The Shock Cassano Baby

But as Orlando bent over her Isobel immediately regretted her invitation. Suddenly he was way too close, and she was painfully aware of the tightness in her chest, of her breasts swelling beneath her lacy cotton blouse.

‘Let me see.’ Rescuing the shoe from her hand, Orlando squinted at the holes on the strap before turning to the star-struck Daisy, who was still staring at him as if he was some sort of god. ‘Looks okay to me. What do you think...Daisy, isn’t it?’

Daisy nodded.

‘It doesn’t matter what Daisy thinks.’ Snatching back the shoe, Isobel shoved it into the nearest box and stuffed tissue paper on top of it. ‘I am the one who decides these things, and I am saying that this standard is simply unacceptable.’

‘Well, no doubt it can be sorted out. Let’s start with coffee.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Daisy sprang out of her trance. ‘What can I get for you?’

‘Espresso—thank you.’

‘Isobel?’

‘Nothing for me.’ Her curt reply was partly down to annoyance that Orlando was taking charge—again—and partly a newly acquired aversion to coffee. Another pregnancy-related surprise.

Pulling out a chair, Orlando squeezed in beside her. Isobel’s basement office wasn’t meant for more than one person. With its wide table, positioned beneath a glass window to let in some natural light, it worked fine as a place for Isobel to work on her designs, catch up on paperwork. But it did not feel fine right now, with Orlando taking up far too much space, somehow managing to steal the air that she needed to fill her lungs.

‘There are bound to be some teething problems with the new factory.’ Picking up a jewel-studded evening sandal, he turned it over in his hand before it was snatched back by Isobel. ‘It’s only to be expected.’

‘I know that.’ The shoes were now being swept from the table into the large cardboard box they had arrived in. ‘But this is more than teething problems—this is a disaster.’

‘Not a disaster. You need to remember that these shoes are for the ready-to-wear collection. You’re not going to get the same quality of manufacture from the factory as you do from your guys here in the workshop.’ He jerked his head towards the glass-panelled door. ‘That sort of craftsmanship is for the couture trade only.’

‘Well, thank you so much for pointing that out.’ Isobel shot him a witheringly contemptuous look. ‘But when I want your opinion of my business I will ask for it.’

If she’d hoped to put him in his place she was to be disappointed. Orlando appeared completely unmoved. And that annoyed her all the more.

‘Can I ask what you are actually doing here?’ She tried again. ‘I’m sure you must have any number of business interests that require your attention more than mine.’

‘I think our relationship has progressed somewhat further than business.’

There was that infuriating calmness again—swinging like a lead weight between them, knocking aside Isobel’s protests and somehow giving him all the power.

Turning to the distraction of her computer, Isobel caught sight of her own anxious expression in the black screen before it came to life with a string of emails. She positioned her fingers over the keyboard, hoping she was making it quite clear that it was time for Orlando to leave. But it seemed he had other ideas.

‘As it happens, I might be able to help you with the problem of these samples.’

Opening her first email, Isobel gave it her full attention. ‘I doubt that very much.’

‘I’m flying to Italy this afternoon. I have some business in Le Marche. I can go to the factory and speak to the supervisor about your concerns.’

‘That won’t be necessary.’ Emails forgotten, Isobel turned to face him, a dangerous flash in her green eyes. ‘When Cassano Holdings invested in Spicer Shoes it was with the understanding that I would have complete control of the day-to-day running of the business. The issue with these samples is my problem, not yours, and I will be the one to rectify it.’

‘If you say so.’ Leaning back in his chair, Orlando tried to stretch out his long legs under the table. But the space was too small and he ended up nudging Isobel’s foot with his own.

Isobel edged away.

There was a moment of silence between them.

‘Are you able to fly?’

Isobel stared at him, nonplussed. What did he mean by that? ‘I’m pregnant, Orlando. I haven’t developed super powers.’

Orlando bit back the hint of a smile. ‘What I mean is, is there any reason for you not to accompany me to Le Marche?’

Isobel could think of a hundred reasons, but none of them were to do with her being pregnant.

‘I have a private jet leaving this afternoon and I suggest you come with me—see the factory for yourself, sort out the problems face to face.’

‘I couldn’t possibly.’ Casting around, Isobel desperately tried to come up with a plausible reason to say no. She couldn’t go—not this afternoon, not just like that. Not with him. ‘I’m afraid I have far too much to do here.’

‘I’m sure something can be arranged.’

Right on cue the office door opened and a smiling Daisy appeared, bearing Orlando’s espresso before her like a sacrificial offering.

‘I bet Daisy could keep things ticking over here if you went away for a couple of days—couldn’t you, Daisy?’

‘Of course.’ The smile turned into a beam of pleasure. ‘No problem at all. You can trust me to make sure that everything runs smoothly.’

‘That’s settled, then.’ Turning back to Isobel, Orlando let his gaze rake over Isobel’s flustered figure. When he spoke again his voice was as dark as bitter chocolate. ‘The flight is booked for four p.m. I’ll meet you here at three.’

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