Italian Escape with the CEO Read online

  Ava glanced around the room, her amber eyes scanning the huge portraits of historic military figures on the walls, the plush leather theme of the room reminiscent of men’s clubs from days gone by. ‘The website said it’s imposing and they were right. But it also feels as though it is a part of history.’

  Liam nodded. ‘The army, battles, war have been part of life for centuries. This gives people a place to be part of that community if they want to be.’

  ‘Do you come here a lot, then?’

  ‘No. I use it to meet clients sometimes. Particularly if they have an army background, or find this sort of thing impressive.’

  ‘So why did you ask me here?’

  ‘Well, partly because the food is incredible. And partly for a reason that will become clear later.’ He wanted to be seen with Ava, wanted the news to trickle back to AJ and his clients.

  ‘I did have a look at the menu online,’ she said. ‘For all the different restaurants. They all look great—I didn’t think a military club would have a tea room. Though it looks amazing with the book-lined walls. The cream teas did look good too.’

  ‘It sounds like you studied the website pretty thoroughly.’

  ‘Absolutely. I like to be prepared.’

  ‘Rather than surprised?’

  ‘I’m not keen on surprises. Plus if I hadn’t prepared how would I have known what to wear? Imagine if I hadn’t checked and I’d turned up in a gold lamé cocktail dress.’

  Startled, he glanced at her. ‘You own a gold lamé cocktail dress?’

  ‘That’s for me to know.’ Her smile was almost shy and he realised that somehow they had relaxed into easy conversation. The knowledge unsettled him—this was Ava Casseveti, daughter of his father’s nemesis—it shouldn’t be easy to talk to her.

  He gestured to the menus. ‘I guess we’d better choose our food. Then we can get down to business.’

  She studied the menu, took her time and then gave a small decisive nod. ‘I’ll go for Chalk Stream trout and buttered kale and dauphinoise potatoes. What about you?’

  ‘The oven-roasted duck with roast potatoes and broccoli. Would you like wine?’

  ‘Yes, please. White for me. I’m happy for you to choose.’

  A waiter glided up, so silent and discreet that as always Liam wondered how it was done, was tempted to ask to see the soles of the man’s shoes, check if they were crepe. Indeed, discretion was the order of the day. The restaurant was busy but the tables were well placed and the music pitched so that it wasn’t possible to hear more than a general hum of conversation.

  Within minutes the waiter returned. Liam declined to go through the tasting rigmarole and the waiter poured the delicate golden wine into the crystal glasses before melting away once more.

  They sipped the wine and both nodded approval at the same moment and then Ava placed her glass down. ‘Tell me the favour.’

  Liam took a deep breath. This was it. Time to put Campaign Insanity into play and let the chips fall where they would.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AVA TOOK A sip from her wine, savoured the floral overtone as it trickled down her throat. Studied Liam’s expression and wondered what on earth he could be about to request. Premonition tickled the back of her neck—instinct warned that perhaps she should do a runner now. Yet she couldn’t stop herself from lingering on the strength of his features, the line and shape of his lips.

  He leant back slightly, his body relaxed though this was belied by a tension in his jaw and the guarded look in his eyes. ‘As you know, I head up Rourke Securities.’

  Ava nodded. Her research had shown her that his company was a massive success. Both admiration and envy tingled through her. This man had forged his own fortune—come up the hard way. Like Luca Petrovelli. And unlike Ava. Ava had been born into advantage and ready-made fame, her mother a Lady, a minor royal celebrity, her father founder and CEO of Dolci, rolling in success and riches. What would she have achieved in Liam’s shoes or in Luca’s? She pushed the thoughts away, focused instead on Liam. ‘Go on.’

  ‘In recent weeks I’ve hit a snag in the form of a competitor. Another ex-army captain, a peer of mine, has also set up a security company. A man with personal wealth, upper-class background, connections. Blah blah. That I can deal with.’ Liam upturned his palms. ‘I’ve got no issue with healthy competition but this guy plays dirty.

