Page 9 of His Housekeeper's Twin Baby Confession
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be up here. I was just...exploring,’ she finished lamely.
Being nosy,more like, said a little tart voice.
He walked towards where she stood by the wall. ‘I’ve asked you here as my housekeeper—this is your domain.’
She turned around to face the view and gulped. The apartment might be her domain, but his private suite wasnother domain and never would be.
‘You need to know the layout.’
Carrie appreciated his diplomacy. ‘Your concierge told me this floor was your private suite.’
‘But it’s also the roof terrace, where I will be hosting my function tomorrow night.’
She looked at him, her heart palpitating. ‘Tomorrow night?’
He nodded. ‘I’ve come back early to work from my office here—it’s less distracting. One of my assistants is with me...he’s in the lounge downstairs. He’ll go through the week’s events with you and give you all the information you need for the smooth running of the apartment.’
‘I’ll go straight down and meet him.’
She turned and left, eager for an excuse to get out of Massimo’s orbit, and cursing herself for allowing her curiosity to get the better of her.
CHAPTER TWO
THEFOLLOWINGEVENINGCarrie’s equilibrium was slightly restored. She was back in her comfort zone—directing operations for the drinks party Massimo was hosting.
His assistant had described it as a fairly low-key event, consisting of drinks and canapés, but the organisation involved to make it all look as effortless as possible resembled a minor military operation.
Carrie had seen the guest list and it was most definitelynotlow-key. Some of the names had made her gasp out loud. An ex-United States President... One of the world’s best-loved actresses... She’d seen plenty of A-listers in her time at events in the house in London, but this was another level of intimidating.
Thankfully an events team were taking care of everything, so all she had to do was supervise and liaise between the events company and Massimo’s own staff.
The party was taking place between the ballroom and the roof terrace, with guests moving back and forth. Now Carrie was making her way up to the terrace, moving unobtrusively through the crowd. She was wearing her habitual events uniform: a black sleeveless shift dress and black court shoes, a string of faux pearls around her neck. Her hair was up and pulled back into a low bun.
The dress code for the guests was cocktail wear and, surrounded by women in a glittering array of colourful slinky dresses, Carrie faded into the background exactly as she preferred to do. Or as shehadalways preferred to do.
For the first time in her life at an event like this, she was ashamed to admit that she felt slightly envious of the women in their sparkling dresses. Yet the thought of being front and centre in a crowd like this, with everyone looking at her, made her go clammy with horror.
She hovered on the edge of the crowd, her expert eye taking everything in and noting that all was running smoothly. She tried desperately not to let her gaze go to where Massimo stood, head and shoulders above almost everyone around him, but it was next to impossible.
He was magnificent in a dark suit, a lighter coloured silk tie and white shirt. The dim lights made his hair look darker. His arms were folded as he listened intently to what someone was saying to him and his muscles bunched under the expensive material. As if his suit couldn’t contain him...
An electric pulse zinged through her blood. There was something so illicitly thrilling about how sexual he was underneath the civilised veneer.
Carrie went hot and then cold as that disturbing thought registered. She’d never considered herself a sexual person—her husband had certainly tried and failed to arouse her...she’d always found sex painful and somehow demeaning...and yet here she was, ogling her boss like a hormonal teenager.
Carrie impulsively took a tray full of canapés from one of the wait staff to help out with serving. She needed a reminder of why she was here.
‘So, you see, without the funds you provided we absolutely wouldn’t be where we are today, and it’s thanks to the Linden Foundation that...’
Massimo tuned out the voice again.
Where was she?
Even though he was surrounded by some of the most charismatic, powerful, interesting and beautiful people in the world, he wasn’t interested in them.
He looked over the heads of the guests around him and a flash of blonde hair caught his peripheral vision. He turned to look and his blood leapt in reaction. A reaction that no other woman here had elicited.
She had her back to him and was wearing the plainest dress imaginable. Perfectly appropriate, of course, but it irritated Massimo. She was offering canapés to his guests and handing them napkins.
