Page 82 of Seduced by Her Billionaire Fake Fiancé

“Can you call Marco? Make sure he’s coming this afternoon.”

She hoped there was no betraying blush in her cheeks; her face felt warm suddenly.

“The meeting’s scheduled. I sent out formal requests via email yesterday.”

“Yeah, but this is Marco. Remember he’s got a bit of an allergy to checking emails or arriving at anything he’s supposed to be at. He’s probably in Cancun or somewhere by now. I tried, but couldn’t get through.”

Portia silently disagreed. True, she’d seen first-hand Marco’s partying lifestyle, but she’d also seen something more than that. The way he’d been at the meeting a couple of days ago had shown her that he paid more attention to the company than anyone gave him credit for. If he was right about the Valentinos, then he’d found the smoking gun when there was presumably still time to move the targets.

Dante was staring at her, waiting for her to say something. Portia floundered. What did he want?

To know Marco would be at the meeting.

Right.

Great.

“I’ll…call him,” she said, with no intention of doing any such thing. “Leave it with me.”

“Thanks.” He dipped his head, returned to his office, closing the door.

Portia stared mutinously at it before lifting the receiver off her desk phone and putting a call through to the general assistants on the floor below.

“I need you to make a call for me, Becky,” she delegated with crisp efficiency. “And please let me know if there are any problems.” With that, she shunted Marco neatly off her radar and onto someone else’s, expelling a big sigh of relief.

The meeting startedin the afternoon and ran way over the allotted time, so it was nearly half six before Portia was finished taking notes and ready to bustle back to her own desk, escaping, once again, the strange, heavy magnetism of Marco’s presence.

He had arrived only a few minutes late, dressed as though he’d stopped in on his way to dinner in Soho, all chic designer casual, messy but sexy, and she’d had to admit she was impressed by the level of information he not only brought to the meeting but knew completely off the top of his head.

Committed to memory were specific figures regarding the Valentino empire over the last ten years. He’d done a deep dive on their strategies, market share, industry movements, guessed at their overall game plan, how they’d invested, who they were in bed with financially, who they supported, where they were strong, weak, vulnerable and most importantly, how they’d been maneuvering the pieces over the last year. Dante had called the meeting and all the Santoros had shown up, but it was Marco who’d dominated.

Meaning she’d had to look at him. A lot. And listen, carefully. Paying attention to the numbers, the strategies, working out what she needed to record for Dante to pour over later, when he was home alone and looking at the figures, coming up with his own response to the Valentino scenario.

It was two hours of heavy concentration, made all the more difficult by the fact there was something about Marco that was instantly, immediately derailing to her train of thought, so she had to wade through a sea of distractions to be able to find any level of focus.

She sat at her desk, neatening the document as much as she could, preparing to send it across to Dante. When footsteps approached her desk, she didn’t immediately look up, presuming it was Dante with some last-minute request or other. She finished typing, lifted her gaze, then had to employ every ounce of self-control not to visually react to the sight of Marco standing just two feet away from her.

Not speaking.

Looking.

“No silk today?” He asked, eyes dropping to her shirt, lingering on the swell of her cleavage.

Her gut churned. So he’d noticed the shirt she’d worn last time? It brought a rush of pleasure to her gut, and a swelling to her chest. She blinked her attention back to the screen.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

A quick flick back to his face showed an arrogant grin tilting his lips. “Have you got plans tonight?”

Her fingers trembled. She pressed them to the keyboard to disguise the tell-tale reaction.

“Why do you ask?”

“Why do you think?”

She blinked up at him. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

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