  Now Liam’s whole stance hardened, his jaw clenched and anger iced the cobalt of his eyes. But before he could speak the waiter returned and placed their dishes in front of them. Ava murmured thank you and waited for him to go before she looked expectantly at Liam.

  ‘We are both in contention for a really important contract with Beaumont Industries and AJ Mason has orchestrated a smear campaign, designed to make me look vulnerable and weak.’

  Ava stared at him and once again her hormones did a funny little flip. There wasn’t even a hint of weakness or vulnerability in sight. The man was sheer power, from the craggy strength of his features to every sinew of his body. Compact lithe muscle, and now her eyes lingered on the breadth of his thigh, moved up to see the wall of his chest and the sculpted swell of his shoulders in the fine linen shirt. She blinked. Get a grip. What was wrong with her? Perhaps her starved hormones were so happy to have lighted on an attractive man they had decided to make hay whilst the sun shone. And who could blame them?

  ‘The man sounds like a dirtbag. Surely you can get him for libel or slander or...something.’

  ‘My problem is timing. My tender for the Beaumont contract needs to go in in a month. I don’t have time to take AJ to court and, to be honest, even if I do it won’t counter-punch the impact of all the online lies and the background venom. My reputation will be in shreds.’

  ‘So where do I fit in?’

  Liam looked down at his plate, pushed it away and topped up their glasses. ‘I’m a widower.’ His voice was flat, factual, and Ava kept her expression neutral, even as sympathy touched her. Liam could be little more than thirty; his wife must have been tragically young to die. There had been no mention of a wife on his company bio, no mention of a wife full stop in the Internet search she had conducted. ‘My wife died five years ago. Since then I haven’t had another relationship. AJ claims that I have never recovered from the tragedy and as time goes on it is affecting me more and more. So I need to show everyone that I am perfectly OK, on my game, my edge honed and nowhere near a nervous breakdown. I also need to counter his connections, his background and so on.’

  ‘So what are you proposing? Exactly.’ Ava remained still though every instinct told her not to wait for the answer but to push back her chair and run for it.

  His gaze met hers full on; one deep breath and then he launched. ‘I want you to pose as my girlfriend.’

  It took all her social poise not to drop the sterling silver cutlery into her trout. Perhaps AJ Mason had a point. Perhaps Liam Rourke had lost the plot. But forget nervous breakdown—the man was bonkers. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I want you and I to fake a relationship.’ The suggestion was uttered with a calm that quite simply did not gel with the sheer preposterousness of the idea. ‘Unless of course you already have a partner? I did do some research of my own but I realise that may not have been sufficient.’

  For a moment Ava considered simply making up a boyfriend, then dismissed the idea as craven. ‘No. I am currently single.’ Had been for the past four years. Since the Nick debacle, her one serious relationship.

  Nick Abingworth had been a producer, met in the heady days of Ava’s modelling career, and he was Hollywood handsome, charming and charismatic. Ava had fallen for the façade, believed it to front a good guy, a hero. Had harboured rose-tinted dreams of a happy ever after.

  Had forgotten all the lessons learned from her parents’ marriage. A marriage where Karen Casseveti’s love for her husband had been an obsession. As for Jame
s, he’d loved Karen’s wealth and connections, loved them so much he’d left his first family.

  But Ava had forgotten all about the folly of one-sided love, disregarded the knowledge that love could be bought, faked with an eye to the main chance. Had believed she and Nick were different. Turned out she’d been wrong. When her dad had suffered his first heart attack and Ava had given up modelling to enter Dolci, had no longer been a celebrity party girl, Nick had shown his true colours and a swirl of dust as he’d legged it out of the door. Said he was sorry but she’d changed, was no longer the woman he’d fallen in love with. Ciao.

  That had been that and, as far as Ava was concerned, that was how it would remain. ‘Definitely single,’ she added for emphasis. ‘With no interest in a relationship. Of any type.’

  ‘Think of it as a charade. A ruse to refute the idea that I haven’t got over my wife.’

  Have you? The question nearly fell from her lips and she bit it back. That was none of her business. Plus the man hadn’t dated in five years—he didn’t sound over it. But that was beside the point—the point was that this plan was granola nuts.

