Only For Pretend

Chapter 1

Annabella Beaumont felt like an ugly duckling rushing past a long line of preening swans. But she was running late for her appointment, so without a second thought she just smiled at the queue of glamorous women and knocked on the interviewing room door.

‘Pronto?’

The abrupt command from a faceless baritone through the ornate door kicked Annabella’s already racing nerves into overdrive. Inhaling deeply, she quickly opened the door and stepped inside before the impulse to flee took hold.

Across the room, more Versailles salon than corporate office, Alessandro De Costa silenced her with a raised finger while he continued his telephone conversation in rapid Italian. He gestured for her to come and sit opposite him at his imposing mahogany desk.

Annabella scurried across the great divide between the door and the safety of the high-backed chair where she could catch her breath. And compose herself. She wasn’t usually impressed by appearances, but in the flesh Alessandro was mesmerising. His presence matched the grandeur of the surrounding baroque decor. Unnervingly, in his orbit Annabella was in danger of losing any appropriate train of thought. She had to regroup.

She sat down, adjusted her black-rimmed glasses and opened her leather tote, her eyes resting for a moment on the tattered journal inside. So much history, joy, love tightly bound within its covers.

She imagined her mother sitting in a room like this, many years ago, and like her, so out of place amid such opulence. Trying to temper her thumping heart while daring to think that her dreams were within reach.

Though Annabella couldn’t deny that her erratic heartbeat had a lot to do with her ridiculously handsome companion. She knew she should focus on her presentation but she couldn’t resist sneaking another look.

Alessandro De Costa, Turin’s infamous playboy and newly appointed CEO of De Costa Cioccolato. He was perfectly cast for this dual role; from immaculate, single-breasted suit to thick, midnight black tousled hair. His white open-collared shirt gleamed against his Mediterranean complexion; golden perfection roughened by the dark designer stubble of his stern jaw.

Daringly, Annabella continued her appraisal to his full lips, forming each romantic Italian word as if in slow motion, like a seductive lullaby. Along his proud, elegant nose, then rested on long thick lashes that only men seem to be blessed with. And then a flash of alarmingly bright aquamarine eyes. Eyes that catch you and draw you in before you think to look away. Eyes that suddenly locked with Annabella’s admiring gaze.

Alessandro’s bemused smile jolted her from her trance and she quickly looked down into her bag, her cheeks burning. He continued his telephone conversation but she could feel those hypnotic eyes still on her.

Pretending not to notice, desperate for distraction, Annabella took her tablet out of her bag. She wasn’t prepared for this unexpected physical magnetism. Is this what swooning felt like? Was she actually swooning?

She stared at the tablet’s screen but her thoughts were elsewhere. He’s just a talking suit, nothing more. Yes, he looks like a modern-day god and who knows what that long, lean body is capable of …

Where did these alien thoughts come from? She never fantasised about men. What was the point? But that alluring aroma, a delicious mix of sandalwood and bitter chocolate that filled the air, awakened a part of her that she thought she’d buried long ago.

As if lured by the seductive scent, Annabella raised her eyes to meet Alessandro’s. And like Narcissus gazing at his reflection, this time she couldn’t look away; she was captivated. Her professionalism had gone AWOL.

‘Ciao, ciao,’ Alessandro said, finishing his conversation before tossing his phone on the desk.

‘So.’ He paused, intensifying his gaze that had penetrated Annabella’s hardened shell so easily. ‘I’m glad you like what you see.’ He smiled knowingly, well aware of Annabella’s appreciative appraisal.

‘Oh, yes … this … I’m, ah … this office is just so beautiful.’

‘Yes, yes it is.’ Alessandro laughed gently and casually tilted back in his reclining chair. ‘It’s wonderful to be inspired by something you find so … attractive, no?’ He held eye contact; Annabella’s cheeks flamed again.

She was unaccustomed to such blatant flirtation, any flirtation really. Certainly not where business was concerned. She was unnerved by Alessandro’s unexpected effect on her capacity to think straight. No doubt he was used to being openly admired by women, but it wasn’t her style. She felt like a foreigner in her own skin.

‘After all,’ he continued. ‘That’s why we’re here, yes?’

‘Oh, really? How so?’ Annabella shifted in her chair regaining some composure.

‘Well, beauty is essential to the position, no?’ Alessandro raised both hands, shrugging his shoulders in the typical Italian gesture, so self-assured, so nonchalant. And on Alessandro, so infuriatingly sexy.

‘Really? What about being capable and experienced?’

‘Of course. But this is Italy, beauty in all its forms is highly regarded, especially where women are concerned. We have to give the public what it desires. It’s business.’ He looked at her intently, seemingly waiting for her acceptance of this ‘fact’.

