Office Scandals: The Petrelli Heir / Gilded Secrets / An Inconvenient Affair

‘Well, not actually propose in so many words,’ Izzy admitted. ‘And believe me, it wasn’t romantic.’

‘So has he been in touch since yesterday?’

‘No, and he’s booked out of the Fox.’ Izzy hoped she had seen the last of Roman Petrelli … didn’t she?

Later that day Izzy was interrupted from her power walking back home by her phone ringing. Chest heaving, she stopped to pull the phone from her pocket halfway up the steep country lane. The calm objectivity she was trying to exhaust herself into still eluded her.

Roman’s I’ll be back threat still haunted her.

It was all about what he wanted, and, yes, today he wanted to be a father, but what did he know about being a parent? Nothing, he had said as much himself, and would he be equally enthusiastic when the novelty of the situation wore off?

‘Yes!’ she breathed into the phone.

‘Izzy, is that you?’ Layla, the owner of the interior design agency she had worked for straight from college, sounded startled … and small wonder.

Izzy took a deep breath. ‘Yes, Layla … sorry, I was just …’

Layla as always got straight to the point. ‘I’ve got a job for you, a big job. It’s perfect, it’s … I’ve got it down somewhere, but it’s in the middle of the country—you like the country, darling.’

‘That sounds great, Layla, and I appreciate you thinking of me, but until Lily is older and at school it’s difficult. The commission in Keswick last month was great, but anything bigger …?’ The older woman had continued to put some part-time commissions her way and Izzy was grateful.

‘Oh, I didn’t think about you, darling—the client specifically requested you.’

‘Me?’

‘Seems like he saw the Dublin town-house project you worked on before Lily was born—did you know it was on the market? Anyhow, apparently he was blown away.’

Izzy felt a stab of pride. She had been pretty pleased with the project herself. ‘So the client is Irish?’

‘Not a clue, darling.’

Izzy frowned and glared at the nail she had just caught herself nibbling before thrusting her hand in her pocket. ‘So you don’t actually know who this client is?’

‘What does that matter? A film star, a royal, an oil-rich sheikh—he won’t be there. Apparently there’s just a skeleton staff. The point is he’s got pots of money, expense is no object and he’ll give you a free hand.’

‘Free hand? There must be a remit?’

‘Nope. He’s apparently willing to put himself entirely in your hands. The only stipulation is that it is a suitable family home to take his bride to … lucky girl. Oh, yes, it is a he.’

‘It sounds too good to be true …’ Izzy found herself almost hoping that there would be a catch; it would make it easier to justify refusing it.

It wasn’t that she regretted her decision to take a career break, but the sense of guilt she felt lingered.

Her own mother had worked up until the day before Izzy’s birth and had returned to work two weeks after. She had always encouraged ambition in her daughter and instilled the importance of having a career and being independent, and she would have been appalled that Izzy had taken even a temporary career break to look after her baby.

Ironically it was thanks to her mother that Izzy was financially able to take time off at all to spend with Lily. Izzy was still receiving healthy royalties cheques from her mother’s successful writing career.

‘A gig like this could make your career, Izzy.’

‘True.’ And two years ago Izzy would have jumped at the golden opportunity. ‘And I appreciate the offer, but the timing’s not right,’ she said firmly.

‘Is this about leaving Lily? Because, you know, you don’t have to. Part of the remit is to make the place child friendly, not just a show house—a family home. Lily could be your guinea pig!’

‘Really?’ Izzy’s thoughts raced. That did put a different slant on it.

‘I’d say go and think it over but the only problem is—’

‘I knew this was too good to be true.’

‘They want you to start immediately.’

‘How immediately?’

‘Right away … as in tomorrow.’

Izzy was shaking her head. Organising Lily for a trip to the local supermarket took her an hour. ‘Well, that’s just not …’ She stopped, an arrested expression stealing across her face as she thought, What am I doing?

Suddenly she felt her excitement growing. Far from being bad timing, this could actually be perfect timing! ‘Tomorrow?’

‘You’ll take it …’ The relief in the older woman’s voice was unmistakeable.

‘Where is this place?’

‘Oh, you won’t need directions,’ Layla replied when Izzy asked for the address and a contact number. ‘There will be a car to pick you up at the station. It couldn’t be simpler. Just let me know what train you’ll be on and I’ll pass on the details. And don’t forget to keep your receipts. The client is willing to pay all travel expenses and I didn’t even have to ask.’

Simple—if she didn’t already know that Layla was childless this phrase would have cleared up any confusion, Izzy decided as she disembarked from the train with a baby buggy and her baggage.

She felt hot and sticky as Lily’s beaker of juice had spilled down her linen trousers. On the plus side the stain distracted from the creases in her trousers and she decided that linen had perhaps not been the best choice. But she had wanted to make a good first impression and the wide-legged trousers teamed with her favourite silk shirt had seemed to say professional competence. Ah, well, fingers crossed her new client was not someone who judged by appearances.

It wasn’t until she exited the railway station that it occurred to Izzy she had no idea where she was going, let alone who was picking her up. A situation a normal person could be relaxed about, but not one with a baby.

As she manoeuvred the buggy laden with bags she saw a silver four-wheel drive taking up several parking spaces. As she approached the door opened and a man wearing a dark suit got out from the massive car with blacked-out windows.

The man did not hesitate, but approached her directly. ‘Miss Fitzgerald?’

Her brows rose. She hadn’t been expecting the strong Italian accent. ‘Yes, that’s me.’ She tipped her head in acknowledgement and nodded, registering the width of his shoulders. ‘How did you know?’

The man removed his dark glasses and shot out a hand to stop the holdall balanced on top of her case from falling to the ground.

‘The boss described you.’

Presumably a woman with a baby.

‘Here, I’ve got it,’ he added, taking the buggy she had lifted Lily from and snapping it closed with an expert action.

‘You look like an expert, Mr …?’

‘Gennaro, miss, just Gennaro. Grandchildren,’ he added by way of explanation.