PROLOGUE

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height


‘How would you like to earn a generous fee for half an hour’s work?’ A rich accented voice disturbed Alina’s thoughts.

Alina swung around.  ‘Excuse me?’  She stared rudely.  He was so---masculine.  She was drawn to the swell of bulging muscles beneath the fabric of his silk shirt.  Strong powerful well defined features.  Whilst he patiently waited for her answer she stupidly gazed at his sensuous lips...chiselled jaw.  The exquisite classic shape of his attractive face gave him the smouldering looks of a European model more suited to the Milan and Paris runways, rather than wasted in a stuffed business suit, albeit  very extravagant, hand cut Italian cloth, it had to have been tailored on his attractive body.

Eventually Alina’s eyes shifted to the chunk of bills the man waved in front of her face.  He must be mad.  That was more than she earned in a week. 

‘Signorina, you will rescue me?’ It should have been a request, but it was voiced authoratively.  He was not a man that made polite requests, Alina decided.  No, he barked instructions, or demanded acquiescence, either way, his commands were adhered to.

Erotic images swirled in her brain.  ‘What would you like me to do?’ she breathed, then cursed silently realizing how loaded her question sounded.  She was about to rephrase her question, when he issued.

‘In here,’ he held his office door opened for her.

‘Excuse me!’ she mumbled nervously.  She looked over her shoulder, hoping somebody could arrive so she did not have to be alone in the presence of this intimidating male species.  What if he was lying?  He could be a ravenous wolf, though she could hardly say in sheep's clothing.  What if he expected something else, for the payment he was offering?

‘You can type si?’ he questioned impatiently. 

Off course she can type.  She was not stupid.  She was just not cut out to be desk bound. 

‘I can type,’ she answered.  ‘You will give me all that money just to type one letter?’

His face shuttered. ‘Yes,’ he placed the bills on his table.  How predictable!  They were the same all over the world.  Wave a few bills and the gold diggers were only too eager to please.  He shoved a hand written page full of figures at her.

‘Type that as it is.  No mistakes and it is confidential,' he warned, in eloquent English.  'You will not repeat those figures outside this office.’

‘Yes sir,’ she eyed the money he carelessly placed on his table.

‘What is your name?’

‘Alina---Alina Brooke.’

‘Hurry,’ he nodded, pointing to the desk top computer on an adjacent glass stand.

She sat down and began typing.

Alina double checked the text and the figures against the hand written instruction.  Perfect,  no mistakes
She kept her head low, and waited as she heard the man speak on one call after another in rapid fire Italian and then Spanish.   He spoke calmly, patiently, but authoratively.  He must be negotiating prices.  He worked non-stop.  Seemed to be on an adrenalin rush, his bursting energy tangible in the thick air in his office.

‘I’m finished,’ Alina stood up, taking advantage of a pause between his incessant chats.

He looked up as if only suddenly realizing he was not alone.  Signalled for her to approach. 

‘You are Tomas Casiraghi?’  She was intruiged.  He had signed his name at the bottom of the letter that he had handed to her.

‘Si.’

Tomas Casiraghi, world renowned financier.  Ruthless negotiator.  He could make or break a company.   Head Quarters in Rome and branches in every major city in Europe, Asia and North America.  This is the man, her manager, Leona Gordon, wanted to impress.  He would be the one awarding them the much coveted catering contract.  Neither Alina nor Leona had ever expected to meet the billionaire owner face to face.  How fortunate for Alina that she happened to be setting up the buffet in preparation at this divine moment.  

Not a core function to the financier's startegic business, Rose Acre Catering were to host a rather important function he was patron of, on Saturday evening.  Tonight was the dry run with only his senior management team.  It was widely known he was a control freak, who demanded excellence and perfection.  That's the way he operated.  If he could attain excellence and perfection, then he expected nothing less, from those he surrounded himself with at a very high cost.   If he liked what he saw and tasted tonight, then they would be awarded the contract. 

Alina knew nothing about financing, but she knew everything there was to know about Italian and French cuisine, having achieved a diploma after spending two years abroad in Sicily and Paris.  She was certain, when Tomas Casiraghi tasted the sumptuous starter and main courses that she had pain stakingly prepared, they would get the contract.  She was that confident.

‘I am from Rose Acre Catering,’ Alina thought she would give her company a plug.

‘No mistakes.  I am impressed,’ he nodded, ignoring her comment.

‘Fax it to these numbers?’ he handed her a page with international numbers on it.

‘Yes,’ Alina was tempted to offer him a salute.

‘Put it in this file when you are done?’

‘Yes,’ Alina almost felt the need to salute again.

‘Have dinner with me tomorrow night.’

‘Ye---.  I beg your pardon!


You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net