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Amalia shook her head again. She couldn’t go off on a hot air balloon ride. Even if she didn’t have a phobia about heights, she had work to do. Her brother to take care of. She’d have to find a way to convince Stefano it would be a mistake. He was too focused on the need to one-up Rafael Sandoval to worry about a mere personal assistant’s reasons for refusing.
“I need to get the Tunisia report finished. And you need to think of another choice. I really can’t do it.” Turning, she headed for the door.
“Then call Teresa Valesquez for me, will you?” he asked. “I might get her interested. Maybe she would distract Rafael long enough for me to have an easy triumph.”
Amalia nodded and kept walking. Teresa Valesquez was Rafael’s latest girlfriend. Amalia had recently read about them attending a reception together. The accompanying picture had captured the worldly look of his latest. Her sleek, short blond hair contrasted so well with her dark eyes. The gown she’d worn was the latest fashion and had looked fabulous on her figure.
Except, would she still be around by the time the balloon race began? The one thing Amalia had noticed was how frequently Rafael changed companions. The balloon race was still a couple of weeks away—plenty of time for him to find a new woman and for Teresa to be old news.
She sat at her desk and looked up the phone number for Ms. Valesquez. When she was on the line, Amalia clicked her over to Stefano’s phone. She could finish the report if she had no more interruptions before close of business.
Just before five, she finished the last set and put them in the envelopes for different staff members. That was a major project completed. The rest of the week should be a breeze—or as much as it ever was working for Stefano Vicente. She liked her job well enough; she found it interesting and fulfilling. Which was good, since she’d likely be at it for another four or five years. Once her brother was out of college and on his own, she’d give a thought to returning to school to work for her own degree—interrupted barely months after she’d started university by the death of her parents.
Amalia’s goal remained to become a graphic designer—working with multinational corporations to develop and maintain Web pages. She loved playing around on computers. She’d streamlined many of the office functions through technology. But it wasn’t enough to satisfy her. She wanted new horizons. She dabbled in Web design for friends, but looked for more challenges and a monetary reward for her work.
When she’d expressed that interest to Stefano a couple of years ago, asking if she could switch divisions, he’d refused. He hadn’t wanted to break in another new PA. Maybe she did her job too well, but it wasn’t in her to do less than her best.
At least she had a good position that enabled them to live in a modest flat. After their parents were killed, there had been more debt than assets. Once everything had been sold, there was nothing left for extras. Amalia could still remember the panic she felt knowing that Jose depended entirely on her. She’d only been nineteen, Jose a mere eight. She’d floundered those first couple of years until she began to work for this firm.
Promotions had moved her up, and her current job now paid enough to save a bit for college for her younger brother. One more year of public school and he’d be off to university. He wanted to be a physicist. He’d probably be over the moon with a chance to ride in a hot air balloon. She dare not tell him; he’d badger her forever to take advantage of the opportunity.
She shut off her computer, tidied her desk and donned her serviceable raincoat. She was already planning the evening meal she’d prepare for herself and Jose.
Stefano stepped into her office.
“I need you to renew my order of weather schedules first thing in the morning.” He handed her a piece of paper on which he’d written down the Internet addresses. One was from a local weather forecasting service in Barcelona. The other two covered other areas, including the eastern part of Spain and parts of southern France.
She nodded. “Anything else?”
“Not right now. I’ve got to prepare for the flight, though. There’s more to it this time than casual fun. I can’t wait to see Rafael’s face in front of the BBA giving me the winning check.”
“The entire plan sounds scary,” she murmured. She had gone to the Barcelona Balloon Festival the first time it had been held after she joined the firm. She hadn’t stayed after the first wave of balloons lifted into the air. The small wicker baskets were dwarfed by the huge balloons, dangling by incredibly thin ropes that connected the basket to the balloon. Imagine rising above the earth dependent solely on hot air in a large nylon bag. She shuddered just thinking about it. The entire venture looked precarious and dangerous. She preferred to keep her feet on terra firma.
