Читать книгу Once A Playboy...: Resisting the Sicilian Playboy / Her Playboy's Proposal / The Playboy's Proposal - Kate Hardy, Amanda Browning - Страница 8
ОглавлениеDARA DEVLIN HAD found herself in a few sticky situations in this job, but this had to be by far the worst.
A professional event planner should never gatecrash. It had to be written somewhere in the company handbook. Yet here she was, straddling the second-floor balcony ledge of Milan’s most exclusive nightclub in four-inch designer heels.
All in the name of business, of course.
The heels had certainly slowed progress up the slippery emergency ladder, but leaving them in the alley below was unthinkable. A woman stood by her shoes, no matter how sticky the situation. And this situation most definitely qualified as sticky.
Handbag in one hand, she silently willed her skirt not to tear as she manoeuvred herself less than gracefully over the cold stone ledge, landing on hard marble tiles. Her watch showed it was just past ten. An unfashionably early time to be going clubbing in this part of the world, but dancing wasn’t on her agenda tonight.
The city’s premier celebrity hotspot, Platinum I, was celebrating its grand reopening this weekend and entry was strictly invitation only. No amount of her Irish charm would sway the arrogant hostess with her little black clipboard.
Nevertheless, Dara was determined to get into this party one way or another. She was only in town for the weekend before she had to head back south to her company’s office in Syracuse. Failing this task just wasn’t an option.
When her various contacts had said Leonardo Valente was untouchable, she had accepted the challenge with enthusiasm. She had the opportunity to plan the most high-profile wedding of her career—all she needed was one man’s cooperation.
How hard could it be?
Even after three weeks of rejected emails and dead-end phone calls she had refused to give up. Armed with her tablet computer and her snazziest designer suit, she had foolishly believed she could just travel to his Milan office and demand to be seen.
The joke was on her. Because it seemed that Leonardo Valente’s office didn’t even exist. The address on his secretary’s email had led her to a professional call-answering headquarters, where her enquiries had all been rejected point-blank.
It was just plain good luck that she had found out about tonight. The first club in the worldwide Platinum chain was turning ten years old and celebrating with a star-studded relaunch weekend.
Her grasp on the Italian language was far from perfect, but one thing was certain: Leonardo Valente was here tonight, inside these walls. All she had to do was find a way inside.
She looked around the empty terrace and felt her stomach tighten. She had hoped it would be some sort of outdoor seating area where she could just climb over the wall and melt into the crowd. She bit her lip. It was still some part of the club, and it was her only hope of getting inside.
The wall of the building was made almost entirely out of glass, each pane a deep glossy black, making it impossible to see what was inside. The thump of music had been deafening down on the ground, but on this terrace it was completely muffled.
She ignored the uncomfortable twitch in her stomach, putting it down to nerves. She was sneaking into an exclusive event, after all—nerves were to be expected. In life sometimes you had to break the rules to get ahead, but this pretty much went against every fibre of her goody-two-shoes nature.
Pushing a strand of blonde hair from her face, she placed one hand on the window. Her pale skin reflected brightly in the black glass, her steel-grey eyes calm and focused as she made her way slowly from pane to pane. She began pressing her fingertips along each narrow gap, searching for a hinge, a hook—something that hinted at an opening.
After she had exhausted every possible angle, she stepped back and surveyed the rest of the terrace with a frown. It made no sense. Surely there had to be a way to get inside.
She felt a sudden irrational urge to kick the glass and force her way in. But that would never do. Dara Devlin quite simply did not lose her cool—no matter how rough the situation was getting. It was the main reason brides from all over the world called her to plan their dream Sicilian weddings.
With a deep, calming breath, she forced herself to think. While climbing up here had definitely been worth a shot, unfortunately she was now two storeys up and not going anywhere fast. Her hands gripped the cold stone as she peered over the ledge. The street looked much further down from up here, and she was suddenly feeling a lot less brave.
‘Signorina, is there a particular reason you are sneaking around out here in the darkness?’
The deep, sensual voice came suddenly from behind her, making her breath catch painfully in her throat.
Dara turned slowly, eyes widening when she saw that a pane of glass had somehow disappeared and a man now stood watching her.
How had she not heard someone coming? It was far too late to try and escape back down the ladder now. Her mind raced as she tried to find a way to spin this that wouldn’t get her arrested.
‘I’m waiting for an explanation.’
