Lorenzo de Santis wasn’t a nice man. As CFO of DS Corp., America’s biggest defense and protection company, he couldn’t afford to be anything as mediocre as “nice.”

He was driven, ambitious, cold, ruthless, and determined.

Which, in layman terms, meant he was an asshole.

Lorenzo didn’t give a shit about what anyone thought of him. He didn’t give a shit about much, period. In fact, the only thing in the world he did give a shit about was how he could oust his father from his position as CEO of DS Corp.

Standing on the hundredth floor of his downtown Manhattan corner office, in the de Santis Tower, Lorenzo looked out over the New York skyline stretched out beneath him, the buildings like so many supplicants before the throne of an emperor. Not that he was paying much attention to the magnificent view. He was too busy saying no to Ivan Constantin—old friend and head of DS Corp.’s accounts department—and his request that Lorenzo accept Ivan’s daughter as an intern.

“What do you mean no?” Ivan said from behind him.

“I mean, ‘No, I don’t want an intern.’ How else do you want me to say it?”

Lorenzo didn’t bother with interns; he didn’t have the time to babysit eager-puppy new college graduates. And since discovering the traces of some extremely creative accounting, he had even less time or inclination than he normally did. Because that creative accounting wasn’t a matter of mere thousands. It was a matter of millions, and for the continued health of his family’s company, he needed to stop the perpetrator.

Who’d turned out to be Cesare de Santis himself, Lorenzo’s father and DS Corp.’s CEO.

It was a difficult situation, though Lorenzo himself didn’t find it personally difficult. No, he’d been looking for an excuse to shaft the old prick for years, ever since Lorenzo had lost the only two people in the world he cared about.

However, the issue that was currently concerning him was how to get rid of his father without the asshole finding out that Lorenzo was planning on ousting him.

Cesare was canny and just as ruthless as Lorenzo, and Lorenzo had no doubt that if Cesare found out that his oldest son wanted him gone, he would take evasive action. Action that would end up with Lorenzo as the casualty.

Not that Lorenzo was going to let that happen. No way in hell.

“Are you listening to me, Lorenzo?” Ivan sounded exasperated.

“No,” Lorenzo said. “Did you say something important?”

Sunlight glittered off the windows of the skyscrapers and the traffic moving in heavy streams in the streets below. Already the mercury would be climbing, which meant the city was likely to become even more unpleasant than it already was. Stinking of trash and hot asphalt and heaving with sweaty tourists.

Fucking summer. He hated it.

“I asked you to take five minutes to think about it,” Ivan said impatiently.

“I don’t need five minutes.” He’d taken all of two seconds. “And I’ve already thought about it.” Lorenzo put his hands in his pockets and turned around. “The answer is still no.”

Ivan lounged on the deep, black leather armchair opposite Lorenzo’s sleek minimalist, black desk. Ten years older than Lorenzo, he was still lean and handsome, looking much younger than a man in his late forties.

Lorenzo had known him for years, ever since Lorenzo, fresh out of Harvard, had first started in the accounts department and Ivan had been tasked with the one job that nobody wanted—managing the CEO’s oldest son.

Ivan gave a slight frown. “Oh, come on. What’s the big deal? Don’t you need someone to get your coffee and dry cleaning? That kind of thing?”

“I have two secretaries already. I don’t need another.” He gave the older man one of his cold, analytical stares. There was a very good chance Ivan knew about Cesare’s fiddling with the books and because the guy was a good corporate soldier through and through, the likelihood was high that he’d also been covering for his boss. Lorenzo was tempted to bring the subject up with him, but then that would involve showing his hand to Ivan. Not a good idea since Ivan would probably run straight to Cesare with it.

“Go ask Rafe,” Lorenzo added. “He always needs more pretty young things running around after him.”

Rafael was his brother and head of DS Corp.’s PR department, and he had never met a pretty young thing he didn’t like.

But Ivan clearly wasn’t into the idea because his frown deepened. “I was particularly wanting to place Kira with you. She already knows you and she needs a . . . steadying influence in her life. I think you’d be a great example for her.”

