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‘Excuse me?’
‘Do you really think I’ll allow you to take a position with my competitor, knowing what you know about my company?’
Twin flickers of anger and hurt darted across her face. ‘You think I’ll break your confidence? After...’ She stopped herself but he already knew.
Wasn’t this a subject he’d dwelt on for far too long in the past few weeks?
‘After what?’ he taunted. ‘After Morocco? Or are we finally getting to the heart of this little scene?’
She blinked, shook her head, drawing his attention to the rich gloss of her hair. What it’d felt like tumbling freely over him—
‘No, we’re not. I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Well, I do. Tell me Morocco is not why you’ve dropped this bombshell on my day and we can move on. And no, we won’t be moving onto this so-called dream of a family or child because we both know you don’t even have a boyfriend.’
Fire sparked in her eyes. ‘What makes you think you know everything about me?’
Her spirited reply drew him even closer. He rounded his desk, closed the gap between them, felt tendrils of her light floral perfume wrapping around him. ‘You’ve been in charge of organising my life for over four years. That means I’m equally aware of yours and it isn’t that much of a secret, Saffie—’
‘I beg to differ or you would’ve seen this coming, wouldn’t you?’
Joao took a breath. This wasn’t working. For whatever reason, his assistant seemed hell-bent on this path. This unsatisfactory desire to leave him high and dry at this most crucial juncture of his life.
‘You wish me to apologise for what happened in Morocco?’
Her eyes widened, the deep pools of blue pulling him in. ‘What? No. I said—’
‘I’m aware of what you said. Just as I’m aware what women tend to say often differs from what they truly mean.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘Sorry to disabuse you of the notion but I’m not like your other women. I’m not hiding behind some nefarious ulterior motive. And while it may bruise your ego to hear the word no for the first time in your life—’
‘Watch it, Saffie.’
She carried on regardless. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. I don’t want to be your assistant any more. My life is my own. I can do whatever I want. You have my letter. I’ve been in touch with HR. As soon as you accept, they’ll get my termination papers ready.’
She turned on her heel, presenting him with the rigid curve of her spine that again commanded his attention to the curve of her hips, the tempting swell of her bottom.
He cursed under his breath. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ The arctic snap in his voice froze her in place.
Giving him the time he needed to stride over to join her at the door.
They weren’t done. Far from it. He needed her far too much to let her walk out of his office.
Perhaps it was their close proximity that made her pulse race in her throat as she stared at him. Perhaps it was because she sensed he was about to pull out the big guns, as he was wont to do when the occasion demanded it.
Whatever the reason, he watched her drag her inner lip between her teeth, felt the unwelcome sensation deep in his pelvis.
Meu Deus. He needed to put this thing to bed, pronto.
‘What?’ she blurted.
‘There’s a clause in your contract that states all future employers will be vetted and approved by me. Tell me, do you think I’ll let you run off and work for Ashby?’
* * *
The demand was soft. So soft Saffie didn’t feel the warm knife slide into her ribs until it was too late.
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Because I wish to keep the best personal assistant I’ve ever had.’
There was a time when the flippant compliment would’ve lit up her day. Not any more. ‘I’m sure the next will do just as well.’
His nostrils flared. ‘You can have an extended vacation after we put the Archer deal to bed.’
‘Joao—’
‘I will get my pilot to fly you to any destination of your choosing. You have my word that I won’t ask you to return until you’re well rested and you’ve worked whatever...lingering discontentment you have out of your system. Whatever it takes to get my level-headed executive assistant back.’
Despite his more than generous offer, the words dropped like icy bullets from his lips, his body language broadcasting his extreme displeasure.
The intimacy of his proximity and the sheer headiness of his masculine scent sent heat blooming through her as he continued to stare her down, reminding her that she hadn’t always been level-headed.
She’d slipped and fallen from grace in Morocco.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, stayed and for a second she knew he was recalling it, too.
