PunishingPhoebe by Kit Tunstall Page B

her they had been on a
first-name basis since her second week of employment. Was he exasperated by the
way she had reacted to his father’s unexpected entrance?
    Phoebe forced herself to walk steadily
toward the door, holding her breath when she made it past Salvatore with little
more than a sideways glance and dip of her head. Freedom from his contemptuous
gaze was within sight when his voice froze her in place. “Just a moment, Miss
Sanders. I would like you to stay.” Unlike Luca, his father still bore a heavy
Italian accent, but each word was audible, though issued coldly.
    Somehow she swallowed the lump in her
throat and managed a brittle smile when she turned to face Salvatore. Had she
been braver, she would have pointed out she didn’t answer to him, but all she
managed was a limp, “Of course, sir.”
    It was as if he had read her unspoken
thoughts. “How long have you been in my employ?”
    “Three months.”
    Salvatore transferred his haughty gaze from
her to his son. “You have lowered your standards, Luca.”
    Phoebe took a step back in reaction to the
denouncement, even as Luca moved toward his father, bridging the distance
between them until he stood less than a foot behind her.
    “You have no knowledge of what I look for
in a personal assistant, nor of Phoebe’s qualifications, P apà , so leave the hiring of my assistants to
me,” he said in a neutral tone, though his words had been a reproof of sorts.
“Now, what brings you barging into my office?”
    His father ignored the light reprimand and
attempted a turn of topic. “When I agreed to let you step in to my position, I
expected you to maintain the company as I would have done. A pretty face is no
excuse for a lapse in judgment.”
    Phoebe gasped, but Luca countered in a calm
tone. “You hardly allowed me to take over willingly, P apà .” It was no secret Salvatore’s stroke had left him incapacitated
for months, forcing him to let his son finally have some real power in the
company or risk losing everything to their competitors. She knew from Luca—and
from the old man’s own behavior—that three years later, he was still bitter
about no longer being in charge.
    When the old man burst into a string of
Italian, Luca’s cheeks flushed red, and a hint of annoyance appeared in his
expression. She held her breath, wondering if she would witness an explosion of
anger. Luca had always been even-tempered and basically good-humored with her,
but he had a reputation for being cold and calculating in business, with a hard
edge reserved only for those who were dishonest in their dealings with the
Androtti Corporation.
    His voice was soft, with only a subtle
sibilance revealing the depths of his emotions. “Would you please leave us,
Phoebe?”
    She might have remembered to nod as she
scurried from the office, carefully avoiding Salvatore’s eyes. Had the other
man tried to call her back, she would have ignored his summons this time,
having no desire to witness the argument between the two of them.
    Out of habit, she closed the door behind
her and went to her desk. Phoebe sank into the chair, staring worriedly at the
mahogany barrier separating her from Luca and his father. In the three months
she had worked for Luca, twice before had she overheard him and his father
arguing, both times via the phone, and had been privy only to Luca’s side.
Since he usually conducted such conversations with Salvatore in short bursts of
angry Italian, she had no idea what they argued about.
    Today was no different, except she could
hear Salvatore’s voice responding to his even tones. It carried over Luca’s,
leaving no doubt to the extent of his rage. His pitch escalated with every
exchange, until she could hear each syllable he spoke. If she were fluent in
Italian, she would have known everything he said.
    Not that I need a translator , she thought with a grimace. There was no mystery regarding the
reason behind their exchange. Her. Clearly, the old man