“It’s perfectly safe and a lot of fun. There’s nothing like soaring a couple of thousand feet above the earth. Watching the landscape drift by below, going where the wind takes you.”
“Unless you get tangled in power lines and get zapped, or go down in the Med and drown before rescue, or—” Or just fall from the basket and splat on the ground. She shook her head at the horrible image that popped into her mind.
“That happens, like, once in a lifetime.” Stefano laughed.
“It could be your lifetime, or the end of it!”
“No, I don’t think so. I haven’t had even so much as a near miss in all the years I’ve been doing this. Anyway, you’re off the hook. Teresa Valesquez is delighted to be going with Rafael. I think she expects a ring on her finger by the end of the trip. Doubt he’ll ask, though, because he hasn’t so far. He strikes me as the perpetual playboy bachelor who’s having far too much fun to get tied down. See you in the morning,” he added, turning and reentering his office.
She grabbed her umbrella, wondering if that or her raincoat would be much protection against the deluge that continued.
Stepping outside a few moments later, Amalia paused beneath the building’s portico debating whether or not to dash to the bus stop without her umbrella raised and hope she didn’t become soaked, or give in to the inevitable and use the umbrella until the wind turned it inside out.
A sleek black sports car drew to a stop at the curb in front of her. The passenger window slid down.
“Need a lift?”
She leaned over a bit to peer in. Rafael Sandoval looked back at her.
“Get in, I’ll drive you home,” he ordered.
Normally Amalia would object to his imperious tone, but she was pragmatic enough to appreciate a ride in the storm. She quickly got into the car as the window slid up.
“Why?” she asked as she fastened her seat belt.
“To get to know you, of course.”
As the car pulled back into traffic, Amalia sighed softly. The luxurious leather interior even smelled like wealth. The seat cushioned her lovingly, and she surreptitiously rubbed her fingers against its softness. “There’s no need. Stefano got Teresa Valesquez to agree to accompany you on the balloon race. I won’t be going.”
Would he let her off at the next corner now that there was no need to become better acquainted?
“Damn, I don’t know which is worse, you or Teresa,” he said, moving to another lane as traffic began to get heavy.
“Thanks a lot,” she murmured, not feeling kindly toward the man. She fervently hoped he lost the race to her boss just to take him down a peg or two!
“They say ‘better the devil you know,’ but I’m not so sure. I do know Teresa and the spin she’s sure to put on this. You’re an unknown, but at least I know you have no ulterior motive.”
“I’m not going, so there’s no more to say,” Amalia said firmly.
“Still, I’m not dumping you in the rain. Where to?”
She lived in an older section of town, with lots of flats and small markets, winding streets and little parking. Nothing like the palatial home he must live in surrounded by gardens and giving a stupendous view of the city and the Med.
“It’s off Via Estrada,” she said.
“So what’s Vicente’s game plan?” he asked a moment later, easily driving in the rainy evening twilight.
“He wants to win,” Amalia pointed out dryly.
“So do I,” Rafael said.
“He thinks you’ll be distracted by Ms. Valesquez and that will give him the edge,” she said, hoping to startle him.
Rafael glanced at her a second. “Honest. Hmm…unusual.”
“Then you must hang out with the wrong people,” she snapped. First he considered she would sabotage his race, now he seemed surprised to find her an honest person. The nerve of the man! She clutched her purse tighter, hoping she could hold on to her temper until she reached home.
“Touchy, too. I bet there’s temper in there somewhere,” he mocked. “But being the perfect little personal assistant to Vicente, I’m sure you’ve damped that down a lot.”
She wanted to say something pithy to knock him off his high horse, but nothing came to mind. She hated that!
“Do you think Teresa would distract me?” he asked, turning onto Via Estrada.
“I have no idea,” she replied stiffly. His affair with the beautiful woman was none of her business. She refused to speculate based on the innuendos of the press. “If you and my boss have to have a stupid race, I suspect one distraction would be equal to another.”
“So maybe I should find a beautiful woman to ride with him.”