Lorenzo said nothing, watching the other man’s face, wondering why Ivan was pushing it.

He hadn’t seen Kira Constantin for years, though he remembered her as a child. A little blonde moppet, causing havoc wherever she went, shrieking and laughing one minute, throwing tantrums and refusing to listen to a word her father said the next. Ivan and Jenny’s discipline had been negligent to say the least, and it had come as no surprise to Lorenzo that she’d grown up into a total party girl, treating college as little more than an extended drinking session.

Even if he hadn’t been wrestling with the problem of his sticky-fingered father, he wouldn’t have wanted a girl like her anywhere near his department. He had high standards for his employees, and Kira Constantin met none of those standards. Hell, she didn’t even come close.

“Why does she need an internship anyway?” Lorenzo asked. “Isn’t she too busy drinking and socializing and going to sorority parties?”

Ivan’s expression twitched. “You know what happened last year. She was involved in that car accident and had to drop out of college because of it. And since I’m not paying for her to go back, she needs something to do.”

Ah, yes. Lorenzo vaguely remembered the accident. Kira had been driving—some over-powered car Ivan had given her that she hadn’t been able to handle—and had totaled it on the New Jersey Turnpike. Hadn’t some people died?

Whatever, he didn’t much care. People died all the time. Besides, that was Ivan’s problem, not his.

He turned back to the window again. “I don’t do favors, Ivan. You know this.”

“Yes, I do know.” Ivan sounded strained. “But I’m not having her hanging around the house doing nothing. Besides, Jenny’s on my back about this one. She wants the internship for Kira as much as I do.”

Of course, Jenny. She was Ivan’s lovely, but demanding wife, who—in Lorenzo’s less-than-humble opinion—led Ivan around by the balls. Really, it was no surprise Kira had turned out so appallingly given how indulged she’d been by both parents.

“What Jenny wants isn’t my problem.” Lorenzo wasn’t thinking about Jenny. He wasn’t thinking about Kira Constantin for that matter, either. He was too busy thinking about how to approach the problem of his father’s skimming money off the top of company profits. “If you want an internship for Kira here,” he went on, watching the glittering stream of traffic in the streets below, “go talk to Dad about it. I don’t have time for babysitting random socialites.”

There was a silence behind him, which he ignored.

The real difficulty was that he didn’t quite have the proof he needed of his father’s activities yet. Once he had, approaching the DS Corp. board was the next logical step. Unfortunately, though, the board were fiercely loyal to his father, and they were going to want hard evidence before they took a vote of no-confidence in Cesare de Santis’s abilities.

“Funny you should mention Cesare,” Ivan said. “Since he was the one who suggested you’d have no problem with taking Kira.”

At the mention of his father’s name, Lorenzo went very still.

Why the hell would his dad want to foist some intern on him? Cesare wasn’t a man who did favors for anyone, and he took no interest at all in human-resource matters. He left that to his management team. So why was he now suggesting to Ivan that Lorenzo could take on his daughter as an intern?

Lorenzo turned around, staring at the other man. “Dad suggested it?” The question came out sharp, but Lorenzo didn’t bother to soften it. He never bothered to soften anything.

Ivan’s expression gave nothing away. “Yes, he thought it would be good for her, especially considering all she’s been through these past six months.”

Somewhere in Lorenzo’s brain, an alarm bell went off.

His father didn’t give a shit about what anyone had been through, he wasn’t that kind of man. His complete failure to take into account anyone else’s needs or feelings other than his own was legendary, so why was he now concerning himself with the tragic experiences of the daughter of one his employees? And suggesting she intern in Lorenzo’s department?

“He knows I don’t take interns,” Lorenzo said slowly. “So why would he suggest that?”

Ivan leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “I mentioned to him that she was thinking about an internship somewhere, and he suggested here. And he suggested you. He thought you wouldn’t have a problem with it.” Ivan paused. “I confess, I didn’t think it would be such a big deal for you.”

The alarm bell in Lorenzo’s head rang a little louder.