  ‘It won’t work. For a start, don’t you think AJ will find the timing a wee bit suspect?’

  ‘He might, but he can hardly suggest that I have persuaded or bribed Ava Casseveti to play along with a fake relationship. Why would you?’

  ‘Well, there’s an excellent question. Why would I?’

  ‘Because you want to make amends for your father’s actions. This is how you can do that. There’s a certain poetic justice in the idea—a Casseveti helping a Rourke with a business plan.’

  Touché. Ava closed her eyes as a swell of panic threatened. Every instinct told her this was not a good idea. Liam Rourke was too...much. Too good-looking, too attractive, and that was not what she needed right now. Her hormones were way too volatile around Liam. She could almost feel her carefully ordered world fraying at the edges. ‘I see that, but this idea is... Well, it’s pants. I mean, how would it even work?’

  He shrugged. ‘We fake a relationship, we go out for dinner, give some interviews, attend business functions together, get seen, generate some positive publicity for me. Right or wrong, people will be impressed by you, your position, your credentials.’

  A stab of hurt pinged her ribs. Obviously all Liam Rourke wanted was the Ava Casseveti persona, the aristocrat, the celebrity model, the businesswoman. Not Ava herself. She gave her head a small shake at her own idiocy. Why would he want anything else? ‘Actually, right now they may not be. The current public verdict on me is that I am a ditzy airhead who won’t be able to keep her company from going under. A woman her own father didn’t trust at the helm.’ She met his gaze directly. ‘So I may be a liability rather than an asset.’

  For a moment he considered her words, his fingers drumming on the snow-white linen of the tablecloth. ‘Nope. I don’t think so. You are still my best option. This may even help you.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘It will distract people from a consideration of your business problems.’

  ‘Hah! They’ll think I’m fiddling whilst my desserts flambé.’

  This pulled a smile from him. ‘Not necessarily. If we publicise our relationship properly we can orchestrate some interviews that will give you a real chance to put your case forward.’

  ‘It’s too high risk.’ Ava contemplated him, realised that Liam Rourke represented danger, high risk, high octane. Everything Ava Casseveti didn’t do. ‘It wouldn’t work. We are strangers. Worse than strangers.’ Her gaze met his. ‘There is too much history between us. We are natural enemies. We couldn’t pull this off.’

  His lips twisted. ‘Sounds to me like an excuse. This is all about our history. You told me two weeks ago you wanted to make amends on your father’s behalf. This is how you can do it. Your choice.’

  What to do? What to do?

  Liam’s words came back to her.

  ‘Nothing can atone for that betrayal. His perfidy broke my father. He felt cheated and bitter, a bitterness that pervaded and corroded his life.’

  But it was more than that—it would have corroded Liam’s as well.

  Conflict warred within her—the desire to do what was ‘right’ versus the instinct for self-preservation. But this wasn’t about self, wasn’t about Ava. The crux of the matter was the wrong done by her father and his desire to try to make it right. If she walked away now she would fail, would let her father down. And herself. In reality there was no choice. ‘Fine. I’ll do it. I’m in.’

  Even as the words fell from her disbelief caused her to clasp her hands together under the table, to resist the urge to pinch herself in the hope she’d wake up.

  ‘Excellent.’ His low voice held satisfaction and appreciation and a funny little thrill shot through her as he raised his glass; his cobalt-blue eyes held hers and the shiver of anticipation and panic intensified. ‘To us,’ he said, just as their waiter shimmied towards the table, dessert menu in hand.

  Instantly she raised her own glass and smiled, her best ‘Ava Casseveti thinks you’re great’ smile. ‘To us,’ she echoed. Once the waiter had cleared their table and glided out of earshot she nodded. ‘I understand now why you picked here for dinner. You’re hoping that word will get to AJ that you were here with me.’

  ‘Not only AJ. People in general. Some of my clients are ex-military or have military connections. It will all help.’

  Ava looked down at the glossy card as her brain grappled to come to terms with what she had agreed to. ‘Right now what will help is a melt-in-the-middle chocolate pudding and an espresso.’

