‘I see what you mean about footfall.’ He adroitly changed the subject, because trying to encourage her to talk would have the opposite effect, and his curiosity was growing by the second. ‘It’s very quiet on this floor.’
‘It’ll pick up as Christmas gets closer.’
Ella frowned and saw the store dispassionately, through an outsider’s eyes, while knowing what this outsider wouldn’t know. Profits were down and had been for a number of years. The annual financial reports didn’t make for pleasant reading, but the general manager was always optimistic. Hailey’s had been a presence in the town for so long that they were all convinced it would never be allowed to fall by the wayside. It was more than just a store. It was the heart of the community. It was only September, but they were already making plans for Christmas and the traditional events they hosted over the festive season.
That said, there was no doubt that the store needed updating and that some departments were losing money hand over fist.
How much should she confide in a perfect stranger, though? Zero, she decided.
She pointed things out. She explained tricks they used to get footfall on the upper floors, which were always quieter. She was saying all the right, helpful things, while her mind was in freefall and her body responded to him in ways she didn’t want.
She tightened her lips and fell silent as they toured the floor. She wondered whether she could palm Jose off on Hal in the white goods department. If he wasn’t around her, he wouldn’t get under her skin and she wouldn’t think about the parts of her life that were so unsatisfying when held up to scrutiny.
‘We seem to be covering ground at break-neck speed,’ Rocco murmured next to her.
‘There’s a lot to get through before I decide what I do with you.’ Ella flushed at the unintended innuendo.
‘Do with me as you will. You have my word that you’ll find me a very able and enthusiastic worker. Your wish will be my command while I’m here.’
‘Great. We love able and enthusiastic little worker bees here at Hailey’s.’
Rocco burst out laughing, and he felt that something again as her green glance slid across to him and held his amused gaze for a couple of seconds. A couple of seconds longer than was strictly necessary, his highly attuned sexual antenna told him. Something stirred inside him, the thrill of being in a completely novel situation for the first time in his life, he thought.
‘Maybe we could take a breather for five minutes while I process everything you’ve told me.’
‘You should have been taking notes.’
‘No need. I have an excellent memory.’
Ella gazed at him, out of her depth with this lazy banter. She wanted to escape this yet she wanted to bask in it and enjoy the excited, light-hearted feeling it gave her. Neither option was the efficient, brisk response she knew she should give him.
‘How many more floors have we to look around?’
‘Three,’ she said crisply. ‘And don’t tell me that you’re exhausted. You don’t look the sort who tires easily.’ She cast a critical eye over him and reddened at the slow smile he shot her.
‘What sort would you say I looked like?’
‘Okay. The conference room is…’ she nodded past the toy section to a bank of mahogany doors ‘…over there. If you like, we can recap on everything and then perhaps we could work out how best to put you to use?’
‘Of course.’
He gave her a mock salute, which she ignored and walked towards the doors, stopping on the way to check out various displays that needed tweaking, aware of interested glances shot in their direction.
She would be composed and informative with him. She would work out where he could be placed—somewhere that wasn’t in her immediate radius. In her own time, she would try and figure out why he had this effect on her and what it told her about herself.
Walking alongside her, Rocco had already taken in everything he needed regarding the state of the once-grand department store. He liked Ron, and had promised a fair deal, but it would be back to the drawing board on the price because he reckoned a full structural survey would reveal a lot more serious wear and tear than was on the surface. Probably more than Ron was aware of. He lived in Dubai and had left the running of the store to various board members—always a mistake.
She would normally have left the door to the conference room wide open. Stepping in behind her, Rocco half-closed it with his shoulder and then took the offered chair. He was amused to note that she made sure to sit in one that was broader and slightly higher than his.
Trying to assert her authority? Understandable. But there was an electric current zapping between them, making her skittish and on edge. He hadn’t banked on any of this, but he was enjoying it. He felt a little skittish and on edge himself. Freedom from the responsibilities that came with wealth and power was liberating.
Rocco’s life had always been propelled on a very specific trajectory. His family might not be of royal blood but they were wealthy enough always to have mixed with the most elevated of Spanish society. Theirs was old, inherited wealth going back generations. One smallholding had grown over the decades and spawned tentacles that reached into every business concern imaginable.
As an only child, Rocco had been brought up to realise the importance of carrying on the family tradition. An empire needed a guiding hand and he’d had no choice in the matter. He was clever and ambitious enough to have thrived on the pressure. Had he ever wanted to break free? No. Not because he lacked the imagination for it but because he had an unerring contempt for where that path led.
His uncle, older than his father and the natural heir to the Mancini empire, had gone off the rails. In the process he’d come close to ruining not just the family fortune but all the livelihoods that depended on the jobs the Mancini empire supported. He had found drink, drugs and women too irresistible, and the wealth at his disposal had made acquiring all three far too easy for an inherently weak man. Maybe he could have ridden that tide until he got too old to maintain it or ran out of steam, buthe had made the mistake of marrying one of his hangers-on—an avaricious woman in her forties who had fleeced him for so much money that she had almost brought the company to its knees.
After less than two years of a volatile and desperate marriage, she had hired a clever lawyer who had done his utmost to slice off various arms of the company as part of the settlement. His uncle had also signed over part of his own holdings to her at some point, presumably when he was high on drugs. It had been a mess.
