The Shock Cassano Baby. Andie Brock
ISOBEL STARED AT the figures on the screen one last time. The initial stages of the business plan had been implemented successfully; target forecasts were all on course. Yes, she was confident that the board of Cassano Holdings would be satisfied with the progress she had made so far. More than satisfied, even.
After closing the lid of her laptop Isobel zipped it into its case. She was ready. She glanced at her watch. There was just one more thing she had to do before she could leave for the board meeting in the city.
Rising to her feet, she smoothed down the skirt of her navy business suit and crossed the few steps to the sofa to pick up her handbag. Her heart was thumping now, her hand shaky as she slid it inside to retrieve the small packet in its chemist’s bag.
Giving herself no more time to think she headed for the bathroom. There really was no going back.
* * *
‘Any other business?’
Orlando Cassano leant back in his chair, the gold pen in his hand catching the light as it was slowly rotated by strong, olive-skinned fingers.
With a negative murmur the board members started to gather together their papers, opening briefcases and stowing away their electronic devices.
‘Isobel?’ The dark sweep of his eyes now focussed directly on the young woman seated on the opposite side of the wide glass table. ‘Is there anything else you want to add?’
‘No.’ Isobel shook her head. ‘I think we have covered everything.’
If only that were true. Looking around, she forced herself to smile brightly at the assembled group of directors, accountants and marketing officers that comprised the UK division of Cassano Holdings. But there was no way she could meet the eye of the company CEO himself, whose piercing dark stare had been all over her ever since she had entered this boardroom and now, two hours later, still scorched across her skin. As if this wasn’t hard enough, it seemed Orlando Cassano was intent on making it a whole lot worse.
‘Bene. Then I think we can wrap this up for today.’
Orlando offered her a smile that knifed into her guts.
‘You have done well, Isobel. I’m confident that this will be a rewarding partnership.’ He paused, his brows knotting together as he watched the colour drain from her face.
‘You’ve made a sound start, Ms Spicer, no doubt about that.’ The chief financial officer gave a nod of agreement. ‘It’s early days, but if you can replicate this performance I can see us renegotiating your contract sooner than anticipated.’
‘That’s good to know.’ Isobel held on to her smile with grim tenacity. Six weeks ago, when she had signed the contract with Cassano Holdings, this news would have seen her skipping down the street. But now... Now it felt as if the world had tipped sideways and she was left clinging on to the edge.
Six weeks ago it had felt like a real gamble, signing over sixty per cent of her business to this massive corporate enterprise. But Spicer Shoes was expanding so rapidly it desperately needed a large injection of cash—and fast—and this was the only way Isobel had been able to think to do it.
She had been proud of her negotiating skills—securing the right to buy back twenty per cent of the shares and regain the all-important majority shareholding once the profit margins showed they could sustain it. In fact it had been easier than she’d thought.
But then so had falling into bed with the stunning Orlando Cassano.
Now, as she stared through the glass tabletop at the red suede ankle boot jiggling on her foot, she knew what a massive mistake that had been.
‘Well, thank you, everybody.’ Pushing himself away from the table with the palms of his hands, Orlando waited, chivalry preventing him from standing before Isobel and the only other female present—a scarily efficient PA called Astrid—had done the same.
Finally the board members were filing out of the room, shaking Isobel’s hand and politely congratulating her, their thoughts no doubt already turning to lunch.
And suddenly they were alone. Isobel’s heart took up a thundering beat.
Orlando, tall and silent, stood with his back to the wall of windows, silhouetted against the London skyline. He looked dark and brooding and impossibly handsome, the elegant cut of his suit accentuating his considerable height and broad shoulders, the shirt white against his tanned skin. Isobel felt her throat go dry, her skin tighten against his imagined touch.
This was Orlando Cassano—a formidable businessman, a harder, colder, altogether more dangerous man than the one she had first met on the island of Jacamar. This was the man she had been prepared to meet when she had flown to his private Caribbean island to make her pitch for his company’s investment in her business.
She had been such a bag of nerves then, but excited too, full of enthusiasm and ideas. Her business plan had been honed until it shone, her speech practised to perfection. Orlando Cassano was a tough nut to crack—everybody knew that. Legend had it that beneath his urbane good looks there lurked a heart of steel. But having secured the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to meet him, through a client who happened to know him, there had been no way Isobel was going to mess it up.
Then she had met him...and all those preconceptions had vanished in a skyward-soaring heartbeat. Because the man she’d discovered on Jacamar had not been what she had been expecting at all. Arrestingly handsome, yes. But also relaxed, charming, funny. Not to mention deeply, bone-meltingly sexy.
She had noticed him straight away—how could she not have? From her seat on the little motorboat full of chattering staff she had watched the tall, commanding figure on the rickety landing stage coming closer into view. He’d been wearing faded board shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, the breeze ruffling his dark curls, his feet bare on the sun-bleached wood. But even though he’d appeared to be someone who could undoubtedly rock the beach-bum look, Isobel had known immediately who he was. The confidence in his stance, the easy grace as he had stretched to catch the rope, the twinkle in his eye as it had caught hers—all had told her that this had to be the man she had come to see: billionaire businessman Orlando Cassano.
Isobel had waited as the other passengers disembarked, listening to their warm greetings as Orlando had helped them ashore, had assisted them with their parcels and packages, until finally it had been her turn. As she had wobbled to stand he had reached forward to take her hand, and the feel of that warm, firm grip against her skin had spread through her body like a bush fire. And it had burned there ever since...
‘So, Ms Spicer.’ Now, folding his arms across his broad chest, Orlando spoke. ‘You are a surprisingly difficult woman to get hold of.’
His voice was low and deep, with just enough of an Italian accent to reveal his heritage and curl around Isobel’s heart. But today there was no warmth to it.
‘Why do I get the impression you have been avoiding me?’
‘Not avoiding you.’ Lifting her chin, Isobel took a second to bite down hard on her lip to stop it giving her away. ‘I’ve just been busy, that’s all. I thought that was what you wanted.’
‘Busy is good. Too busy to answer my calls and emails, less so.’ Moving away from the window Orlando strode over to the door to the outer office, closing it with a soft click before returning to stand a few feet in front of Isobel. ‘I was beginning to worry.’
Isobel scanned his self-assured face for signs of this so-called worry. Nothing. But she was about to change all that.
‘Well, I hope the figures have shown you that everything is on track.’ The slight tilt of his head, coupled with his narrowed eyes, suggested this was not the answer he was looking for, but Isobel pressed on. ‘Full production is due to start in the factory in Le Marche very soon, and...’
‘I’m not talking about the factory, Isobel, or the business—as well you know.’ He closed the gap between them, his voice lethally calm. ‘I’m talking about things