Ivan was one of his father’s favorites and always had been, and because of that he was as loyal to his father as they came. And Cesare de Santis was nothing if not manipulative with his favorites if he thought it could advantage him. Especially the head of his accounting department.

A thought whispered inside Lorenzo’s head, insidious.

Perhaps his father had suspicions his oldest son had discovered his creative bookkeeping and was now trying to confirm those suspicions by planting a mole in Lorenzo’s department.

It would be very much something his father would do.

Normally Cesare preferred the practical, straight-up guns blazing approach when it came to problems, but when that problem was his own son? Well, maybe he’d decided to be more subtle about it. Maybe he’d decided to get some information first.

And some vacuous, pretty little intern was the perfect way to go about it.

Lorenzo leaned back against the cold glass behind him, keeping his hands in his pockets, outwardly relaxed. “It’s not a big deal. I just didn’t know Dad was so keen on pushing interns at me.”

Ivan leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands between them. “Look, I understand your concerns. Kira was once . . . a little wild.”

“An unmanageable, headstrong little bitch, you mean?” Lorenzo met the other man’s frown with a cool stare. “Don’t look like that, Ivan. You know that’s exactly what she is.”

“What she used to be,” Ivan corrected. “She’s not like that anymore. The accident changed her. She’s ready to step up to her responsibilities now, and I think it would be good for her to have an example.”

“An example of what?”

“An example of drive and determination to succeed. Of self-control and restraint. A mentor to guide her and show her how to behave in a business environment.” Ivan gave him a small smile. “You, in other words.”

Maybe Ivan was trying to appeal to his vanity. If so, it wasn’t going to work. Lorenzo didn’t have any vanity. He didn’t believe he was all those things. He simply was.

Lorenzo examined the other man’s expression intently, analyzing it. If this was all to do with his father’s machinations, Ivan would be aware of it, no question.

“What makes you think I have time to be anyone’s mentor?” He made the question sound like an idle one, because if this was indeed something to do with his father, then he couldn’t afford to alert the old bastard by making an issue out of this.

Ivan’s expression twitched again. “I’m not asking for her to lead the company, Lorenzo. It’s just an internship. She only needs somewhere to sit and a few mindless tasks, that’s it. Give her to Stacey to manage if you can’t do it.”

Stacey was one of Lorenzo’s secretaries—he had two since he was very, very busy indeed—and she didn’t really have time to manage an intern either. Then again, if his father was planting an informant in Lorenzo’s department, she might have to.

Not that that was essentially a bad thing, since any information an informant passed on could also flow in the other direction.

Anyway, probably giving her to Stacey initially to manage would be for the best. Stacey wouldn’t like it, but then he didn’t pay her exorbitant amounts of money to like it. He paid her exorbitant amounts of money to be at his beck and call whenever he needed her to be. She could give Kira some mundane tasks that would ensure the girl stayed busy and out of his sight, and totally uninformed about Lorenzo’s plans regarding his father. At least until Lorenzo had decided what to do with her.

“So? What do you say?” Ivan prompted. “Both Jenny and I would be very grateful.”

Lorenzo stayed silent a moment longer, drawing it out, measuring the other man’s response.

“I suppose I could arrange something.” Lorenzo kept his voice expressionless. “On the understanding that if she causes any trouble, I’m getting rid of her.”

Ivan’s smile was white. “Excellent. She won’t let you down, I promise.”

Oh, but she would. One way or another, she would.

But it wouldn’t be him she’d let down, not if he had anything to do with it.

* * *

Kira hated waiting. Though over the past six months, she’d gotten used to it. Waiting for people to wake up in the hospital. Waiting for the insurance assessors. Waiting for the police to press charges. Waiting for forgiveness . . .

Waiting for Lorenzo de Santis for over an hour—and she knew it was an hour because that’s what the clock on the wall said—barely registered.

She took a quick scan around the waiting area yet again, trying not to fidget. The long, low, luxurious couches upholstered in white leather were empty. Magazines were stacked neatly on a glass and chrome coffee table in front of her, the thick pile of the charcoal carpet that covered the area outside Lorenzo’s office visible through the tabletop. She supposed she could pick one of those up to read if she got desperate, which might actually happen since she couldn’t even check her phone. She’d forgotten to charge it before she’d left the house, and it was now dead as a doornail in her purse.