His face was slightly obscured in the shadows, but she could tell from his dark suit and crossed arms that he was definitely someone in charge—most likely Security. Damn and double damn. This was not going well.
Time to think, Devlin. Forcing her tone to keep light, she laughed breathlessly and spoke in fast-paced English. No one arrested a silly blonde in trouble.
‘Well, finally someone’s bothered to come out and help me.’ She sighed for dramatic effect. ‘I’ve been banging on the glass for twenty minutes, trying to get back inside.’
‘You couldn’t find the door, no?’
His perfect English surprised her, but the mocking tone said he wasn’t buying it. She kept talking anyway.
‘It’s a safety hazard. I was looking to get some fresh air and someone said I could step out here for a moment—’
‘So you decided to scale the building to get to it?’ he said. It wasn’t a question, more an amused statement. ‘Do you make a habit of wearing heels to climb up buildings? It’s quite a talent.’
Dara opened her mouth to protest, but thought against it.
‘One-way glass.’ He gestured over his shoulder. It was too dark to see his face, but there was a definite smirk in his silky voice as he spoke. ‘The moment you realised you weren’t getting inside was really quite entertaining. I was convinced you were about to throw a tantrum.’
Dara huffed out the breath she hadn’t even realised she had been holding. Well, it was great that he found this situation so funny, because from where she was standing her mission had just been unceremoniously called to a halt. She would likely be hauled out of here by the collar of her crisp white shirt and maybe even charged with trespassing.
‘I realise how this looks—’ she began, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.
‘Do you? Because from here it looks like you were trying to break into my private floor in what I can only assume is a naughty secretary outfit.’
Dara frowned at that. ‘What? I am not a naughty—’ Her brain froze, processing the first chunk of his accusations.
The man stepped forward into the light, revealing a face that she had seen countless times in the tabloids. Dara felt her entire body freeze as she realised just who she had been lying to.
‘Oh, God, you’re him.’
Her razor-sharp professional reflexes turned to mush as she took in all six-feet-plus of muscular Sicilian male.
‘If by “him” you mean the owner of the building you just attempted to break into, then that’s a yes.’ The glow seemed to have left his eyes now, and had been replaced by a keen cynicism. ‘I suppose you’re going to want to come inside now? Start telling me about how this is all some crazy misunderstanding?’
Arms folded across an impressive chest, he stood waiting for her to dig her hole even deeper.
Hot embarrassment clawed up Dara’s neck. He clearly thought this was a scheme to get him alone. She’d read the magazines. Women threw themselves at Leo Valente everywhere he went. And it wasn’t just that he was mega-rich—although for some women that would be more than enough. With this man, the words they used were mouthwatering, delicious and sinful.
It had always made her laugh to hear of men described like desserts, but now, standing five feet away from him, she could kind of understand the madness.
He was a far cry from her usual type. His dark hair reached just under his collar and was a bit too untidy, his eyelashes were too long and his jaw overgrown with dark stubble. But even she couldn’t argue that he was a sight to behold. And he had taken one look at her tidy blazer and blouse and presumed she was some groupie, here to play dress-up games.
She almost groaned with embarrassment. This was not the shining first impression she had banked on.
‘Well, as much as I enjoy being stared at, I really don’t have all night.’
Dara’s heart gave an uncomfortable thump. ‘I wasn’t staring,’ she said, rather too quickly. ‘I was just...thinking.’
Oh, now this was just getting worse and worse. The moment she had been working towards for three weeks had finally presented itself and her mind had decided to go into sleep mode.
One dark eyebrow rose, mocking her. ‘Were you thinking about this particular situation, or are there other criminal acts you’ve committed tonight?’
Criminal? Dara felt hot panic rise in her chest. ‘Mr Valente, I can assure you I was not attempting to commit a crime.’
‘Relax. I won’t call in the hounds just yet. But you failed to notice the security camera watching your every move.’ He pointed to a tiny blinking red light above her head. ‘My team was halfway up here when I told them to wait.’
‘Why did you do that?’ The question was out before she could stop herself.
He shrugged one shoulder. ‘I was bored. You looked interesting.’
She thought for a moment, but could not come up with a single response to that comment. Perhaps if he found her so interesting she could captivate him long enough to make her proposal.
She cleared her throat. ‘Just so we’re clear: I’m not a criminal. I’m a wedding planner.’ She watched as his eyes narrowed.
