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A single mother, Helen Bell had done everything to provide not just for her daughter, but for her own father. When Caitlyn’s grandmother had died, two years after Caitlyn was born, concerned about her father’s declining health and mounting financial problems, Helen had moved back to the family home, working several jobs to pay the mortgage and bills and had gradually cleared his debts. It hadn’t all been a struggle, though—the home had been a happy one, with Caitlyn’s grandfather more than happy to mind his grandchild while Helen worked hard. And in later years, as his health had declined, both Helen and Caitlyn had in turn been more than happy to care for him—nursing him at home right till the end.

Caitlyn’s aunt Cheryl had rarely put in an appearance—until after the funeral. Of course the family home Helen had worked so hard to keep and pay for had been left to her. But Cheryl had had it valued—the beachside suburb close to the city was prime real estate now—and Cheryl wanted not only the generous cash sum that her father had bequeathed to her in his will, but half the value of the family home. Egged on by Roxanne and a greedy lawyer, she was moving heaven and earth to ensure that she got it.

‘Bloody Roxanne and Aunty Cheryl…’ Caitlyn hissed. Why couldn’t they just leave them alone?

The ringing of the phone halted her pacing for less than a second. Her mind was so consumed with her own problems that at first she didn’t even give it a glance.

She needed work so badly, but here it would be impossible. Lazzaro was hardly going to fire his own brother-in-law. It would be her word against his. And what about Malvolio’s poor wife? How—?

The phone resumed its shrill, and irritated now, unable to ignore it, Caitlyn picked it up.

‘Lazzaro Ranaldi’s phone. This is Caitlyn Bell speaking.’

She didn’t notice Lazzaro come in at first, just listened as a rather exasperated female voice demanded that she be put through.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Ranaldi isn’t in his office right now. But if you’d like to leave your name, as soon as he returns I’ll let him know that you called…’

Half turning, she saw him, and was just about to hand the phone over when instinct kicked in somehow. The dash of bitters in the woman’s voice was telling Caitlyn that perhaps this was one call Lazzaro might be glad to miss, so instead of handing him the receiver, she grabbed a pen and scribbled down the woman’s name. Lucy.

She even managed a little smile when he grimaced and shook his head while Lucy vented her spleen down the phone.

‘Of course,’ Caitlyn said sweetly. ‘I’ll be sure to let him know.’ Replacing the receiver, she turned to her very soon to be ex-boss. ‘You’re a bastard!’

‘Thank you for passing it on.’

‘And she knows you’re there and just refusing to talk to her.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Er, that was pretty much it,’ Caitlyn lied. Well, she was hardly going to tell him that ‘just because he’s fabulous in bed, it doesn’t make up for the way he’s treated me’. Though she did give him a rather edited version of the teary conclusion to the call. ‘She’d like you to call her—any time,’ Caitlyn emphasised. ‘Any time at all! So…’ Noticing his empty hands, she raised her eyebrows. ‘Where are the forms?’

‘In a filing cabinet.’ He gave an apologetic grimace. ‘Only I’m not sure which one…but I will write you a cheque now…’

‘A cheque’s not much good to me at this time on a Friday.’ She didn’t want to stay another second. Another second and she’d start crying; another second and she’d crumple. The brave facade she was wearing so well was seriously falling apart—the hem unravelling along with the seams—so she hitched her bag on her shoulder and headed for the door. ‘Just have it all posted to me on Monday.’

‘Caitlyn.’ His strong voice summoned her back, but she kept on walking. ‘Just listen to me for a moment. What if I were to offer you a job as my personal assistant?’

Now, that was enough to stop her in her tracks—only not enough to make her turn around.

‘Me?’

Her hand paused as it reached for the handle and Lazzaro spoke on. ‘Clearly I need someone, and you have no idea of some of the poor efforts the agency has sent. You handled that call well, you are qualified, and you are clearly…’ he gave a slightly uncomfortable cough ‘…discreet…’

‘I can’t.’

The words shot out on instinct—her dream job, everything that she’d wished for coming true, and the money, oh, God, the money would make such a difference. Only she couldn’t do it—just couldn’t do it. And bitter, so bitter, was her regret.

‘I can’t face seeing Malvolio again.’ Her voice was shrill, and still she didn’t turn around. Her hand was on the door now, but not to open it, more for support. The horrors of the day were finally catching up, the feelings she had denied, had willed herself not to examine until she was safely alone, were making searing contact with her brain now. ‘I don’t think I could stand to be…’

Silence filled the room. Only it wasn’t peaceful. It was that horrible silence of a strangled sob, the thud of reality, that moment when it all catches up and there’s nothing that can be done to push it back down—when you can’t keep smiling as if you’re stupid, when you can’t pretend that you don’t care and that it didn’t really matter that filthy hands had dirtied your life. Yes—in a while she’d no doubt be able to shrug it off; in a while she’d probably put it all into perspective and apportion the correct blame. In a while it wouldn’t matter as much as it mattered now.

But right now it mattered.

And it mattered to Lazzaro too.

Seeing her convulse—seeing this proud, strong woman wilt for a second—he found it mattered enough to propel him from his desk, to literally peel her trembling body from the door, to turn her around to face him and hold her. Like some mountain rescuer he reached her on the cliff-edge and tried to imbue her with his warmth.

‘I hate him…’ She wasn’t talking to Lazzaro; he knew that. ‘I hate him.’

‘I know.’

‘I’ll be okay soon.’ She gulped, knowing she would, just confirming it to herself. She was embarrassed now at letting him see her cry, but he held her closer as she started to pull away, and after just a second of protest she let him—let him comfort her, let him hold her as the horror slowly receded, her breathing slowing at just listening to the soothing thud of his heart in his chest.

For Lazzaro there was one inevitable end to holding a woman in his arms. The luxury of having a penthouse suite as your office meant there was a bed just a door away, and as he stared down at lips swollen from nibbling teeth and salty tears, instinct told him to kiss her—to soothe her in the way he soothed women best. Only a deeper instinct prevailed.