Chapter 10

Six years later,

"I'm sorry, sir," Charlie's secretary remarked, his demeanour purposefully reserved, conveying the whole gamut of his emotions.

Charlie Cole dispersed them.

And until they suited him, he was not a man who normally accepted the presence of sentiments. Or helped him in some manner.

"I have taken the liberty of collecting yet another pool of candidates," Gabby continued in the same tone, for he was not the type of secretary who was hesitant to convey his ideas, sentiments, or thoughts, no matter how they were disguised. "As the previous several have met with disfavour,"

Charlie knew that.

He stood at the glass divider that divided him from the rest of his sleek, contemporary office, not at the window that looked out over one of Rome's richest areas. It was the ideal antidote to the fussiness and weight of Roman history that pervaded the rest of the city.

Charlie was all too familiar with the three-thousand-year-old city, from its hidden streets to its most famous piazzas. He understood what it was like to grow up raw and unloved in the shadow of previous great glories. And what had he become in this city—a cast-off bastard son of a man who acknowledged only his legitimate issues and turned his back on his mistakes?

Well, he never thought that finding his real father would give him a cold, cold heart. At least he survived on his own. More successful than the old man.

He and Justin had earned every inch of the sweeping views their office commanded, but he was far prouder of what he'd done inside the walls of CJ Cole Software. After all, Justin, his best friend, only owned 30% of it, and he owned 70%.

Charlie had considered it a decent start when his personal wealth exceeded not only that of his rival. He'd achieved that milestone in the first year after Tyler's wedding.

That wedding plagued his mind.

Charlie's lips thinned in inevitable displeasure as his mind tugged him back to the period of his life he most wanted to forget. The one stretch of his life where he'd lost focus. Where he'd come this close to forgetting himself completely.

Not that his memories of that time were small, exactly. But he was motivated to succeed and find that woman.

Nonetheless, the office reminded him where he was going. What he'd built with his own hands and force of will. It reinforced his goals. He had no intention of forgetting every last moment of how he'd come to be here.

"If you'll turn your attention to your tablet, sir," came his secretary's voice, excessively placid. Its own pointed jab, as usual. "I have arranged a selection of heiresses for your viewing pleasure, ordered in terms of their social standing."

Charlie strolled away from his offices, all that granite and steel that he found so soothing here in old Rome. His vision had filled the whole structure. It's his money. His people are working hard to make his aspirations a reality.

It was time for him to move on and find a wife.

Charlie's desire to marry had little to do with it. A marriage would make him appear more stable and established, which was favoured by some of the more conservative accounts. A marriage may keep him out of the media, which his board would undoubtedly like. A wife would also provide Charlie with legal successors to his money and authority.

Charlie would die before he subjected a child to the traumas he'd endured, most notably the absence of his father's name.

Furthermore, getting married would put a stop to his board's mutterings. Charlie was an embarrassment to his own firm as a single man with big appetites. Charlie was somehow less trustworthy than other CEOs, all of whom had legitimate and legal spouses and children.

Charlie took his hand away from his jaw. He was aware of the season. And why his thoughts kept returning to Tyler's wedding day and the beautiful flames that nearly engulfed his life. But he had no plans to commemorate the occasion. The woman was gone. It was just a one-night stand. Nothing else. Instead, he looked at his secretary, clearly impatiently waiting.

"What gives you the impression that this group of anxious, greedy socialites will be more enticing than the last?" he inquired.

"Do you want something appealing, sir? I don't think that was on my list. I was looking for something more appropriate."

The philanthropist's daughter from Russia. Two Italian ladies from distinct families who were related to ancient kings and queens somewhere in the deep, dark, knotted roots of their family trees. An heiress from Romania raised livestock money halfway around the world.

They were all lovely in their own way. If not formally styled, then polished to a gleam. They were all completed in some form or another. One of them operated her own charity.

Another dedicated most of her time to humanitarian work. And none of them had ever appeared in a tabloid newspaper.

Charlie refused to accept anyone who had a smell of paparazzi curiosity in them or near them, such as the L.A. winery heiress, who was herself marvellously immaculate but had been best friends since boarding school with a superstar whose life had played out in headlines around the world. Thank you, but no. He didn't want any controversy. There are no dark secrets waiting to be revealed at the worst possible time. In fact, there are no secrets at all.

Charlie was a mess. His entire existence had been a secret, then a shock, with its own headlines.

Charlie's tawdry, illegitimate birth and his shipping mogul father's obstinate unwillingness to recognise his existence throughout his life may just as well have been Charlie's nemesis.