Then she realised she was full-on gnawing at her lip.
Her renowned rock-solid composure was slipping and, for the life of her, she couldn’t get herself under control.
‘I told you. I can’t stay here and get what I want.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘This accusation interests me greatly. Tell me on what basis you arrived at it,’ he invited silkily.
‘I’ve worked with you for four years. You might be progressive with your other employees, but I know, for instance, that the subject of families and babies doesn’t interest you.’
One eyebrow spiked. ‘You know this for a fact when you and I have never discussed it?’
‘We may not have, but I’ve been present when business acquaintances have brought up the subject. Your eyes glaze over and you change the topic as soon as possible.’
One thick shoulder rose and fell. ‘Because the subject of other people’s children bores me,’ he stated coldly.
Saffie forced herself to breathe through the sharp pang of hurt. ‘Well, if you’ll be so kind as to step out of my way, I’ll stop boring you.’
She went to move around him. His hand whipped out and captured her wrist. Heat blazed from the contact, raining sharp tingles and making her gasp, this time for a completely different reason.
At the very top of her list—and underscored in indelible ink—of ways to avoid her tightly reined composure slipping around Joao was to never come into direct physical contact with him.
She’d learned that lesson in one sizzling, unforgettable way.
The Montcrief Pipeline deal.
The months’ long negotiations for the Brazilian-Canadian deal had left her with little sleep and living on the very edge of her nerves alongside Joao.
Her usually unflappable boss had been like a man possessed, his focus on securing the multibillion-dollar contract razor-sharp.
It was the first time the name Pueblo Oliviera had truly registered. The first time she’d witnessed something other than the fervent need to bag the best deal. It’d been clear Montcrief was personal for Joao.
It hadn’t taken a genius to connect the dots and conclude that he wanted to win against Pueblo Oliviera.
His father.
Joao had not only bagged the Montcrief deal, he’d signed another multibillion-dollar deal that had granted him ownership of his third premier soccer team in Brazil.
The double-barrelled success against his father had triggered a euphoric celebration, Joao’s breathtaking exclusive Marrakesh villa and its grounds the scene of one of the most sophisticated parties Saffie and the entire executive staff had ever attended.
It had been there, surrounded by flame throwers, jugglers and exotic belly dancers, that she’d given in to illicit temptation, one that she couldn’t recall without her stomach flipping and her skin burning with remembered excitement.
She wished she could blame it on one too many glasses of the Krug Clos d’Ambonnay, two thousand dollars per bottle, which had been flowing at the party.
Or the singular thrill of attempting her first belly dance, dressed in the midriff-baring costume and exotic jewellery that had made her feel feminine and sexy.
No.
It had been the expression on Joao’s face when she’d looked up and found him leaning against a stone pillar, staring at her, the euphoric glaze of success glinting in his eyes.
It had been the unfettered excitement at seeing the heat in his eyes flame brighter as she’d swayed towards him.
And it had been the absolute rapture at the thickly muttered Portuguese words and searing brand of his touch when he’d jerked her close, stared down at her for a charged minute before kissing her with a sizzling intensity she’d never experienced before.
The kiss, the fever it’d sparked in her bloodstream, and the urge to taste danger, just once, had been too heady to deny. So when he’d swept her off her feet, she’d willingly twined her arms around his neck. When he’d walked away from the party, marched them up to his master suite and kicked the door shut, she’d almost wept with anticipation.
And when she’d finally known what it felt like to be the lust-drunk focus of Joao’s attention, what it felt like to be completely possessed by him, she’d feared her life would never be the same.
She’d been right.
‘You are not other people. You don’t bore me, Saffie. Quite the contrary.’ His growled words slammed her to the present.
To the reminder that the morning after that night in Morocco, Joao had greeted her with stinging indifference. As if what had happened was of little consequence to him.
Then and now.