‘I’m sorry, I just don’t see how this is relevant to the position. Perhaps I’ve misunderstood the brief?’ Annabella looked questioningly at Alessandro.

He was quickly going from a visual fantasy into a very real, very superficial, arrogant man. She shouldn’t be surprised, his reputation preceded him; he was a serial modeliser. She’d seen him on the covers of countless magazines, with as many female companions.

‘Yes, maybe … I must say I was a little surprised when you came in, all flustered in your sensible suit and shoes.’

Annabella stiffened at Alessandro’s bemused tone. She’d been confident in her choice of outfit: a charcoal pantsuit with black ballet flats. Practicality over fashion.

‘Usually the girls wear short skirts, maybe with stilettos.’ Alessandro continued his clinical critique as he surveyed her, his eyes shamelessly scanning her body. ‘A fitted shirt or bustier, no blazer … ah … the hair out, not in a … what do you call?’

He motioned towards her long chestnut hair pulled back in a no-fuss updo. ‘A ponytail, yes?’ Annabella nodded, at a loss for words. ‘For sure more make-up … and never glasses.’ He sat back, satisfied, as though he had offered valuable feedback.

Momentarily dumbfounded, Annabella started to pack up her things. She couldn’t leave but she needed the distraction; she had to ignore the tightening in her chest and the threatening sting of imminent tears. She refused to cry in front of Alessandro. No doubt that was the sort of behaviour he expected from women.

But why did she even care what he thought about her appearance? It meant nothing to her. He meant nothing. Well, other than the fact that he had the power to save her. Save her sister. Sacrificing her dignity wasn’t part of the plan but she couldn’t walk out, no matter how much she wanted to.

‘What are you doing? We’ve only just started.’ Alessandro seemed genuinely surprised he had offended her. He sat forward in his chair. ‘Please. I didn’t mean for you to leave. I’ve upset you?’

Sheer disbelief emboldened Annabella to stifle her tears.

‘No, not at all, I welcome a physical evaluation in all my meetings. Nothing like a bit of constructive criticism, no matter how irrelevant.’

She looked at him directly, her outrage trumping his beauty. Her sudden boldness surprised her but she’d be damned if she let another man silence her opinion again.

‘Mi perdoni, bella, I’ve offended you.’ It seemed her sarcasm wasn’t lost on Alessandro. ‘You’re just not … what I expected. But you have to understand, the paparazzi are merciless, your appearance is important. And just so we’re clear.’ He sat back, holding her gaze. ‘I think you’re very attractive and you have an amazing figure.’

His words lingered, igniting a fever that rapidly spread from Annabella’s core to her complexion. How dare he judge her so blatantly? But the heat that enveloped her was more than just outrage; she’d never been able to hide the shyness that always came with a compliment. She willed herself to speak but couldn’t find the words.

‘You have the natural beauty required of a De Costa.’ Alessandro continued. ‘And certainly the … X-factor.’ He smiled. ‘It’s just the presentation that we’d need to work on.’

‘What?’ Utter confusion propelled Annabella to speak. ‘What on earth are you talking about? What has any of this got to do with the master chocolatier position?’

***

Alessandro studied the incensed woman before him, her slender frame emboldened by the fire in her voice.

She had caught him off-guard, not only with her camouflaged beauty but also with her spirited response to him. A compelling combination.

Alessandro imagined the luscious curves that lay beneath her conservative exterior; the cut of her tailored suit couldn’t conceal the promise of a dangerously sexy body. His blood pulsed at the thought of his knowing touch exploring each curve, unleashing that passionate spirit in his bed.

That hint of fire beneath such a demure facade had immediately aroused his interest. He wasn’t used to being challenged by his women, and surprisingly he hadn’t been disappointed. The opposite, in fact.

He’d quite liked the idea of this woman becoming a De Costa. If only that was why she was here. Now the misunderstanding was clear.

‘Ah, it seems you are in the wrong office, bella,’ he said. ‘The interviews for the chocolatier position are down the corridor, in the Savoy Room.’ He reclined in his chair maintaining eye contact, his default position: relaxed and in control.

‘Oh. Okay.’ She sounded relieved. ‘I’m sorry, I was in such a rush, I guess I got the wrong room. So what interviews are taking place … in here?’ Her expression was a mix of curiosity and uncertainty, as though she may not want to know the answer.

Alessandro had to be careful; no one could be trusted. So much depended on today’s round of interviews yet he’d been careless, distracted by his father’s doctor on the telephone.