Amalia said nothing. Rafael had to know Stefano was married. Did he think Stefano would be unfaithful to his wife for a balloon race?
“No thoughts?” he pressed.
“None you want to hear,” she murmured. “Turn at the second traffic signal, right. Then three blocks to Via Escondito.”
“Maybe I do want to hear,” he said.
She hesitated a moment, but knowing she was almost home, she felt reckless. “It’s that stupid bet. Don’t you think the two of you could find better use for that much money than betting it against each other? There are hungry children, sick people, homeless in the world who could benefit.”
“I give to charity,” he protested.
He couldn’t see it; his type never would. She shook her head. He lived so differently from the masses.
“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll turn over my winnings to your favorite charity. You just name it and I’ll sign the check right over.”
She looked at him in astonishment. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Why not? The money isn’t the important part of the wager, the winning is.”
Amalia turned to look out at the street. She couldn’t imagine carelessly dismissing fifty thousand Euros.
When he reached her apartment building a few minutes later, he stopped in front and looked up through the windshield. The building was old, but still interesting, with stonework embellishments and tall windows.
“Is the inside also old, or has it been renovated?”
“The building is almost a hundred years old, so of course the inside has been renovated.” About fifty years ago, but Amalia saw no need to tell him that.
He looked at her. “I’m sorry you won’t be going with me. I love a challenge.”
Amalia frowned. “I’d be no challenge.”
“Getting you on my side would be the challenge. Teammates should share the goal. Would you throw your heart into my race, or hamper it at every turn?”
“We’ll never know, will we?” she asked. He was so close she could see the faint lines radiating from the corners of his eyes. See the deepbrown irises that almost melded into the black pupils.
He rubbed a finger lightly down her cheek. “Seems a shame.”
She jerked back. “Thank you for the ride,” she said hastily, throwing open the door and scrambling from the car. She made a quick dash to the front door and hardly felt the rain. She was churning with the emotional onslaught of his touch that had her insides turning to mush. He was wrong—she’d be no challenge to him at all if he ever turned his attentions on her!
She turned and watched as he tooted the horn and drove away, puddles splashing from the wheels. Long after the taillights had merged into traffic, she gazed after the sleek black dream machine. She didn’t even own a car. Not that she needed the expense as the bus served her perfectly well. She and Jose had a nice flat, nothing like the home she’d grown up in, but the best she could afford. Her job was good, and in only a few years she’d be able to return to her own education.
Opening the door to the flat, she saw she’d beaten Jose home, probably because of the ride Rafael had given her. She’d start dinner then change. Afterward, she would read up on what she could find on the Internet about hot air balloons. She knew only the rudimentary facts about the sport, which she’d gleaned from Stefano’s enthusiastic discussion when he returned from some ballooning event.
She did know long jumps meant trips beyond the one—to three-hour ones near a festival site. They were rarer than the gathering of balloonists in favorite spots like Barcelona or London or Albuquerque, New Mexico, in America. Those races followed some prescribed activities, like waves of balloons in the morning flights or just before sunset. They also required a chase crew to pick them up when they came down. If there were competitions, it was usually dropping beanbags in target sites. Points went to those who dropped the closest to the center or who dropped earlier rather than later.
Once in comfortable and warm sweats, Amalia turned on her computer. She told herself she was learning about the sport to talk more knowledgeably with her boss. But she also searched for what would fascinate a dynamic man like Rafael Sandoval. Doing a search on his name, she began to read about his life. Some aspects she knew, other items were new. A complete dossier online. Did he know people could find out so much merely by tapping a few keys on a computer?
Despite her own reservations about flight, she wondered a bit wistfully what it would be like to sail soundlessly over the countryside, going where the wind blew, seeing farms and towns from the air with a man who made life seem more exciting than anything she’d experienced.
His own parents were divorced. According to one source, he maintained “cordial relationships” with both, whatever that meant. She missed her parents all the time. She couldn’t imagine having mere “cordial relationships” with them.
“Hola, I’m home,” Jose called.
So much for dreaming about hot air balloon rides and sexy millionaires who took to the air! Reality returned: she had dinner to finish.
