Page 41 of The Rebel Billionaire

I draw up short when I find Brooke already sitting at Callie’s desk. She looks up as if sensing my presence.

“Good morning, Alessandro,” she says, her eyes not quite meeting mine, which irks me for some reason after my conversation with Callie.

“You’re in early,” I say, stating the obvious.

She smiles, her gaze finally meeting mine.

“I’m going through some of the things Callie showed me yesterday. I wanted to get a head start,” she says quickly, jumping in with an explanation. “I’ll get your coffee. I have all the reports here ready for you.”

She gets up and moves around the desk.

My breath catches.

She can’t have known.

No one but Elise and Callie knows I still submit designs for our collections, although not as regularly as I would like these days. But here she is, wearing one of mine.

I open my mouth, then close it again.

Seeing her in it, I realise the dress and the cut are perfect. It’s like I designed it especially for her. Even the models at Fashion Week hadn’t brought it to life the way the young woman standing in front of me does. I’d been disappointed at the time and had wanted to archive it. Elise, our Design Director, had overruled me, and in the long run, she was right. It became one of our seasonal bestsellers, but to me, it has always been missing something. But now, seeing her in it…wow. It’s exactly how I originally envisaged it.

Fuck!

I know I’m staring. But my heart is racing.

How is this possible?

I clamp my mouth shut and simply nod, watching as she scurries off to the kitchen to do my bidding.

I stand and watch her leave.

Callie told me Brooke has a brain and that I’m to stop growling. Now I find myself wanting to growl but for a very different reason.

Entering my office, I throw down my jacket and fire up my computer.

Brooke enters, and I close my eyes briefly, centring myself before I turn to face her.

I take in her appearance. The way the fabric hugs the contours of her body, the flawless alignment of the seams, and the drape of the skirt as it moves with her in the light. It’s like she’s breathed life into my two-dimensional vision.

“Your coffee and reports,” she says, pulling me back into the present.

“Thank you,” I say.

Her eyes meet mine in surprise.

I shake myself.

“Will there be anything else?” she asks, her brows furrowing. “Is everything all right?”

I grimace before running a hand down my face.

“Everything’s fine,” I say, more abruptly than I mean to.

She flinches, and I instantly feel bad. Callie’s words resurface.

“Sorry, it was a late night,” I say, surprising myself. Since when do I apologise? “Thank you, Brooke. You’re doing a great job.”

She smiles—not a small twitch, but a full-blown, no-holds-barred smile… one that steals my breath and feels like an arrow to my chest.