Page 18 of In Bed with Her Billionaire Bodyguard

She held his gaze steadily until he answered.

‘The global security contract for Harcourts.’

Even braced for his response, she blanched. ‘He had no right to do that,’ she argued.

‘Perhaps,’ he agreed, trying to ignore the fact that he suddenly felt like a bastard. ‘But really? Right now? That’s not what’s important. Look, forget your brother. Forget who’s paying the bill. Forget what happens next. I’m here,’ he said, taking another step towards her. ‘And I’m good. I’mverygood. Let me do my job.’

He held his breath. And he wondered if, for a minute, she was doing exactly the same.

‘Fine,’ she said, turning to walk around to her seat behind the desk.

He breathed and nodded. ‘I’ll be outside when you are ready to leave. Am I taking you home?’ he asked.

‘Where else would you take me?’ she asked, the ice in her tone freezing him to the bone. But the words—he couldn’t keep them back, even if he tried.

‘To your grandfather’s? A friend’s? You shouldn’t be alone tonight.’

‘There are a lot of things I shouldn’t be tonight. But that is neither any of your business nor anything to do with my protection.’

Chastised, with lines redrawn, Luca Calvino left her office.

The next evening, as Hope got ready for the Harcourts Christmas party, held each year at the Royal Opera House, she wrestled the feelings oscillating dangerously between anger and humiliation. Betrayal and a sense of her own stupidity. A part of her desperately wanted to cancel, but now that she had thrown her hat in the ring as the new CEO, shehadto be there.

Luc had driven her home in stony silence last night.

No. Not Luc.

Luca, she corrected. Luc had been a handsome Italian chauffeur she’d had a silly feminine reaction to.Lucawas a billionaire businessman whose only interest in her was an international contract with Harcourts and nothing more.

She’d praised herself for having enough self-control to at least wait until she’d got home before doing a search on him, although the fallout from putting herself forward for the CEO position meant she had more than enough to deal with. It was actually a testament to Simon’s popularity that only a third of the board ‘popped by’ her office to show their support. Of that third, she was probably only guaranteed half of those votes, the others just doing it for show.

But, finally at home, she’d not been able to stop herself. With a large glass of Tempranillo, she’d typed his name into the search engine and found...very little. There was a single photograph from a few years ago on his bio, and she’d had to squint to make sure that it was, in fact, him. There was little to no personal information and therefore no way to see whether he’d been telling her the truth about growing up in Palizzi. She didn’t know why, but it had become important that at least one piece of what he’d told her had been real. Even if it was just that. But not knowing only added to her feeling of insecurity.

Because she’d done it again, hadn’t she? Seen and read too much into something, someone, who was only out for themselves. She looked at her reflection in the mirror-lined lift of her apartment building and found it hard to feel anything other than disdain for the woman staring back at her. After Martin, she’d promised herself she’d learnt that lesson, but clearly she hadn’t.

When her phone had rung last night with Nate’s name appearing on the screen, she hadn’t been able to answer it. Even though she’d wanted to speak to him, even though sheshouldhave. But she hadn’t. Because he’d not trusted her. He’d not thought she was strong enough to handle things, so he’d gone behind her back. Just like the way he’d done with her ex-fiancé.

And if Nate didn’t think she could handle that, what would he think when he found out she’d put herself forward as CEO? He’d probably think it was nothing short of laughable. Even though she had two degrees in business and marketing and had just as much family knowledge as either of them.

She’d never be able to get away from the fact that her father had always wanted Nate to have Harcourts. For his son to take the lead of the family business and that thought, last night, of all nights, had hurt.

Hope bit her lip as she emerged from her apartment to find Luca waiting for her beside the open car door as if nothing had changed between them. And then she remembered that, for him, nothing had.

Forcing down her feelings, Hope got into the car and smoothed the black silk skirt of the haute couture dress one of the designers exclusive to Harcourts had made for her. Wide-strapped V-neck panels were flattering and tight over her top half, and the layered high/low skirt provided drama and a hint of sex appeal. Not enough to scare off the shareholders attending the Harcourts Winter Party, she had ensured. But enough to remind herself that she was still a desirable woman in her own right. A reminder she needed very much in that moment, with the weight of Luca’s gaze on her.

As she studiously ignored him, she considered the night ahead. The party was a tradition started nearly one hundred years ago. On the second Saturday in January, Harcourts would hire the ROH for a night to delight the staff and their families. Its success had been replicated across their international locations and, although the Sydney Opera House was magnificent, this had always been her favourite. And she used that memory to ground her, used the strength of her feelings for Harcourts to give her the focus she needed. Tonight was about making the connections she needed to beat Simon and now, more than ever, that had become vital.

‘We’re here.’

‘Thank you,’ she replied automatically, ruthlessly relegating Luca to someone of no more importance than any other member of staff.

Hope checked her reflection in the mirror one last time, unable to afford any smudged make-up or any more photo disasters. That morning’s headlines had been a montage of various images of her horrified face and some very unnecessary close-ups of her chest.

Luca opened her door and, ignoring the goosebumps that flashed over her skin from his proximity, she stepped out onto the red carpet, a touch of glamour that the staff appreciated. Photographers and journalists waiting for a glimpse of one of the most prestigious business events of the year were kept at bay by a rope and various security staff. She looked ahead through the glass-fronted entrance to see her grandfather surrounded by a group of tuxedoed men and their wives in impressive ballgowns.

Hope braced herself. She was used to arriving alone to these kinds of affairs—having learned a long time ago that it was better to spare both her date and the press the kind of speculation that followed—but somehow, after what had passed between her and Luca, she felt it more acutely. Leaving him in her wake, she smiled at the press, made a joke about no one having any iced coffee, at which most laughed, and made her way into the foyer of the Royal Opera House.

Smiles greeted her, as many fake as real, and she mingled with the shareholders and their partners for a drink or two before they heard the five-minute curtain call. Once again, that dip in her stomach returned. Tonight would be the first time that she’d be alone in the family box.

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