‘Same thing, in my opinion.’ He smirked. ‘I liked my naughty secretary theory much better.’
And just like that Dara found herself the subject of Leonardo Valente’s infamous smouldering gaze. She cleared her throat, trying to think of something—anything—to break the tension. The air was beginning to feel very thin up here on this darkened terrace, and it had nothing to do with the altitude.
‘Your theory is incorrect. I’m not here for anything like...like that.’
‘Such a pity. Nonetheless, you have my attention.’ He turned abruptly to go inside, pausing when she didn’t immediately follow behind him. ‘Unless you plan on going back down that ladder again, I suggest you follow me.’
With that he was gone, leaving Dara with no choice but to obey.
The room on the other side of the glass was twice the size of her entire apartment. She saw him press a few buttons in a panel on the wall and suddenly soft light illuminated the room. It was not an office, but nor was it an apartment. It reminded her of the lobby of a very exclusive hotel, with modern cubic seating and an impressive glass fireplace.
Exactly why a nightclub needed a room like this she wasn’t sure—maybe he used it to entertain private guests. That thought made her clutch her handbag a little tighter in front of her, and feeling the outline of her computer reminded her of why she was there.
He pressed another button on the panel and the clever door slid silently back into place behind him. She could see that it was indeed one-way glass, and her ears burned at the thought of him watching her for all that time.
He turned around to face her and for the first time she noticed the vivid colour of his eyes. They weren’t dark, as she had thought from his photographs, but a unique shade of deep forest green. Dara shook her head. Why was she even looking at his eyes, for goodness’ sake? This was a business meeting, not a school dance.
‘So, do you have a name—or will I just call you Spiderwoman?’ That smirk was still firmly in place as he took a couple of steps towards her.
Her inner professional was sharp enough to see a perfect moment. ‘I actually have my card in here somewhere...if you’d just give me a second...’ She began fishing in her bag—maybe she should launch into the entire presentation now, before he had a chance to shoot her down.
Without warning he was in front of her, taking the bag from her hand and placing it gently on the floor. ‘I did not ask for a card. I asked for your name—from your lips, preferably.’
His gaze travelled down to her mouth and she felt her stomach flutter in response. She ignored the sensation, straightening her chin and meeting his gaze head-on. ‘It’s Dara Devlin.’
He nodded, as though she had answered correctly.
‘So...Dara the wedding planner...’ His deep voice purred her name, as though he was tasting it on his tongue. ‘What gives me the pleasure of your company this evening?’
‘I’m not here for pleasure.’ She took a step back, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible. ‘What I mean is, I came here to find you. To talk business.’
He raised one dark brow. ‘Who comes to a nightclub to talk business?’
‘Well, you do,’ she said confidently. That earned her a puzzled look. ‘I’m here to discuss a possible deal between you and a very high-profile client of mine. All I’m asking is just five minutes of your time.’
‘I have a swarm of media vultures downstairs in the club. Every one of them is waiting for “just five minutes”. Why should you get to skip the queue?’
‘If they deserved the time they would have climbed up here by now.’
Without warning he threw his dark head back and laughed—a deep, rumbling laugh that seemed to resonate right to her core. The gesture shocked her for a moment, and her eyes moved down to take in the strong column of his throat, the dark hairs that disappeared into the casually open collar of his shirt.
Dara swallowed, her throat feeling strangely dry. She looked up—only to be pinned by that mocking emerald gaze again.
‘You know, despite the fact that you could have killed yourself climbing up here tonight, I admit that I’m impressed,’ he said. ‘You deserve those five minutes based on sheer nerve and creativity.’
Dara smiled with triumph and eagerly reached for the tablet computer in her bag. ‘Wonderful. I’ve actually prepared a short pitch, if you want to take a seat?’
‘No,’ he said simply.
Her bag flopped back down to the ground as she took in his sudden change of tone. ‘But you said that—’
‘I said I’d give you your five minutes, Dara Devlin. I didn’t say when.’
She felt a frown crease her forehead and quickly smoothed it down. This man was impossible. It was just five minutes, for goodness’ sake. They had easily spent three times that up here already.
He gestured for her to move towards the door, closing a button on his tailored suit jacket in the process. ‘You can arrange a time with my secretary. In the meantime, the party is just getting started downstairs.’
