Affairs Of The Heart: The Italian Boss's Secret Child

Yet none of that really mattered. There was no question that she had to tell him. It wouldn’t be right or fair to deny Damien the existence of his own child, just as it would be wrong to prevent that child from knowing the identity of its father.

She gazed unseeing into the mirror. And maybe, once he knew, just maybe there was a sliver of possibility that he might even care…

She shook her head, shaking out the wistful dreams and hopes. She was having a baby—wasn’t that enough?

Damien would just have to deal with it, just as she would. First though, she had to tell him.

She hauled herself upright and away from the vanity. It was just as well the office was closing over Christmas. She had two weeks off to spend with her mother. She’d use the time well, see a doctor, get confirmation of her home pregnancy test result and obtain some advice about the best time to tell her mother.

‘Philly?’ Her mother’s voice came muted from outside the door. ‘Are you all right? I thought I heard something crash.’

She looked around her and saw the soap dish, now lying shattered in pieces on the floor. She hadn’t even noticed. ‘I’m fine,’ she called back. ‘Just clumsy today.’

Her mother would be delighted when she discovered why. She stooped to pick up the largest pieces and tried to quell a sudden pang of remorse. She wouldn’t be judgmental—her mother wasn’t like that—but she’d be curious all the same and maybe just a tiny bit sad that there was no boyfriend or husband on the scene. She’d wanted to see Philly settled down after all.

But she’d considered that same scenario when she’d applied to undergo IVF treatment. She’d known that it would still be worth it, that any disappointment would be short lived in the joy that a new baby brought, especially when that baby meant so much.

As for telling Damien? She had to tell him as soon as possible. It had been one thing to keep her secret to herself when there was no chance of him ever finding out. But now there was no way. The product of that secret would soon betray her anyway.

As soon as the doctors had confirmed the pregnancy. The first chance she had, she would tell him.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#u4f93203d-362b-520d-9d07-6c75ca30ba3e)

‘ENID!’ Where was that woman? ‘Enid!’

Enid appeared at his office doorway, pen and blue folder at the ready.

‘You rang?’ she asked, one eyebrow skewed north.

He gritted his teeth. He never liked it when she took that tone. Having a PA who knew too much about you was a positive drawback at times.

‘Where the hell have you been?’

‘Completing the papers you asked me to fax the last time you bellowed at me, not five minutes ago. Not to mention,’ she added before he had a chance to respond, ‘sorting out two weeks worth of mail you demanded barely five minutes before that. And answering the phone in between—you did ask me to take even your direct line calls for today. And thank you for asking, I had a wonderful Christmas holiday. At least, I imagine that’s why you demanded my presence this time?’

For a moment he was speechless. ‘Well, good for you,’ he replied with a snarl, wondering just why the hell he had wanted to see her.

‘And Switzerland?’ she continued, her eyes narrowing as if she was peering right into his soul. ‘How was the skiing this year? Normally you come back a little more relaxed after your break.’

‘Fine,’ he snapped, drumming his fingers on the table while he tried to forget all about his failure of a holiday and remember what he wanted Enid for. ‘Switzerland was fine.’

‘Wonderful,’ said Enid in a tone that said pigs could fly. ‘Then maybe you’d like to go over what’s in your diary for today.’

His head snapped up. That was it. ‘Only if you’ve finished discussing my social calendar,’ he retorted. ‘My diary is why I asked you here in the first place.’

‘I see,’ said Enid, clearly nonplussed. ‘Only you never said.’ She flipped open the folder in her hands. ‘First up at nine, you have an hour long meeting with Philly about the roll out of the new campaign, after which…’

He jerked upright and out of his chair at the sound of that name, turning to the window as Enid’s voice droned on in the background listing today’s appointments.

Philly. What was it about her that made him so unsettled? How did she do that? He glanced down at his watch as Enid’s unheeded dialogue tailed off. Eight-thirty. She’d be here in half an hour. Barely any time at all. So why did thirty minutes suddenly seem so long?

Philly wondered if this was how morning sickness felt. It was still only early in her pregnancy, but she’d been fine up until now, finding it difficult to believe she really was pregnant, even after her doctor’s confirmation and referral to a specialist. She had felt so unchanged, so utterly well.

Until today. Her gut churned, her legs felt less solid than the rice pudding she’d made for her mother last night and it had nothing to do with the motion of the train wending its way closer to Melbourne’s city centre, closer to making her announcement to Damien. She knew she couldn’t put it off. She knew she’d have to tell him some time. But she just wasn’t at all confident she could do this today.

But neither could she delay it. The longer she did that, the harder it would be.

The train stopped, mid station. Heads lifted from newspapers and novels, knitting needles stopped clacking and fifty heads swivelled around, searching for some explanation for the delay. The speakers crackled into life with the grim news. A minor derailment ahead and a delay of at least an hour. Fifty disgruntled passengers gave a collective groan, giving up any hopes of an early start, and pulled out mobile phones to relay the news before turning their attention resignedly back to their activities.

At least an hour. Another hour to think about what she had to do. Another hour for her insides to rebel. It was the last thing she needed today. She glanced at her watch, realising she wouldn’t be at work anywhere close to being in time for her meeting with Damien and rummaged in her handbag for her own mobile phone. At least she could let him know she’d be late.

Damien knew the moment she arrived. Standing with his hands in pockets, gazing out over the view of the city, he’d heard the soft ping of the lift bell and the whoosh of the doors and he’d known instinctively that she was finally here. He was sure those were her hurried footsteps tearing along the plush careting, and already he could even imagine the scent of apricots drifting along the corridor.

Funny how he couldn’t get that scent out of his head. Even in the chalet in Klosters, surrounded by beautiful women, perfumed and perfectly made-up and offering the ultimate après-ski experience, it had been the faint scent of apricots that had haunted his dreams. For someone who’d almost made a career of studying the effects of different perfumes on women, enjoying the effects of perfume on them, suddenly they no longer appealed. They were all too heavy, too sickly, too cloying.

It hadn’t been a good holiday. Instead of being relaxed he’d had too much time to think. And there were two women he couldn’t get out of his mind. One was a woman who’d let him make sweet love to her and then disappeared off the face of the earth, a woman who defied every attempt of his to track her down.

The other was a paradox, a strange mixture of innocence but with a hidden core, a centre he was finding more beguiling as the layers came off. And when he’d wanted her, she’d turned him down flat.

No one had ever done that before.

Two women, two totally unsatisfactory experiences. No wonder he was having trouble sleeping.

And now one of them couldn’t even make it into work on time. Things were going to have to change around here.

He heard her brief greeting to Enid and the older woman’s reply, followed by a low, ‘He’s waiting for you. Better go straight in.’ It sounded to Damien like a warning. Damned right.

He waited until he could hear her footfall near his door, her breath rapid but soft, as if she was trying not to let on she was worried. He turned.

‘You’re late!’

‘I’m sorry, but—’

‘Our meeting was for nine o’clock. It’s now closer to ten.’

‘I phoned you…Enid—’

‘You don’t work for Enid. You work for me. When you can be bothered to turn up.’

‘That’s not fair—’

Her protest was cut off with a violent slash of his hand through the air that ended with a slam of his open palm on the desk.

‘Are these the sort of hours you expect to be paid for? Because there’s no place for freeloaders in this organisation.’

‘I can’t help it if the trains are late.’

‘It’s your job to get to work on time. Period. If the trains can’t get you here on time, find a reliable form of transport.’