Rafael let himself into the empty house from the garage. It was raining like a monsoon outside. The house was dark and a bit chilled. He flipped on the switch to illuminate the mudroom, then stepped into the hall. Turning on lights as he walked back to the kitchen, he considered the bet he’d made. Then he almost laughed remembering the outrage of Vicente’s prim PA when he’d suggested she might sabotage his flight.
He didn’t know what had made him drive back by Vicente’s office building at the end of the working day. He had wanted to talk to Amalia to see if he could glean any information to explain why Vicente had suggested she be part of his crew. It made even less sense now that he knew Teresa was going with him. What was Vicente’s thinking? He couldn’t seriously suppose that Teresa would distract Rafael from his goal of winning the race?
The short car ride with Amalia hadn’t given him much insight except he now knew she deplored the bet for altruistic financial reasons. But she didn’t seem to have a special interest in Vicente’s winning. Or his losing.
But she intrigued Rafael for other reasons. She seemed as jumpy as a cat with dogs baying. He’d caught her watching him the few times he’d actually gone to Vicente’s office. Rafael was used to that from women, but she never flirted with him, never acknowledged any interest besides the looks he’d feel from time to time. If he glanced her way, her eyes would already be moving away.
What made her tick? He’d given her even more reason for Vicente to lose by promising his winnings to her favorite charity. An offer which she had not jumped on. That puzzled him as well. Most people he knew would instantly come up with a name or cause to gain that much money.
Stefano Vicente had long been a thorn in his side, ever since he’d made a rather underhanded maneuver five years ago that had cost Rafael time and money. Rafael would delight in showing up the man in front of the Business Alliance. Stefano had been the only ballooner in the group until Rafael took up the sport. Vicente liked to brag, but those bragging rights would be curtailed when Rafael beat him—especially since he was the newcomer to the sport.
The bet presented a new personal challenge as well—piloting a balloon farther afield. The trick would be with the weather and getting an ongoing reliable way to indicate the wind factor. How much fuel could he carry to keep airborne longer, without being too much weight for lift? The logistics suddenly seemed daunting enough to fire up his determination not only to beat Vicente, but to try for a new record.
Rafael smiled. He loved pitting his own resources against others. He could already see himself standing in front of the BBA and accepting Stefano’s check. That he’d now promised to turn it over to charity didn’t bother him. The entire bet was not about the money, but about proving to Stefano Vicente that he wasn’t the only one in Barcelona with the cojones to venture into the unknown. Their balloons could end up over the Pyrenees, or over the Med. He briefly wondered if they could get to Africa. No, that was unlikely, as this time of year the prevailing winds blew north and west.
Opening the oven, he savored the aroma of the casserole his housekeeper had prepared and set in the oven before she left for home. It wouldn’t be done for another half hour. He was home earlier than usual, having left work to get to Vicente’s building early enough to catch Amalia.
The phone rang and Rafael picked up the kitchen extension.
“Sandoval,” he said.
“Hola,” Teresa said in her sultry voice.
“Teresa,” he acknowledged. He wasn’t expecting to hear from her tonight. Was she calling about the race?
“It’s raining and I’m bored,” she said. “It’s too wet to go out, and there’s nothing on television. No friends want to venture forth to visit me.”
He could hear the pout in her voice. Picture her lush red lips in a moue that invited kissing.
“Unless you do,” she finished.
He liked Teresa. They had fun together when they went out. But he did not relish becoming a frequent visitor at her home. That led to ideas that he was definitely not pursuing. She knew that.
“Not tonight. It’s pouring and I just got home. Besides, I need to start planning for the race. I heard Vicente called you and you’re going with me.”
“Won’t that be delightful, just the two of us in the gondola of the balloon, riding high above the crowds?”
“Delightful,” he replied sardonically. Did she have any idea what was involved? If she thought they’d enjoy a tryst, he had better explain the facts of balloon racing.
“Ohhh, I could come there and plan the race with you,” she said, as if it were a sudden idea.