Dara felt her temper finally bubble up to the surface. ‘I’ve been calling your secretary for three weeks—why do you think I pulled this stunt?’
‘I just presumed you enjoyed a little espionage on a Friday night.’ He smirked.
She fought the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. She needed to get to the subject of this meeting, but it had to be done just right or he would shoot her down—just like all the others who had approached him before her. Her presentation built up slowly, allowing her time to sway his thinking. He clearly wasn’t going to give her that chance.
‘Aren’t you just a little curious about what made me climb up here?’ she asked, desperate to stall him.
He moved forward so that they stood little more than a couple of steps apart in the silent room. ‘It surprises me to find that I’m quite intrigued by you.’ His eyes lowered to take in every inch of her body in one heated sweep.
Dara felt a rush of heat colour her cheeks. She might not have much experience with flirtation, but there was no mistaking the glitter in his eyes. This man was everything the tabloids made him out to be. Suave, sensual and utterly scandalous.
‘You know, I can’t remember the last time I made a woman blush.’ He stepped closer, his voice deepening. ‘Come have a drink with me, Dara. Let down that beautiful blonde hair of yours.’
‘I don’t think that would be appropriate, Mr Valente.’ She pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear, feeling more than a little self-conscious under his gaze.
‘Mr Valente was my father—you can call me Leo.’ He smiled. ‘What business could be so important that it can’t wait until Monday morning?’
Dara spied her chance to turn the conversation. ‘My condolences on your father’s recent passing. I understand the funeral was held at your castello in Ragusa?’
‘So I’ve been told.’ He shrugged. ‘People die every day, Miss Devlin. I prefer to focus on more enjoyable pursuits.’
Even after bringing up the subject of his father, the man was still flirting with her. He really was a complete playboy. She decided a more direct approach was definitely needed.
‘The castello is a beautiful piece of history. It’s such a shame that it lies dormant most of the time.’
‘Why do I get the feeling this is more than idle chit-chat?’ He narrowed his gaze, all trace of flirtation gone.
‘Well, you see, it’s part of the reason that I’m here.’ Feeling a sense of foreboding, she powered on. ‘I’m here to propose a deal for Castello Bellamo that I feel you will benefit greatly from.’
She blurted it out as confidently as she could and felt the swell of victory as he froze in place. The playful charmer seemed to disappear before her eyes, his expression taking on a detached hardness.
He met her eyes, a single muscle ticking on his jaw. When he spoke his voice was somehow deeper than before, his accent more pronounced. ‘Well, it seems you have wasted both your time and mine tonight. I’ll tell you the same thing that I have told every other vulture that has approached me since my father’s death. The castle is not for sale.’
Dara shook her head, desperate for him to understand. ‘I don’t want to buy it—I want to hold a wedding there. I’m sure that we can come to some sort of—’
A flick of his hand cut her off mid-sentence. ‘I don’t care if you want to use it to house blind orphans. The matter is not open for discussion.’
‘I understand that the castello has been left in disrepair for some time now—’
‘It can stay that way, for all I care. Contrary to what people may think, these little games don’t work for me—no matter how pretty the messenger is.’ His eyes raked down to her heels, taking in every inch of her body with an exaggerated slowness before meeting her eyes once more.
‘This conversation is over,’ he gritted. ‘I’ll have someone sent up to escort you out. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a party to attend to.’
Without another word he strode from the room, leaving Dara to stare after him in disbelief.
That had been a rather dramatic turn of events. She knew his father had died recently, and it had been tactless of her to use it as part of her argument. But what other choice did she have? The most lucrative wedding contract of her career was within touching distance and she had personally promised the bride Castello Bellamo. If she failed to deliver she could say goodbye to her miraculous gateway into society weddings. Her name would be worthless.
She was not going to be ruined without a fight.
* * *
Leo slid in behind the bar of the empty upper mezzanine of the club and waved off the young barmaid with an impatient hand. Taking down a bottle of aged whisky, he poured himself a generous glass and let the amber liquid burn down his throat in one fluid movement.
Blondie had caught him by surprise—there was no doubting that. Beautiful women were not a rarity in his world—supermodels and socialites lined up to be seen on his arm—but there had been something about that determined grey gaze that had sparked his interest in a way no woman had for months now.
No one had dared speak to him of his father since his death had been worldwide news. But to start with that and then make a move for the castle... He took another swig of whisky, a harsh bark of laughter escaping his throat. She definitely had nerve—he’d give her that.
