London...
ANTONIO ARCURI GESTURED for the petite brunette to slide into the limousine ahead of him. He might be accustomed to ushering women he’d only just met into his chauffeur-driven town car, but not when it was business. Never when it was business.
Yet there had been no other option. His morning meeting had run unacceptably late, and now he could neither cancel this last interview for a new PA nor be late for his meeting with the other two members of the Winners’ Circle—the racing syndicate he co-owned.
Antonio had been waiting almost a year to see his closest friends Dimitri and Danyl, his brothers in more ways than blood could ever account for. So he had been forced to multi-task. And Antonio hated nothing more than having his hand forced.
So far, the brunette—Ms Guilham—had yet even to raise an eyebrow at the somewhat unusual relocation of their meeting, which boded well. The way that she struggled with the wayward hemline of her skirt as it rose up over toned, creamy thighs the moment she sat back on the plush leather seat did not. The hemline that when she was standing bordered on the overly conservative was now a sincerely unwanted distraction.
Settling into the seat beside her, Antonio studied Emma Guilham from the corner of his eye. She was petite. Beautiful, he conceded, then filed and discarded the fact. Whether a future PA of his was attractive or not was irrelevant. At least she had finally stopped fidgeting with her skirt.
The limousine pulled away from the dark underground parking area of his London office, emerged into pale wintry sunlight...and into busy central London traffic. He cursed silently and resisted the urge to glance at his watch. He knew what time it was and he was cutting it fine.
‘Your driver should take St James’s and then Pall Mall. Christmas and Regent Street don’t mix well.’
She locked her hazel eyes on his and Antonio felt a sudden start in his chest. Her gaze held no desperate eagerness to please, no fevered excitement, nor the sensual assessment he often felt when women looked at him. He knew he was attractive and took full advantage of the fact—though never with his employees.
But, most importantly, there was no pretence in her eyes. And that was both unusual and—to him—invaluable.
Compared to the three other interviewees he’d met, she was, on paper, the least impressive. At barely twenty-two, Emma Guilham was young. But while the other candidates had varied in age from late twenties to early fifties, she currently seemed the least flappable. He didn’t need to look at her CV. His quick mind recalled all the pertinent information and he proceeded with the interview for the position of his new PA.
‘You graduated with your International Business Studies degree from SOAS after attaining four A levels. You can type one hundred and twenty words per minute, you like travelling and reading,’ he stated, somewhat disconcerted to see the hazel flecks in her eyes transition into sea-green foam. ‘You are hardworking—a fact repeatedly attested to by the CFO of my London office, where you have been working full-time for the past few months, and part-time for the year before that. At the same time finishing your degree—another thing my CFO repeatedly emphasised.’
A quick nod of the head was Emma’s only reaction, which drew a frown to his forehead. Usually candidates like to expound on their virtues when he raised the opportunity to do so. He left a second, a breath of space for her to speak, but she remained silent.
‘The position is in New York. I deal in high-stakes, highly confidential business acquisition and I expect long hours, absolute focus and complete discretion. Both in business matters and personal. I am not always present in the New York office, but your presence will be required there full-time.’
‘Of course.’
He continued to watch for the smallest change in expression. She had yet to display the excitement or even the badly supressed shock and awe that he had so irritatingly witnessed through the previous interviews.
‘You don’t seem to be engaging with this interview, Ms Guilham.’ He had no patience for time-wasters. And he had no need for a ‘yes’ woman, but still. This was...unique.
‘You have yet to ask me a question, Mr Arcuri,’ she said, with no trace of accusation or offence in her tone. ‘May I speak plainly?’ she asked, and he gestured for her to do so with a swift swipe of his hand.
‘Mr Arcuri, I have attended three preliminary interviews for this position—one with UK HR, one with North American HR, and one with your previous PA. I am under no illusions as to my limited experience in comparison to more seasoned applicants, and can only conclude that your willingness to squeeze me in to your “commute” is a gracious courtesy. It is one that I appreciate.’
At this, the brunette rapped on the window to talk to the driver.
‘Left here, then second right,’ she said, before turning her gaze back to him. ‘I believe at this point your choice comes down to personality. And as far as you’re concerned, as my future boss, I don’t have one. You want someone to live and breathe Arcuri Enterprises? That I can do. You want someone to handle an international diary? I can do it with my eyes closed. You want someone to bar the way and dissolve anything that might prevent your valuable time from being spent as you wish? I’m the one you want. Anything else your background checks can uncover or you don’t need to know. I want to work for you because you’re the best. It’s that simple.’
The limousine glided to a stop outside the grand building of the Asquith Club in London just as Antonio was digesting the rather impressive and somewhat surprising speech that had filled the car.
Ms Guilham smiled, not unkindly.
Antonio felt a small smile pull at the edges of his lips in response.
‘I have one question, Ms Guilham.’
