.’
A gym? It figured. As to an indoor lap pool…she might need to avail herself of it in order to cool off after a day parrying words with Manolo del Guardo!
‘I’m impressed.’
Tony raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘With my early-morning zest for exercise?’
‘That, too.’
His soft laugh brought an answering smile, only to have it die as the soft burr of her cellphone signalled an incoming text message. Business…had to be. Yet it didn’t stop her stomach muscles clenching with nervous tension as she read the script.
Is he good in bed, darling?
Roger. Stepping up his ongoing campaign to stalk and harass. Didn’t he have anything better to do?
Stupid question. She was his obsession, the focus of his delusion. And he was clever…sufficiently so to fool the legal system.
He intruded into her everyday life. Appearing wherever she happened to be, silent but there…among the occupants of a café where she happened to meet a friend for coffee; a restaurant where she chose to dine; in a supermarket; the cinema. On the fringes, never making direct contact, but ensuring she was aware of his presence.
It was irritating, maddening…as he meant it to be.
‘Problems?’
Ariane deleted the message. ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’
Tony didn’t appear convinced, and she sent him a reassuring smile. ‘Really.’ She spared her watch a glance. ‘We did say nine, didn’t we?’
‘Indeed.’ The faintly accented drawl held a degree of cynical humour. ‘Although I was unaware of the need for a strict timetable.’
Their host and the subject of the interview stood just inside the doorway, looking totally at ease in black tailored trousers and white chambray shirt with the top few buttons left undone and cuffs turned back.
He moved with the lithe grace of a jungle cat, for she hadn’t heard a sound.
Lean-hipped, broad-framed and tall, Manolo del Guardo cut a dynamic figure. Raw-boned facial features, a sensuous mouth and eyes that didn’t miss a thing. Aware of his background, she had to concede a compelling ruthlessness lurked beneath the surface of his control.
‘Good morning.’ He included Tony in the greeting. ‘I trust you both slept well?’
Ariane met his gaze with level coolness. ‘Thank you.’ Nerves were something she’d learnt to disguise, and it irked her that this man unsettled her more than most.
Recognition of sexual chemistry, that’s all it is, she rationalised, and did her best to dismiss it.
She was here to do a job. What was more, she had no interest in men. Especially someone of Manolo del Guardo’s calibre.
‘Tony is about through checking the sound equipment.’ Professionalism was everything. ‘Is there anything in the questionnaire you’d like to discuss at this point?’
One eyebrow rose. ‘I’m familiar with the interview process.’
‘Yes, of course.’ A conciliatory smile offered a soothing salve. ‘As you’re aware, we intend to focus on three key elements: your background; business success; your nominated charity interest. With sufficient personal details to give the interview an individual touch and tie it all together.’
Doing that would be a challenge. Perhaps more than she bargained for. This man was no pushover, and far too warily astute to be led into any indiscriminate revelations.
She’d suggested ‘smart casual wear’ for the morning session. Trousers by Armani, shirt by Versace. She was willing to swear both styles had been worn by male models in a fashion show she’d compèred recently.
A deliberate choice on Manolo del Guardo’s part?
‘Perhaps we could make a start?’
Ariane studied his features with analytical appraisal, and steadfastly ignored the tension coiling inside her stomach as he held her gaze.
‘Something bothers you?’
You do. In spades. ‘I’d like to apply a light make-up.’ She turned towards a small cosmetic box she always carried for just this purpose. ‘Just the merest touch.’
‘No.’
The drawling voice held a silky softness that caused her to momentarily freeze before swinging back to face him. ‘We’re talking a faint coverage of translucent powder, nothing more.’
‘No.’
It wasn’t much after nine in the morning, and they’d already encountered a hiccup. She sought to appease. ‘It’s standard procedure.’
‘But not one I choose to observe.’
OK, so make-up was a no-go. She could handle that.
‘Would you care to take a seat?’ It wasn’t so much a suggestion as a directive, and it earned her a contemplative look.
‘And if I prefer to stand?’
He was toying with her. ‘Mr del Guardo—’
‘I thought we agreed on informality?’
This was going to be one hell of a weekend. ‘Manolo,’ she conceded, and he inclined his head.
‘Gracias.’
‘Let’s get you wired.’ Tony moved forward with two remote microphones, handed one to Ariane and fixed the other to the V of Manolo del Guardo’s shirt.
The ball is in your court, you’re in charge, you have control.
