‘That sounds curiously like an order,’ she replied.
He stopped abruptly, turned to face her. A deep sustaining breath lifted his chest before he speared her with his incisive gaze. ‘We’ve both had a trying day, Goldie. Can we attempt to make it slightly less trying before we part ways?’
She was sure it was the use of her name, spoken so smoothly, so sizzlingly, that drew the fight from her, made her lift one shoulder in a feeble shrug. ‘Sure, I can try.’
‘Gracias,’ he intoned. Then added, ‘Thank you.’
‘Um...no problem.’
A tinge of amusement lit his eyes before he shook his head. ‘“No problem” aren’t words I associate with you.’ He abruptly held up one hand. ‘Not that I want to test the theory right now. Come, we shall get a drink and find a place to hold our discussion, yes?’
At her nod he resumed his exit, slowing his long stride to accommodate hers.
They entered a large, rectangular living r
oom, decorated with a severely modern and minimalist hand. The centrepiece of the room was the futuristic-looking light fixture that seemed to take up almost a quarter of the ceiling space. Beneath this gleaming white and silver masterpiece Pietro’s guests laughed and mingled. The man himself was the centre of attention, surrounded by a coolly elegant circle of females.
His grin widened when he spotted them approaching, and he beckoned them with open arms.
‘Ah, there you are. Confirmation of our adventures in the Andes is needed, my friend. Sadly, I don’t think these fine ladies here believe a word I’m saying!’ he said to Gael.
Gael’s gaze drifted over the ladies in question, who sparkled and preened even harder under his attention. Although he smiled, Goldie noticed the mirth didn’t touch his eyes. Not that the action didn’t have the desired devastating effect. Almost without exception every woman in the group strained towards him, their gazes rabidly checking him out.
‘That particular pleasure will have to wait, my friend. I have more important things to attend to right now.’ He turned to the waiter who had appeared next to him and snagged two glasses of champagne.
Goldie dragged her attention from the nearest fawning woman to shake her head as he offered her one of the glasses. ‘No, thank you. I don’t drink.’
She caught more than one woman sniggering.
Pietro frowned, his features almost comical with alarm. ‘You don’t drink? You’re not underage, are you?’
‘No, I’m old enough to drink, but I choose not to,’ she repeated.
Her mother’s dependency on alcohol to get her through tough times and the depressing consequences when that crutch failed to work had taught Goldie at a very early age never to go near the stuff.
His eyes turning speculative, Gael returned both drinks to the tray and steered her outside towards a bar set up on the terrace. After taking her order for an apple spritzer and getting mineral water for himself, he led her to a quiet part of the hardwood floored space. Between two tree-sized ferns a white sofa had been set up beneath a heated lamp, which threw a lovely warm glow over the area.
‘Why don’t you drink alcohol?’ he asked abruptly once they were seated.
‘Do I have to have a specific reason?’ she prevaricated.
He shrugged. ‘Most people tend not to do it for two reasons—a natural aversion or an active life choice stemming from experience. I want to know which applies to you.’
Her fingers tightened around her chilled glass. ‘Why?’
‘Because one reason doesn’t require further explanation, but the other might warrant further discussion if we’re to work together.’
‘So you’re saying if I happen to be a recovering alcoholic it may ruin my chances at this imaginary job I’m yet to hear about?’
‘I’m saying situations and flaws can be dealt with if they’re known up front. I don’t want to be blindsided by issues further down the line.’
‘Mr Aguilar—’
His jaw tightened—a tiny movement, but she saw it nevertheless.
‘Gael,’ he intoned.
‘Gael.’ She stopped, unwillingly savouring the name on her tongue. Wanting to say it again. She cleared her throat and forced out a laugh. ‘We seem to be getting way ahead of ourselves. Can we start this whole thing over? Please?’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Goldie Beckett, graduate of Othello with honours in Acting and Musical Art. Currently unemployed and, yes, looking for a job.’