Her pulse hammered against the fingers curled around her flesh. And she died a little knowing he could feel it, too. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
His gaze shifted to where he held her, to where his thumb was moving slowly, seductively across her skin. ‘You are my right hand,’ he said, his accent thickening ever so slightly. ‘One of the most important cogs in my business wheel. I would be a fool to let such an asset walk away. But if you need to hear the words, I value you for your intellect. Which is far from boring.’
Cog. Business. Asset.
Cold labels that spelled out all she would ever be to Joao. From the beginning she’d known that. Somewhere along the line she’d finally accepted it. So why did the words douse her with such icy, isolating coldness?
Joao Oliviera was the biggest shark in an immense ocean. And as with all sharks there would come a day when she would become his prey. When he would chew her up and spit her out without so much as a blink of his whisky-gold eyes before moving on. She had enough sense to rescue herself before that happened. Especially when she had a goal much closer to her heart.
‘You’re really determined to do this? To walk out on your career?’ he pressed.
She found the strength to reconnect with his gaze. ‘To leave you, yes.’
He stared at her for a long, unblinking minute before eyes that were far too shrewd leisurely travelled over her body. They lingered at the frantic pulse beating at her throat, the agitated rise and fall of her chest she couldn’t quite control, the dark purple silk of her blouse, right down to her legs and shoes before travelling back up again. This time they lingered on her hips, then her breasts, causing her flesh to tingle.
Reprieve came in the form of the phone on his desk ringing. Her inbuilt work ethic kicked in and she automatically glanced at it.
‘Leave it,’ he instructed gruffly. ‘One of your assistants can get it.’
Very early on, she’d realised the sheer volume of work Joao produced meant she had to delegate less-sensitive work to others and she’d hired two assistants who answered to her.
He leaned closer, wrapped her tighter in his intoxicating scent. ‘And nothing I can say can change your mind?’ His tone had turned deadly silky, the kind that could weave spells around her.
She shook her head. Nowhere on their trajectory did their interests collide. It was why it’d taken her years to summon up the strength to walk away.
The breakneck lifestyle Joao led was no place to make long-term plans. Certainly not one that included her yearning for a family of her own. A baby.
How many times had she booked a ski trip to Aspen only for him to ski one black run and decide he would much prefer the slopes in Switzerland, preferably that same day?
Hadn’t he woken her up in the middle of the night only a month ago and ordered her to arrange a tour of the Chilean vineyard he’d just purchased on the spur of the moment for forty million dollars? She had still been rubbing the sleep from her eyes when his private jet had taken off from his Greek island fifty minutes later.
And this relentless, sizzling awareness of him surely couldn’t be good for her health?
No, she couldn’t put this off any longer.
‘No. There’s nothing you can say to make me change my—’
‘I know this is about Morocco. Specifically the sex we had in Marrakesh, is it not?’ he enquired with a low, terse rumble that resonated deep inside her.
Saffie sagged against the door, very much aware her mouth was agape. ‘What?’ she murmured with a voice that didn’t sound like her own.
‘You can put it out of your mind, Saffie. It was a mistake that shouldn’t have happened. If you need it to satisfy you so you stay, then have my apologies,’ he continued tersely, his body held in military rigidness that didn’t in any way detract from the mouth-watering package.
‘I... No,’ she strained out.
Latin temper flared in his eyes. ‘You don’t accept my apology? Or is it the veracity of it you doubt?’
She almost laughed.
Joao was a great many things—ruthless, acerbic to the point of cruel sometimes, impossibly arrogant. Too damn good-looking for words. But in all his dealings, he had never spoken a word he didn’t mean. His core of integrity was the reason less powerful men envied him almost as much as they feared him. It was the reason she loved her job even when he slave-drove her to the brink of sanity sometimes. There was a synergy in their dynamic, a thrill that came from working so close to a brilliant mind that she never got bored with.
‘No, it’s not that,’ she stated.
She couldn’t stay.
