Page 7 of The Housekeeper and the Brooding Billionaire

This wasn’t the first time people had underestimated her because of her age. But she was dedicated, determined and organised. Growing up helping her mother had taught her so much before she’d even begun her first job in a Swiss chalet hotel.

People had looked at her mother and seen glamour and privilege, the country estate and high society guests. Her mother had made it look easy as she managed the estate and its employees, ran her equestrian business and acted as society hostess. But behind the grace and calm had been hard work, excellent planning and social skills, plus the ability to handle any crisis. Charlotte had been her apprentice until the year she turned seventeen.

She swallowed, thrusting aside painful memories. She hadn’t been home since the year her mother died.

The truth behind Charlotte’s career success boiled down to one thing.Desperation.

Her career meant everything. It had saved her from her father’s appalling plans and filled the void of all she’d lost. It gave her hope for a future built onherterms. Whereherchoices andherhappiness mattered, and she wasn’t a pawn in her father’s endless quest for more influence and money.

Charlotte looked up to find that steady green gaze fixed on her. ‘They haven’t been happy years?’

Charlotte blinked, horrified that she’d been unguarded enough to reveal emotion. Blanking out her thoughts was something she’d mastered early as a defence against her father.

‘On the contrary...’ She made her smile easy. ‘I loved Switzerland. I enjoyed my job and I met wonderful people. I’ve been very lucky.’

It was a matter of pride that the girl who’d left school with barely passable grades, the daughter her father saw as valueless because she’d never follow him into the world of high finance, had done so well. He’d deride her since she worked in the service industry, but it was honest work and she excelled at it.

‘There’s no need for the hard sell.’

This time it was Charlotte who raised her eyebrows. ‘You don’t believe me? It’s true, I assure you.’

‘Okay, tell me three things you liked about it. Off the top of your head. Don’t stop to think.’

The Conte leaned forward, and she caught the scent of cedar and something smoky, like incense. Instinctively she drew a deeper breath.

‘I...’

‘No thinking, just tell me, quick.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Three reasons you liked it there.’

‘The mountains,’ she found herself saying.

‘And?’ He was in her space now, forcing her on. ‘What else?’

‘Doing a job well.’

‘And?’

‘I could be me there.’

Charlotte gasped as the words emerged. Her heart hammered high and hard as if she’d run up one of those mountains she loved so much. As if he’d probed too deep, making her reveal things that felt too personal. She put her cup down, barely resisting the urge to cross her arms protectively over her body.

‘What do you mean, you could be you?’

Of course he’d locked onto that unguarded revelation.

Amazing how that confession felt so visceral. Even after all these years, it felt like prodding a bruise, thinking of the life and expectations she’d left behind in England. Of how she’d never measured up, no matter how she tried. Not that she had regrets. She loved her life.

‘Ms Symonds?’

Charlotte met his stare, hiding resentment at the way he insisted on probing into her personal life. If he had doubts about her ability to do this job, he had only to follow up her references.

Slowly she shrugged, allowing her mouth to curl in a small smile as if she were totally at ease. ‘I told you I enjoyed the people, both the ones I worked with and the guests. And I made the most of the location. I enjoy hiking and skiing. I even did a little climbing.’ She didn’t bother to mention her other, sedentary pastimes. She couldn’t imagine this man taking an interest in embroidery or cooking. ‘The place suited me.’

Alessio surveyed the woman before him. She was hiding something. But was it something significant or something personal yet irrelevant to him?

He had no doubt she’d answered him truthfully. That brief moment of wide-eyed surprise had told its own story.

But Charlotte Symonds made him wary. He felt a jangle of the nerves, a frisson of warning, or perhaps awareness.

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