Not far away was the imposing buttress of a massive black desk, behind which sat one of Lorenzo’s secretaries like a soldier guarding the ramparts of a castle. A stern-looking woman in her early forties, she’d given Kira a very disapproving once-over when Kira had presented herself for her forthcoming meeting.

The Kira of six months ago would have either laughed and flipped her the bird, or taken her to task for her arrogant attitude, depending on whichever emotion was ruling her at the time.

The Kira she was now, her control over herself ironclad, had murmured a calm thank you and walked sedately over to the waiting area the woman had indicated, sitting herself down with her hands folded in her lap. Projecting nothing but cool professionalism.

A professionalism that she was hopefully still projecting an hour later.

The secretary was not looking at her now. Instead she was typing importantly on her computer and doing a good job of pretending Kira wasn’t there.

Considering the length of time Kira had been there and that various people who’d also been in the waiting area had come and gone during that time, Kira was starting to wonder whether she was really there or not herself.

She looked down at her hands resting on top of the black leather folder that sat in her lap. There was a song playing in her head, and her fingers wanted to tap out the rhythm, and she had a sudden urge to hum along with it.

But no. She wasn’t giving into those impulses, not anymore. She’d spent six months with a therapist learning how to contain and manage them, and she’d done well.

She’d continue to do well.

To drown out the music, she began going over all the things she was supposed to say in this interview. How she was very excited to be given this opportunity and that she was a hard worker. That she had a great attitude and a can-do approach. That she worked well in a group but also on her own with minimal supervision. Her strengths were her determination to do a good job, her ability to take on any task with a smile, no matter how small, and her dependability. Her weaknesses were . . .

No. Better that she concentrate on her strengths. Her weaknesses were too many to mention.

Something slipped in front of her eyes, distracting her. She squinted at the lock of pale hair hanging down over one eye and cursed silently. Was there time to go visit the bathroom and pin the stupid thing back up again? She’d spent hours trying to make sure her hair was sleek looking, not to mention more hours spent fussing around with her makeup. She’d never had a job before, so she hadn’t known what to expect.

What to wear had been an issue, too, though luckily she’d had a few pencil skirts in her wardrobe and at least one decent, plain blouse, plus the kitten heels she’d bought a couple of years back to go with an Audrey Hepburn costume.

She may not feel like a complete professional, but at least she looked the part. Or she hoped.

The lock of hair tickled her nose and she blew it back.

Okay, she probably had time to go to the bathroom and get that mofo pinned back. Certainly if Lorenzo was going to keep her waiting here for the next millennium.

Something churned in her stomach at the thought of him, the same old churning feeling she always got when she thought of Lorenzo. The one that was excitement and nervousness and delicious fear all knotting and unknotting inside her. Tangling and pulling tight, then loosening, only to tangle and pull tight again.

He’d been a regular visitor to her parents’ house, though as a child she hadn’t paid him much attention since she hadn’t been interested in what the adults were doing.

It hadn’t been until she’d been ten years old and supposedly on her best behavior for her parents’ annual garden party, that he’d suddenly become a person of interest to her.

There had been speeches at the party, long ones for a kid like her with no attention span, and her mother had told her she wasn’t allowed to eat anything until the food had been served. Bored and restless and hungry, she knew her parents would hate it if she ruined their party, especially after her latest terrible report card, so she’d tried her best to sit still and keep quiet. But she just . . . forgot.

Her brain had wandered, and she’d gotten up out of her chair, playing a game of chase with herself through the crowds of guests who’d gathered to listen to her father’s speech. Unfortunately, one of the wait staff had tripped over her, sending a tray of champagne glasses crashing down and spilling wine everywhere. One of the wine glasses had hit her, cutting her, making her burst into tears, not so much in pain as with the shock at what she’d done. Tears she couldn’t stop, because once she was in the grip of an emotional storm she could never stop.