He had always felt marked by his birth circumstances and his parents' terrible choices.

These things will always mark him. At least he made his way to the top without the help of his real father.

"You don't appear pleased, sir," Gabby observed sarcastically. "Once again, I'm afraid I have to tell you that a spotless heiress of decent social standing is a limited resource." When Charlie scowled at him, he cocked his chin slightly. "Sir."

"I'm going to meet the last of the prior selection of possibilities tonight," Charlie reminded Gabby.

"Sir, I booked the reservation myself. Moments after you told me that your encounter with another woman on that list had been appalling beyond reason,

"Of course. She didn't look like her photo; it was photoshopped!" Charlie noted glumly.

"Unfortunately, that is part of the digital dating culture we all now have."

"Gabby. In the photos you gave me, she was a sweet-looking, conservatively dressed blonde."

His secretary smiled.

"But she showed up with a green and pink Mohawk and a sleeve of tattoos. I liked her more that way, if I am honest, but I can hardly parade a punk rock princess in front of my board. If I could, I would."

"It's Justin's idea, sir."

Charlie rolled his eyes.

"The woman you're meeting tonight has a robust social media presence and absolutely no hint of punk rock about her," Gabby replied blandly. "I checked myself."

Charlie sighed, "Oh yeah? It's not like I can't do it myself. We are the best I.T. Software company in Europe for a reason."

"I know, sir."

"Perhaps I will be swept away tonight, and all of this will prove unnecessary."

"Hope springs eternal," Gabby murmured.

"Seriously, Gabby? I can smell the mockery in your voice."

"Apology, sir."

Charlie did not dive into one of the several things that awaited his attention after dismissing Gabby. He could see his inbox filling up. His message light was on. Instead of dealing with them, he found himself sitting at his desk, scowling at the tangible proof of his power.

Because, once again, she was the only thing on his mind.

His most dangerous temptation

The woman who had nearly destroyed his sanity

His phone rang, snapping him back to reality and far away from Tyler's wedding.

Away from her memories that had haunted him ever since.

Tonight, as he turned his attention to the tasks awaiting him, he vowed that he would leave the past where it belonged and concentrate on the next bright part of his glorious future.

Few hours later.

"I think it's vital to set very clear limits right from the start," his date told him later that evening. She had come late, evidently conceited about her position as a small member of the French aristocracy. She'd walked into one of Rome's most exclusive restaurants with her nose in the air, as if Charlie had recommended she meet him at one of those slippery, plastic American fast food joints. Her expression did not change after their first few glasses. "Obviously, the primary objective of any merger is to secure the line."

"The line?"

"I have the willingness to give birth to an heir and a spare," she remarked loftily. "To be started and completed within five years." And I believe it is preferable to stipulate, upfront and in writing, that any children should be produced under supervised circumstances."

Charlie was certain he'd had more romantic encounters on industrial premises.

"Is this a factory line?" he inquired, his voice dry. "Some kind of factory?""

"I already have an excellent fertility physician, secretive and competent, who can ensure, to everyone's satisfaction and in accordance with all legalities, that their rightful DNA carries on into the next generation."

Wow! Charlie blinked in response. He'd had tearful meals. Those that are overtly sexual. Approaches that are direct and honest. But this was something fresh. Everything seemed so mechanical.

"You're staring at me as if I've said something extraordinary," his date observed.

"I beg your pardon. Charlie tried to grin, though he couldn't remember the last time he felt less charming. "Are you suggesting that we create offspring in a lab? Rather than attempting to make them in the more time-honoured manner that has been popular for aeons?"

"This is a business arrangement," his chilly date replied, looking, if possible, more severe than before. "I expect you will find your release elsewhere, as will I. Discreetly, of course. I do not hold scandals."

Wow again! She is a robot. He thought to himself.

"Nothing is less scandalous than a sexless marriage, naturally."

A faint suggestion of a line appeared between her perfectly shaped brows. "There's no need to muddy a perfectly functional marriage with that sort of thing, surely."

"You've thought of everything," Charlie replied coolly.

And later, after he had left his date with a curt nod and an insincere promise to have his people contact her, Charlie waved off his driver and walked instead. He was disciplined. Justine told him to get a life. He did. It seemed such an elegant solution.

Until that night six years ago, when he'd followed a reckless whim on a moody November night very much like this one. It had been raining outside his house, too.

Daisy…

When he asked the man who owned that dancing group, he realised that Daisy was a different woman. And the woman he had sex with was gone.

Forever.