It’s time, Ale, your time, my lucky boy. His father’s words played in his head, a constant reminder that his carefree days were over. And he didn’t even know this woman’s name. She could’ve been a reporter; she certainly dressed like one and they’d been all over the place lately. That should’ve been his first thought, not that this stranger was playing the lead role in some sexy makeover fantasy. Yes, he’d considered the potential of that scenario and she’d played the part perfectly. Was he really so predictable?

He needed to deflect. ‘I’m sorry, I’m Alessandro De Costa. And you are?’

‘Annabella Beaumont. I have an interview scheduled for the chocolatier position.’ She paused, presumably for recognition.

‘Go on.’ Alessandro said.

‘I got lost on the way here, my Italian’s terrible. I must’ve misunderstood the directions from the woman at the front desk, she said to go straight in. Then I saw the line of … candidates?’ Annabella queried before continuing, ‘Outside your office, I assumed I was in the right place.’

She was rambling but Alessandro didn’t mind. He needed to regain focus, no matter how attractive the distraction. No matter how flawless the fair skin, lustrous the caramel-flecked hair or shapely the full bust that slightly strained against the confines of that buttoned-up blazer … Oh Dio, snap out of it.

‘It’s okay, please let’s start again.’ Alessandro sensed Annabella’s caution as she waited a moment before placing her bag back on the floor.

Her petite figure perched on the edge of the velvet chair was so at odds with the feisty spirit he’d just witnessed. The memory of it sent a shot of desire through his body.

Alessandro silently cursed himself. The last thing he needed was a meaningless fling, too much was at stake. His womanising days were well and truly over. Today was his first day as a reformed bachelor on the road to commitment. At least that’s how the story would run.

‘First of all, please forgive me for my, ah … candour. Knowing who you are now, that was unacceptable. I was distracted, though that’s no excuse.’ Alessandro noticed Annabella’s posture soften slightly.

Encouraged, he continued. ‘My recruitment manager is handling the chocolatier position but I’ll interview you now. The festival opens in two weeks so you’ll understand that time is of the essence.’

Alessandro couldn’t let her leave this room until she was on his side. In the meantime he had to work out how he was going to deal with this situation.

‘Okay,’ Annabella said, sitting back in her chair.

‘Brava.’ So far, so good. ‘So, as you’d know, our last master chocolatier, Frederica Pucci, betrayed us terribly. She’s now working for Conti Creations with full knowledge of all our recipes and designs. We have nothing for the festival, let alone a showpiece for the competition.

‘We’re Italy’s leading chocolateria and our main competitor now knows our kitchen inside out. We need to deliver something sublime, better than our best. Needless to say, choosing the right candidate to lead our team is essential.’

Annabella nodded. ‘So,’ she began slowly and then motioned on her slender fingers. ‘No collection, no head chocolatier and only two weeks to create and showcase De Costa’s best-ever line at the CioccolaTó festival?’

She raised her eyebrows at Alessandro, he nodded. ‘Well, I think you’re lucky I’m here judging by the candidates waiting outside your office.’

Annabella cocked one eyebrow and smiled, her dazzling azure eyes locked with his. Of course she must be wondering about the line of no doubt glamorous women waiting for an interview with him.

‘Ah yes, you’re probably right. But they’re promotional models, not chocolatiers. Wrong office, remember?’ Alessandro laughed softly. He had to steer the conversation in a safer direction. ‘And so, Annabella Beaumont, tell me, who are you?’

Her smile immediately disappeared, back to business.

‘Chocolate is my world, it’s in my blood,’ she began, raising one hand to rest against her heart. ‘I spent my childhood in the kitchen with my sister, perched on the bench beside our mother, stirring, taste testing, trying different ingredients. We invented all kinds of wonderful creations.’

Alessandro found himself smiling at Annabella’s childhood memory. She could have as easily been talking about his own. Except he was by his father’s side, experimenting and learning.

As a boy, he’d been in awe of his father’s creative genius, dreaming that one day he might live up to his legacy. Childhood dreams. Alessandro blinked the memory away.

‘Our mother really encouraged us to experiment, you know?’ Annabella continued. ‘Be independent. Then after she—’ She stopped suddenly and cleared her throat. ‘Well, to cut a long story short, my sister and I trained together at the l’Academie du Petit Chocolat in Paris, after that we worked all over Europe in partnership—’

‘Ah yes, I remember, the Beaumont sisters. I read some reviews, a few years ago now. You were in Paris at La Maison du Chocolat doing a residency, no? So your sister, she’s here too, yes?’

It had been a long time since Alessandro had heard anything about the Australian Beaumont sisters. They’d had a strong international presence and their work was highly regarded. Then they’d just