  Liam smiled, the effect electric. Ava felt her pulse rate ratchet, as warmth flooded her body, and she reached for her water glass. ‘You’re right.’

  Whilst that was gratifying she only seemed able to focus on his smile. Her gaze snagged on the firm contour of his lips. Enough. ‘I know. There isn’t much in life that chocolate pudding can’t help.’

  Once the dessert arrived Ava tasted it experimentally. ‘This is good. Not as good as Dolci’s, of course.’ His lips tightened imperceptibly and she wished the words back. Dolci was hardly the best topic to bring up. ‘Sorry.’

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t apologise. Obviously I can hardly expect you not to mention Dolci over the next three months.’

  The chocolate melted to ash in her mouth and she dropped the spoon with a clank. ‘Three months? Three weeks would be hard enough. Three months...is a quarter of a year.’

  ‘We need the time or people will know it’s fake.’

  ‘But we can’t sustain a lie of this magnitude for three months.’

  ‘Surely it won’t be so bad for you? You were a model. I assume you had to act, project, exaggerate feelings.’

  ‘Yes. For a photo shoot, and I was projecting my love for perfume, or chocolate, not a real live person. For a very short space of time. For the benefit of the camera, not a live audience. And if I made a mistake I got another go.’

  He raised a hand. ‘I get it.’

  ‘No. I really don’t think you do. Besides, forget me.’ After all, she’d spent her whole life playing the various personae of Ava Casseveti, perfect daughter, perfect girlfriend...celebrity...heiress, aristocrat. ‘What about you? How are you going to pull it off?’

  ‘That’s my problem.’

  ‘Nope. It is our problem. If we are exposed we will both look like idiots. Both be publicly humiliated. We have to make this look real.’

  There was a silence and then he nodded. ‘Fair point.’ He picked up his coffee cup. ‘How about we meet tomorrow for a brainstorming session? Give us both some time to think about a strategy to make this work. Perhaps we could meet at Dolci headquarters? So I can get accustomed to the idea I am dating a Casseveti.’

  Ava felt a small tug of surprise. Liam had listened to her, taken her comments on board. ‘Works
for me. I’ll see you there.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LIAM STOOD OUTSIDE the offices of Dolci’s headquarters the following evening and looked up at the impressive glass-fronted façade. Memory rocked him. His father had brought him here once and for a few tension-filled moments twelve-year-old Liam had believed that Terry Rourke would storm inside and cause an affray. Remembered anxiety echoed a hollow ring in his gut.

  Now, nineteen years later, Terry was dead and Liam stood here on the brink of a fake relationship with Ava Casseveti. About to gain entrance into the enemy’s portals. Would his father approve of this? Of course he would—he would appreciate that a Casseveti had been forced into a contract with a Rourke. And his mother. How would she feel?

  Liam had no idea. His relationship with his mother was too distant for him to hazard a guess. He loved his mum, of course he did, but that love was layered with strands of guilt and knowledge of how his selfish behaviour had impacted on her happiness.

  As a child he’d hero-worshipped his father, blamed his mother for the breakdown of his parents’ marriage, hadn’t understood how hard it was for her to watch Terry Rourke slowly but surely give his life over to the bottle. Lose his job, his dignity, his body and soul vanishing into a maudlin, alcoholic haze. Liam hadn’t got Bea’s struggle to try and keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. All Liam had wanted was for his father to get better and his parents to be happy again.

  Then, when Liam was twelve, Bea had met someone else, a plumber at the hospital where she’d worked as a nurse—John Malone—and they’d fallen in love. She’d been full of joy, had planned to leave her husband, had expected Liam to understand, to go with her.

  Liam had been horrified at having his illusory bubble burst, had refused point-blank to leave his dad, and in the end Bea had stayed in the marriage. For Liam’s sake.

  Guilt at his actions tugged but before he could contemplate further Ava walked through the revolving glass door and headed towards him. And dammit again, she stopped him in his tracks, derailed his senses for a smidgeon of time, dressed today in elegant tailored grey trousers topped by a black top and cinched at the waist with a wide belt. ‘Hi.’