As his temper slowly calmed he realised he was no longer alone in the private bar. Miss Devlin had come to a stop on the other side of the counter.
‘Just so we’re clear: I am not a messenger and I don’t play games. Ever.’
She was angry, and it was a sight to behold.
‘Never? You keep shattering my fantasies tonight, Miss Devlin.’ Leo took in the crisp white shirt she wore, the outline of a lacy white bra barely visible at the front. His knuckles tensed on the glass in his hand as heat rushed through his veins. Damn, it had been way too long if the sight of a bra was arousing him.
‘Do you take anything seriously, Mr Valente?’
She rolled her eyes, checking the time on her watch in a gesture of boredom. But Leo could see the hint of a flush high on her cheekbones. She wasn’t as unaffected by him as she pretended to be.
He stepped forward, bracing his hands on the bar between them. ‘Believe me, there are certain things I can take very seriously.’ He let his eyes linger on her lips for a moment and smiled when she self-consciously took a step back. ‘Look around you, Miss Devlin. I opened this club ten years ago. I now own one in every major city in the world, so you can see that I take the business of pleasure very seriously.’
‘I’m here to talk about my proposal—not about pleasure.’ She shook her head.
‘A pity. I can tell that we would communicate very well on that subject.’ He watched as heat flushed across her chest.
She laid her bag down forcefully on the counter. ‘Are you always this forward?’ Her voice was somehow calm and furious at the same time.
Damn it, but she was right. He was behaving like a caveman. What was it about this woman that set his teeth on edge? She was prickly, and direct, and sexy as hell. But she was here to talk about the one thing he was determined to ignore.
‘You seem to have caught me off guard. Having an unarmed woman bypass a million-euro security system will do that to a man.’
‘If I were a man would you be any less impressed, I wonder?’ She stood tall, meeting his gaze evenly.
Leo laughed, offering her a glass of whisky. ‘You are refreshing, Dara. Consider this a peace offering for my inappropriate behaviour.’
‘Thank you.’
She took the glass with both hands, holding it close to breathe in the aroma. It was a ridiculously feminine gesture.
Leo watched her for a moment, downing the rest of his drink in one go. ‘You know, considering your position, I wonder how I have come to be the one apologising.’
‘I can be very persuasive.’ She smiled and took a sip of whisky, making a delicate little hum of approval.
Leo felt his blood pump a little faster. ‘Something we both have in common.’
He stepped out from behind the bar, taking in her polite business suit once more. She was a walking contradiction, this one. All delicate and businesslike on the outside, but with the guts to scale a building in a skirt and heels. He wondered why he hadn’t thrown her out yet.
She placed her glass down, turning to face him head-on with calm determination in the set of her shoulders. ‘I will be leaving for Sicily in the morning. I’m asking you please to just consider my proposal.’
‘You just broke the law and you expect me to do business with you?’
‘I am asking you to at least give me a chance.’ Her voice remained steady, with not a trace of remorse for tonight’s actions.
‘Do you honestly expect me to let you use a seven-hundred-year-old castle for a glorified circus?’
‘Firstly, it’s a wedding. Secondly, from what I understand the castle has been mostly unoccupied for years. Many jobs were lost when your father closed it to the public. We both know that poverty is already an issue in Sicily.’
‘I think you overestimate my ability to empathise.’ He had heard the same argument before countless times.
‘Maybe so, but a high-profile wedding like this would bring a lot of opportunity to a struggling town like Monterocca.’
Leo felt the skin behind his neck prickle at her mention of the name. There was no reason for him to feel anything for that place. The people of his home town meant nothing to him. And yet he felt an uncomfortable pull in his stomach at her words.
‘It would bring a storm of paparazzi,’ he countered.
‘Naturally. But from what I hear that might not be such a bad thing.’
He raised a brow in surprise. ‘Have you been reading the tabloids, Dara?’
‘I have been told that you have something of a bad reputation among the people of Sicily.’
‘My father’s reputation. Not mine,’ he corrected.
‘Yes, but his reputation has stood in your way in the past. It doesn’t go unnoticed that you don’t own a single club in your native region.’
Leo fought the urge to snarl. That was a particular sore spot of his. Opting instead for a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder, he leaned in. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you cared.’
