Page 10 of Vivacity

Christ Almighty.

In the midst of this Montague drama, I’d forgotten I was due to interview Sophia.

‘Give me five minutes,’ I bark, and she nods and swiftly makes herself scarce. I slam the whiskey tumbler down on the marble bar as hard as I dare before dragging my hand over my face. God knows, I need a decent new EA yesterday, and I most certainly need one if I’m to wage war against the Montagues. I blow out a long, steady breath before sucking in more oxygen.

I know myself well. Within moments, my heated flare-up will have settled into an icy rage, an emotional state with which I’m far more familiar and in which I’m far more highly functioning. I tap out a message on my phone to Miles.

You know as well as I do that you’re obligated to take this expression of interest to your board. I’ll confirm said interest in writing by the end of the day.

This is why we have boards of directors: so maverick CEOs can’t reject advantageous deals just because their noses are out of joint and their egos are feeling bruised.

I hit send and rake my hand through my hair. I’ve had the last word—for now—which affords me a modicum of mental capacity to allocate to my upcoming interview. I may be far from my most charming, but perhaps it’s a good thing that she sees me like this. I need someone tough this time around. If the shit’s about to hit the fan, I need someone with mettle. Something my instincts tell me Ms Petrakis has in abundance. I pick up the CV that my PA, Topher, left on my desk. I’d better reacquaint myself with her non-physical assets before I summon her in for a grilling.

She’sin a red dress that manages to be both professionally beyond reproach and a glorious reminder of why I’ve been so intent on getting her to interview with me. It’s knee-length and fitted—veryfitted—and made of tweed, with gold buttons down the front and adorning the little pockets. Short sleeves. Smooth olive arms and legs on full view. And it looks like it opens the whole way down like a coat.

God help me.

She’s a knockout, her long, dark hair pulled back into a bouncy ponytail and her full lips painted fire-engine red. I’m struck once again by the huge brown doe eyes and that seductive fringe.

She really is a classic Mediterranean bombshell. Looks like she topped up that tan of hers on her trip to Greece. I suppose it’s still pretty warm over there at this time of year.

‘Thanks for coming,’ I tell her before giving Alexis a curt nod of dismissal. I shake Sophia’s hand. ‘Did you, er—did you have a good trip?’

She frowns. ‘You okay?’

‘I’m about to get thrown into a hell of a work crisis, so not really,’ I say tersely.

‘Oh dear. Should we do this another time?’

She smells incredible. Her scent is heady and floral, and it’s messing with my head. My gaze flickers down from the look of genuine concern on her face to the faintest shadow of her cleavage where her top few buttons are undone. Once again, she’s walking the line of professional and intoxicating far too skilfully.

‘You’re good. Let’s crack on.’

I spot the haphazard pile of angrily flung research reports lying on the carpet at the same time as she does, their mess such a blot on my perfectly minimalist surroundings that it makes my skin crawl.

Shit.

To her credit, she doesn’t react.

‘Have a seat,’ I bark, my tone making it sound more like an order than an offer. She drops elegantly into the seat I’ve pointed at, and I round the desk, sidestepping the evidence of my tantrum and shoving my hands in my pockets. A glance at my phone tells me Montague hasn’t replied to my WhatsApp yet, insolent fucker. I turn it face down.

‘So. You’re back in London and available to work.’

‘Yes and yes.’ She folds her hands in her lap.

‘Have you interviewed with anyone else?’

‘I don’t feel the need to disclose that at this moment,’ she says evenly.

I glare at her, and she gazes back at me. I took the first slot Camille offered me, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t offer another party an earlier slot.

‘I told you I wanted first dibs,’ I say, conscious that I sound even to my own ears like a mutinous child.

She cocks her head. ‘Yes, you did.’

We stare at each other. She licks her lips, and I don’t think it’s intentional, but it’s alluring as hell. Her failure to engage is pissing me off. She’s neither affronted nor cowed. Just… tolerant.

I huff out a breath and begin to pace back and forth behind my desk. ‘I see you have experience with the hotel sector.’