So she’d stood there in the middle of a crowd of important guests, wailing loudly, her parents trying to soothe the guests and make things right. Her they simply ignored since they believed very firmly that starving a tantrum of attention was the only way to end it, an approach that had never worked, no matter how often they employed it.

Then a man had approached her. He’d been so tall, impossibly broad, his face all planes and wicked angles, his eyes the dark gray of thunderclouds. And she’d been afraid, thinking he was going to go cold and tight lipped and silent, the way her father always did whenever she did something naughty.

But he didn’t. He’d smiled at her then took her by the hand and led her off the terrace, taking her into the bathroom to put a Band-Aid on her cut. He’d talked to her all the while, asking very matter-of-fact questions like what her favorite TV shows were and what books she’d read. What her friends were like and what her favorite subjects were in school.

His questions had calmed her, soothed the scary press of her emotions. Distracted, she’d stopped crying and asked him what his name was. Lorenzo, he’d said, and she’d laughed because it sounded funny.

He’d laughed, too, then he’d asked her to find him a piece of paper—any piece would do—and when she’d scrambled into the kitchen and found a stack of notepaper, he’d showed her how to fold the perfect paper crane.

It had been an amazing moment for Kira. She’d always been restless and fidgety, unable to sit still, her brain like a piece of thistledown in the wind, blown here and there by her thoughts. But sitting at the kitchen table with Lorenzo, trying hard to fold a piece of paper right, her hands busy, she’d found she was able to concentrate.

Lorenzo de Santis had given her something that day, something that no one else had, not simply kindness to a girl who hadn’t had much of it in her life, but a way to manage herself. A way to distract herself when she couldn’t keep still.

Afterward, whenever he visited her parents’ house, and as a friend of her father’s he did so frequently, Kira always made sure she was in the vicinity, a paper crane in her hand, wanting to show him so he could check she’d done it right.

He always told her she’d folded it perfectly. Always told her she’d done a great job. And she lapped up his praise like a thirsty plant water. There wasn’t much she did well, and his praise was the only praise she ever got.

As she’d gotten older, she’d stopped folding cranes, but her fascination with him didn’t stop with it. No, if anything it became more intense, gradually blossoming into a full-on teenage obsession.

Then one day she’d been on her way to the public library for a school thing with her class, and she’d caught a glimpse of him in Bryant Park. He’d been standing there, clearly waiting for someone, his expression distant. Then quite suddenly, a look of pure joy had unfurled over his face, and she’d been transfixed. By the happiness and warmth and love that had burned so nakedly in his eyes, and by the incandescent smile that had turned his mouth.

She’d wondered what he was looking at, and then a woman had approached him. And he’d taken the woman’s face between his hands, so tenderly, so carefully. Handling her as if she was the most precious thing in the world. Then he’d kissed her with such passion and focused intensity that teenaged Kira had gone red to the roots of her hair simply watching them.

That look on Lorenzo’s face, that kiss, had ignited something in her that day. Had made her understand with sudden, bitter clarity, what it was that she wanted from him.

She wanted that smile. She wanted that passion.

She wanted him to look at her not as a child, but as a woman.

Her obsession had become a crush and for years afterward, whenever Lorenzo came around to the Constantin’s for dinner, she’d try to get his attention. Try to turn herself into the woman he’d looked at with such utter joy.

But she’d only been fourteen. And he was twenty-seven. And eventually her father had packed her off to boarding school.

She hadn’t seen Lorenzo since.

Kira stared at her hands, all those old feelings churning around and making her feel sick. It was stupid to feel this way about him now, especially since it had been years since she’d seen him. Besides, she would have thought that since the accident, she wouldn’t feel such things anymore, or at least not let herself feel them, not when she knew what the consequences of giving into her emotions were.

She was going to have to pretend she didn’t feel any of the things she always associated with Lorenzo de Santis and concentrate hard on making a good impression.

Concentrate, period.

A lot depended on this. If she did a good job here, her father had promised her the money for the little business she wanted to get off the ground. It wasn’t anything major—arts-and-crafts therapy classes to help kids with ADHD and learning difficulties—but it was important to her.

Mainly because she’d been one of those kids.