She straightened immediately, her guard firmly in place. ‘Thankfully we both know that caring isn’t high on the agenda here.’ She gestured to the empty tables around them. ‘So, this is the big exclusive launch party?’
‘It’s just a pre-launch. The lower floors are open to a select few guests. Tomorrow is the official event.’ Leo looked down to where the floor below was filled with a swarm of people.
She followed him over to the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the entire club.
‘Do you only mingle with the little people at official events?’ she asked.
‘Well, I have been kept busy up here by a very persistent blonde security breach, it seems.’
She ignored that comment, her delicate features taking on a focused edge. ‘Did you know that those water features are blocking off the lounge area from the rest of the club?’ she asked.
Leo blinked, following her gaze to take in the scene below them.
She continued. ‘Also, the spotlights are a little too strong on the dance floor. Softer red-hued lighting would soften the transition into the seated areas.’
He followed her gaze with interest. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to point out?’
She opened her mouth briefly, then stopped as if rethinking her actions.
‘Oh come now, you’ve already begun—don’t hold back on my account.’ He raised a brow in challenge, noting the delicate glow on her cheekbones as she nipped at the skin of her lower lip.
‘It’s just...your staff’s uniforms. They don’t fit the image at all. They’re quite...sparkly and frivolous.’
‘Platinum is the signature colour,’ he argued. ‘They don’t sparkle—they shine.’
She shrugged. ‘They look sparkly to me. I wasn’t trying to insult your style.’
‘I thought you were all about honesty?’ he scolded, frowning.
‘I’m just trying to prove to you that I know what I’m talking about. No matter what kind of event you’re throwing, the principle is always the same. Make it memorable, and make a statement. You’re dealing with an exclusive clientele here—people who expect one-of-a-kind events every time. And that just happens to be my area of expertise.’
‘You could see all of that from up here?’
‘I have a keen eye for detail. I may not be the star guest of the party, but I make it my business to know how to plan one.’
‘And my club does not fit your usual standard?’
‘I don’t have a “usual standard”. In my world there is perfection or failure.’
‘Ah, so this would be a failure?’ He waited patiently for her answer.
Dara remained silent.
He let out a low bark of laughter. ‘I’ve honestly never had someone insult me in order to convince me to sign a contract.’
‘I believe in honesty. And if you choose Devlin Events to represent the castello, honesty is what you will get.’
He looked down at the crowd for a moment. ‘So your plan is to throw a fancy wedding and fix my public image all in one go, is it? I’d say you’re a little out of your league.’
‘My résumé speaks for itself. I’ve personally forged contracts with some of the major resort chains around the island—Santo, Lucchesi and Ottanta.’
‘You’ve worked for the Lucchesi Group?’
‘I’m a freelance consultant. They hired me on a few occasions. The most notable being Umberto and Gloria’s golden wedding anniversary. It was just a small garden party at their family home, but—’
Leo’s business mind perked up at that. ‘You are on first-name terms with Umberto Lucchesi?’
‘Yes. He did offer me a job, which I politely refused. I prefer to be my own boss.’
Leo walked to the glass wall and looked down across the packed club below the mezzanine. Well, this had just gone from interesting to downright serendipitous. He wondered if she realised the significance of what she had just divulged. Maybe it was all a fabrication—she had researched him, after all.
But he knew there was no record of his history with Lucchesi...their recent disagreements. Business was a private affair among Sicilian men, and while he hadn’t set foot on Sicilian soil in more than eighteen years he was still siciliano through and through.
He cursed as his phone rang, and the call took less than ten seconds before he ended it.
‘I’m needed downstairs. Certain guests are getting impatient.’
Her eyes fell, and defeat was evident in the droop of her shoulders. ‘Well, thank you for your time, Mr Valente.’ She held her hand out to him.
He ignored it. ‘It’s Leo. And you misunderstand me. This conversation isn’t over.’
‘It’s not?’
‘Not by a long shot.’ He smiled. ‘One hour. We’ll discuss this further then.’
She moved uneasily. ‘Shall I stay up here?’
‘You deserve to relax after your little stunt tonight, Dara. Come down to the dark side—drink, dance. Practise using the stairs, perhaps.’ He began walking away, back towards his private elevator.
‘But how will I know where to meet you?’ she called.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll find you.’
Leo smiled to himself as the elevator doors closed slowly, her shapely silhouette disappearing from view. He would finish this interesting interlude, and that was a promise.