‘Yes?’
‘If you were stranded on a desert island and you were allowed one item, what would it be?’
Antonio had heard many different answers to the question over the years. Mozart’s music, the complete works of Shakespeare, a piano. But he’d only ever heard her answer once before. It was the one he had given himself.
‘A satellite phone.’
He nodded, betraying nothing.
‘Mr Arcuri, thank you for the opportunity to speak with you. I shall look forward to hearing from HR and hope that you have an enjoyable lunch. I’ll see myself back to the office.’
With that Emma Guilham left Antonio sitting in the car, feeling stunned for the first time in some while. And he wasn’t the only one, considering the way his driver was currently watching Emma’s departure with something like awe.
As Antonio exited the limousine and made his way to the private room at the Asquith where Dimitri Kyriakou and Danyl Nejem Al Arain waited, he forced his mind away from the way Ms Guilham’s hips had swayed as she’d walked towards Piccadilly Circus tube station.
With ruthless efficiency he refocused his mind on the Winners’ Circle.
The three men had met as students, and their friendship had been forged in the depths of their darkest moments. Through it all they had supported, commiserated and celebrated with each other. And when, after university, Antonio had needed capital to start his business, Dimitri, Danyl and his maternal grandfather had been his first investors. He had, of course, paid them back with interest, and in half the promised time. But he had never forgotten the debt he owed his friends.
Antonio knew in his heart, in his blood, that he wouldn’t be here today without them. And they would say the same of him. And now, after a year, all three men—each of whom regularly featured in the newspapers as some of the greatest living business figures—would finally be together in the same room again.
As he made his way towards the table in the private dining area a small blonde was hastily leaving, casting him with a frowning glance as she passed.
‘What did I miss?’ Antonio asked, taking in the appearance of his friends.
Wrongful imprisonment had taken its toll on Dimitri, yet his powerful Greek features still turned the heads of any nearby female. And Danyl didn’t need to rely on his royal status as Sheikh in line to the Terhren throne. Brooding intensity radiated from him—as Antonio’s last assistant had remarked.
Only the might of the American legal system had put a halt to their quarterly meetings—the one immovable feature in Antonio’s increasingly full diary. But within the year Dimitri’s innocence had been realised and proclaimed, and now they were finally back together again.
‘A proposition,’ Dimitri replied in response to Antonio’s question.
‘In public? During the day? Gentlemen, you’re putting my scandalous reputation to shame,’ Antonio asserted.
‘A professional proposition,’ growled Danyl through gritted teeth.
‘She—’ nodding to the exit made by the blonde woman ‘—wants to race for the syndicate in the Hanley Cup,’ Dimitri clarified.
‘We have a jockey,’ interjected Danyl.
‘She says she can win all three races.’
Antonio was mildly intrigued. ‘That’s not been done since...’
‘Since her father trained the horse and rider twenty years ago,’ supplied Dimitri.
Antonio’s mind raced through the implications. ‘That was Mason McAulty?’
A rather undignified grunt emerged from Danyl’s direction.
Antonio considered the possibilities...the amount of the winning purse, the attention from the global press. News of their racing syndicate had ebbed and flowed over the years, but no one could argue with the level of their success. Founded shortly after their university days, it had been the perfect venture for three men who loved the high-stakes world of gambling, horseflesh and adrenaline.
Antonio had once been a serious contender for international-level polo, but that had been before Michael Steele’s actions had all but destroyed his family. Biting back the familiar anger that was never far away from his thoughts of the man, Antonio forced his attention back to the proposition.
‘Can she do it?’ he asked.
Dimitri shrugged, but Danyl seemed to be giving it some thought.
‘Most likely,’ he eventually said.
‘I’m in,’ Antonio stated with an innately Italian shrug of his shoulders. If Mason McAulty managed it, the win would be incredible. If she failed... Well, was there any such thing as bad press? Antonio liked the edge that it would place them on. Hell, he practically lived on it.
‘Why not?’ Dimitri said, throwing his hat into the ring.
Danyl nodded almost reluctantly, his lips a grim line of determination. Antonio might not know the source of the furious look Danyl cast towards the exit Mason Mcaulty had left through, but he very much hoped she knew that she was playing with fire.
‘Whisky?’ Dimitri queried as Antonio finally took his seat.
‘Absolutely,’ Antonio replied, relaxing back and drinking in the sight of his friends. ‘It’s good to have you back.’
‘Say that again and I’ll know you’ve gone soft,’ came Dimitri’s terse reply.
‘If I wanted to listen to a bunch of women gossip, I could have stayed at home and visited the harem,’ Danyl concluded.
Antonio scoffed. ‘You don’t have a harem. If you did we’d never see you.’
But instead of relishing the familiar bond he had with his two closest friends, Antonio found his mind returning to the woman he had just decided to make his new PA.
Emma Guilham...