“Miss Constantin?”

She jerked her head up to find the secretary was looking in her direction. “Yes?”

“Mr. de Santis will see you now.”

Damn. No time to fix her hair, which was a nuisance. Oh well, it couldn’t be helped.

Kira rose to her feet, sliding the offending lock of hair behind her ear as she held tight to the folder in her hand. “Thank you,” she said faintly and turned toward the big double doors of Lorenzo’s office.

Here went nothing.

She approached the doors then paused, angsting about whether she should knock or go right in. Another ridiculous thing to worry about when six months ago she wouldn’t have bothered thinking about it at all. She’d simply have pushed those bastard doors open and barged on through.

But she wasn’t that person anymore, right? She was different now.

Deciding that knocking would be stupid when she’d already been told to go on in, she pushed open one of the doors and stepped into the office.

It was a massive space, the sun from the hot summer day outside shining in through the plate-glass of the huge windows. The office was sleekly minimalist in steel and black: a long desk with nothing on it but a large, exceedingly thin computer screen and an equally thin keyboard and mouse. A black leather executive chair was behind it, a couple of black leather armchairs in front of it. Steel bookshelves laden with books and files stood against one wall, while near the desk was a low, black slab of a table with a simple long leather chair that looked a bit like a sofa with no back.

There was nothing else in the room, no bits of paper anywhere, no bits of clutter. No knickknacks or photographs. In fact, the only object that could be termed art was a vintage looking shotgun mounted on the wall behind his desk and subtly lit like a painting.

But that was it. The room was as stripped back and cold-seeming as the man who stood in front of the windows with his arms folded, facing her.

Her heartbeat thumped in her head, so loud it felt as if she’d gone deaf.

Lorenzo de Santis hadn’t changed a bit. He was still as tall and as wide-shouldered as she remembered. Still wore his perfectly tailored dark suit as if he was a king wearing robes of state, as if he were emperor of the entire universe waiting for the world to bow in homage before him.

His features were still that fierce, compelling arrangement of planes and angles for which handsome was too bland a word; the blade of his nose, his hard, strong jaw with its inky shadow of beard, sharp cheekbones, his eyes a dark, deep charcoal gray. Like thunderclouds. And his mouth, finely carved and somehow both sensual and cruel at the same time.

When she’d been a child, she’d had a book of Greek myths, and even though Zeus in her book had been white haired, with a long white beard, she could imagine Lorenzo as the god of thunder now. He radiated power and a kind of dark charisma, and as she stared at him, listening to that thunder in her own head, she was seized by the weirdest impulse to both get closer and run away in terror at the same time.

“Hello Kira,” Lorenzo said, his voice deep and cold as a lake full of snowmelt.

His gaze met hers and it struck her, with a sudden jolt, that she was wrong. He had changed.

He’d changed utterly.

That gray stare had once had heat to it, like a beam of sunlight she’d wanted to bask in, yet there was nothing warm in it now. His features, too, hadn’t used to be that hard or his mouth so cruel, as if smiling had become a completely foreign concept.

He had become utterly cold, his gaze like a spear of ice. Freezing hearts and icing the blood . . .

What had happened to him? What had gone wrong? Because something had. Something terrible, she was sure.

He’s not your business anymore. Not that he ever was in the first place. You’re here for a job interview, that’s all.

Shivering, Kira sucked in a breath, and tried to pull herself together. Of course, he wasn’t her business anymore. And yes, this was nothing more than a job interview. She wasn’t going to get sucked into her old obsession with him; she couldn’t afford to. It messed with her emotions, made her feel too unstable, and that was not good for her.

That made her feel too much like the old Kira and she couldn’t be the old Kira, not ever again.

She had to stay in control of herself, that was the bottom line.

Steeling herself, she met that icy, thunderous gaze head-on.

Oh Jesus, what the hell did she call him? When she’d been ten, she’d laughed at his name, but calling him Lorenzo now felt . . . disrespectful. So . . . what was appropriate?

Better to be on her best behavior and go for the conservative choice.

She swallowed. “Hello, Mr. de Santis.”