Sure, Ariane conceded with silent cynicism. And cows jump over the moon!
Dealing with an ego was part of the job, and she’d dealt with a few in her time. ‘I’d like to keep this as relaxed and informal as possible.’ She deliberately held his gaze. ‘Visual and audio will be edited, and you’ll have control over final content.’
His eyes held a dark intensity that could sear the soul. Could they also soothe?
Oh, hell, where had that come from?
‘I’ll remind you, any attempt at clever journalistic tactics on your part will be met with silence.’
Oh, my. Ariane drew herself up to her full height and took a slow, steady breath. ‘Point taken.’ She even managed a faint smile. ‘Shall we begin?’
An hour later she had nothing more on Manolo del Guardo than what was already available in previous Press releases. Which meant she had to work a little harder.
‘Tell me what it was like growing up in the ’hood.’
The faint smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You want I should draw a picture?’ Street gangs, poverty, where survival meant being one step ahead of the law in alleyways where one false move could bring a knife in the ribs…or worse?
‘I imagine it was tough.’
He doubted her imagination stretched as far as the reality. Except he’d managed to get out and move on. Lean years when he’d worked his butt off twenty by seven, taking risks only the brave or a fool would touch.
‘The prime motivation was to survive.’
His voice held an edge of mockery, and a wealth of living lurked in the depths of those dark eyes. Elements she could only guess at.
‘Perhaps you’d care to elaborate?’
‘I don’t see the need to provide a vicarious insight into the days of my youth.’
OK, so he was going to play hardball. ‘Self-protection, or a need to bury your past?’
He didn’t move, yet she had the sensation his powerful body suddenly went on full alert.
The silence in the room became a palpable entity, and she held her breath, waiting for a display of temperament.
It didn’t happen, and there was little she could detect beneath his obsidian gaze.
Supreme control, she registered, and wondered what it would take to break it. A faint shivery sensation threatened to slither the length of her spine at the thought of what direction his anger might take…certain in her mind it would be laser-swift and deadly.
Ariane’s attention was so focused on the man that at first she didn’t register the faint sound of a baby’s cry.
‘You’ll have to excuse me.’ Manolo rose to his feet in one fluid movement and crossed to the door.
It was then she heard the angry wail of a distressed babe, a sound that rose to a crescendo in seconds.
Ariane signalled for Tony to cut, and followed Manolo del Guardo into the foyer.
The sight of him cradling a baby in the curve of his arm caused the breath to catch in her throat.
At that moment he turned, and she stood locked into immobility at the ruthless intensity of his gaze. ‘Your intrusion is not welcome.’ His voice was dangerously soft, and the infant’s wailing increased.
She had the unbearable urge to take the child and attempt to soothe its pain. ‘The camera isn’t on, nor is the sound.’
The fate of Manolo del Guardo’s late wife was common knowledge; so too was the existence of their daughter. Except no photos of the child had reached the media.
‘Ensure it remains that way.’
The infant’s wailing intensified, then subsided into a series of cross, hiccuping cries.
Ariane couldn’t help herself. ‘She has colic.’
‘And you know this…because?’
She wanted to hit him. Instead she held her breath and counted to three before releasing it. She even managed a negligible shrug. ‘We can take up where we left off when you’ve settled your daughter into the nanny’s care.’
‘Difficult, when the girl walked out yesterday, and a replacement isn’t due until mid-week.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Was that genuine concern? Or a polite act? Manolo opted for the latter. ‘We’ll reconvene after lunch.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘At two.’
He headed towards the stairs, and Ariane retraced her steps to find Tony running a review of the morning’s taping.
‘We’re taking a break?’
‘Dismissed until two.’ She crossed to where he stood. ‘What do you think?’
‘So far so good. He’s ice.’
‘And won’t crack?’
He shot her a direct look as the tape went into rewind. ‘Waste of time to even try.’
Ariane viewed the morning’s session with an analytical eye, then retrieved her notebook, made a few notations and returned it to her briefcase.
There was half an hour until lunch, and she felt the pressing need for some fresh air. ‘I’m going to take a walk in the grounds.’
‘And examine the plant life?’
‘You have a better suggestion?’
Tony offered a wicked smile. ‘You could go pound the punching bag in the gym.’
‘Talk to me at day’s end. Although kickboxing is more my style. You could join me.’
‘Sorry, sweetheart. I’m not into masochism.’
