Page 23 of The Rebel Billionaire

Which is true. Who knows how long I’m going to be stuck in limbo, living another life?

“Welcome to New York. If you ever want any advice or information on where to go, I’m happy to help.”

“That’s really kind,” I say, appreciating her friendly demeanour.

In a different time and place, I get the feeling that Callie and I could become close friends.

But that’s not possible. Both The Seamstress and Sophia have made it quite clear. I must keep my distance. The more people get to know me, the more likely I am to slip up. Although I’d hope friends wouldn’t stitch me up. I’ve learned the hard way that this isn’t always the case. My cover is strong enough to survive casual curiosity, but a deep dive? I break out in a cold sweat just thinking about it. People are happy either to claim their fifteen minutes of fame or, if the price is right, to sell you out to the highest bidder. It’s just part of life, something I’ve experienced firsthand as a Frazer.

We pause as a smartly dressed, middle-aged woman exits Alessandro’s office and turns back.

“Thank you for coming. Someone will be in touch,” a voice says, the depth and richness of its tone echoing through the space, raising the hairs on my arms.

The woman in question holds out her hand. “It was nice meeting you, Mr Bianchi.”

I’m not sure her tone matches her words, which makes me bite the inside of my lip to smother my smirk.

She’s probably thinking the same thing as I am. He can’t even be bothered to follow up himself.

But then he’s the boss. Maybe the personal touch isn’t his thing. I wonder if my brothers and sisters follow up after their interviews.

A hand appears, and they shake. Dark hair on a tanned wrist.

The woman nods in Callie’s direction before making a hasty retreat.

The man behind the voice appears, moving towards Callie’s desk.

“How did it go?” Callie asks once the woman is out of sight.

“Another one promising to make my day more efficient without knowing what I do.”

I’m surprised that his accent is British. I was expecting an American, especially after Sophia said she’s lived here for thirty years.

He runs a hand through dark, slightly wavy hair. It’s longer on top and shorter around the sides. He must be six-two, the same height as Gabe and Caleb. The breadth of his shoulders tells me he likes to work out.

Before I can take in anything else, he turns as if sensing us behind him.

“Mother?”

Sophia jumps up, stepping forward.

“Sandro, darling,” she says, pulling him in for a hug.

His eyes meet mine over her shoulder, and it’s like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room.

What the hell!

This man is imposing.

His hair is dark, although his temples are peppered with grey. A straight nose sits above a strong, wide jaw. Fine lines bracket deep-set, almond-shaped eyes beneath a low brow ridge. I’m expecting dark eyes, but instead I’m struck by piercing blue ones.

Sophia pulls back, as if sensing his attention is elsewhere. She turns towards me, her eyes shooting me a clear warning.

I stand and move forward, his eyes still locked on mine.

CHAPTER 8

ALEX