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Tomas stared at the shapely figure of the woman studiously setting up a buffet stand. Oblivious to her surroundings, she was focused on the food display she was creating. The tip of her tongue jutted out as she constructed an intricate pyramid using a myriad sub tropical fruit in unique shapes and sizes.

Why was he staring at her when he should be finding a typist? Rome was waiting for an authorization from him. Yet he continued to stare at her. She was not beautiful. Her clothes were cheap, off the rail and most unflattering. She was definitely not the type of lady he was normally attracted to, but something about her kept his eyes glued to her profile. Even her fiery red hair was the wrong colour. He preferred leggy blondes in sexy designer cocktail dresses. She had long legs all right. Beneath her tawdry ankle length skirt, he could see the distinct slender shape of one leg as she perched forward like a ballerina and carefully placed a luscious strawberry on the apex of her complex pyramid. She stepped back. A self satisfied smiled radiated across her face transforming her face as if the Mediterranean sun suddenly appeared over the dull London sky.

Why was he wasting valuable time gazing at her when she was not in the league of the sexy, sophisticated, classy blondes he dated? Granted most of the women he took to bed, did not have much grey matter to challenge his astute, razor sharp mind for more than five minutes, but at least they satisfied him between the sheets. Their intelligence or lack of it did not bother him, for he kept his affairs brief. He did not do clingy women, and he ensured his affairs were brief enough, before his lovers entertained any territorial notions. The moment they started to talk of exclusivity or moving into his apartment, Tomas very quickly ended his affairs. Of course it always cost him a considerable sum in consoling farewell gifts but he could afford it. He was not prepared to compromise his independence for any woman. He liked things short and sweet with his lovers. Most times he managed short, but not often sweet. He had developed an expertise in keeping affairs brief right from when he turned twenty one. Then women fell over themselves to get into his bed, just for his flamboyant boyish looks. Now he was even more of a catch, with his super wealthy status and his powerful image in the global financial sector.

The letter idiota! He chastised himself mentally.

Alina rewarded herself with a smile mentally tapping herself on the shoulder. Twice she had practised this very display in the training room of her catering company and twice she had hopelessly failed. Was it because her loathsome boss Leonna Gordon had been barking a dozen different instructions into her ear the entire time she was attempting to concoct the pyramid that she had failed to produce? A worthy craftsman never made excuses. Bravo, she accomplished it today when it mattered. And today was a very important day for Rose Acre catering. Alina chewed nervously on her lower lip.

If they were awarded this two year contract with Casiraghi Financial Services, then her boss promised her a much needed increase. God knew, cramped in their tiny flat, between Alina, her sister and their little niece in primary school; their financial needs were dire. It was only yesterday that Alina had managed to get last week's rent up to date.

She must remain confident.  Yes everything was under control. They will be awarded this lucrative contract. Preparations for the starter course was all on track, so was the dessert menu. Alina had a supportive team to assist with the main course. All she had to do was supervise the finishing touches when the---

'How would you like to earn a generous fee for half an hour's work?' A rich accented voice disturbed Alina's thoughts.

Alina swung around. 'Excuse me?' She stared impolitely. He was so---masculine. She was drawn to the swell of bulging muscles beneath the fabric of his silk shirt. So strong and powerful. Such well defined features. Whilst he patiently waited for her answer, she stupidly gazed at his sensuous lips...chiselled jaw. The exquisite shape of his face gave him the smouldering looks of a European model more suited to the Milan and Paris runways, rather than wasted in a stuffed business suit, albeit a very extravagant, hand cut Italian cloth. It had to have been tailored on his attractive body.

Eventually Alina's eyes shifted to the chunk of bills the man waved in front of her face. He must be mad. That was more than she earned in a week. It was enough to pay the week's rent, buy some groceries and Alina was sure there would still be something left over to buy Emily the school shoes she'd been begging for.

He glanced at his watch impatiently radiating coiled suppressed potent energy. 'I need a letter typed urgently and faxed to Rome and Madrid,' his deep accented voice was like she was being serenaded to. Alina's jaw dropped, her lips parted.

'Signorina, you will rescue me?' It should have been a request, but it was voiced authoratively. He was not a man that made polite requests, Alina decided.
No, he barked instructions, or demanded acquiescence, either way, his commands were obeyed, she was sure.

Erotic images swirled in her brain. 'What would you like me to do?' she breathed then cursed silently when she realized how loaded her question sounded. She was about to rephrase her question, when he demanded.

'In here,' he held his office door opened for her.

'Excuse me!' she mumbled nervously again. She looked over her shoulder, hoping somebody could arrive so she did not have to be alone in the presence of this intimidating man. What if he was lying? What if he expected something else, for the payment he was offering?

'You can type si?' he questioned impatiently. 'I have other pressing matters to attend to. I need the letter pronto.'

Off course she can type. She was not stupid. She was just not cut out to be desk bound. She liked to be up at five in the morning to bargain with the fishermen for the catch of the day. She loved cycling to the market to pick the freshest fruit and vegetables. No.  She did not like to be in an office but yes she can type.

'I can type,' she answered. 'You will give me all that money just to type one letter?'

His face shuttered, 'yes,' he placed the bills on the table. They were the same all over the world. Wave a few bills and the gold diggers are only too eager to please. He shoved a hand written page full of figures at her.

'Type that as it is. No mistakes and it is confidential,' he cautioned. 'You will not repeat those figures outside this office.'

'Yes sir,' she eyed the money he carelessly dropped on his table.

'What is your name?'

'Alina---Alina Brooke.'

'Hurry,' he nodded, pointing to a desktop computer on a glass stand adjacent to his desk.

She sat down and began typing.

Alina double checked the text and the figures against the hand written instruction. Perfect, no mistakes. She kept her head low as she heard the man speak on one call after another in rapid fire Italian and then Spanish. He spoke calmly, patiently, but authoratively. He seemed to be on an adrenalin rush, it was tangible in the thick air in his office.

'I'm finished,' Alina stood up, when she sensed a pause between his incessant chats.

He looked up as if only suddenly realizing he was not alone, signalling for her to approach.

'You are Tomas Casiraghi?' She mumbled. He had signed the name at the bottom of the letter he had handed to her.

'Si.'

Tomas Casiraghi, world renowned financier. Ruthless negotiator. He could make or break a company. Head Quarters in Rome and branches in every major city in Europe, Asia and North America. This is the man, her manager Leona Gordon wanted to impress. He would be the one awarding the much coveted contract. Neither Alina nor Leona expected to ever meet the billionaire owner face to face. How fortunate for Alina that she happened to be setting up the buffet at this divine moment.

Not a core function to the financier's strategic business, Rose Acre Catering were to host a rather important function he was patron of, on Saturday evening. Tonight was the dry run with only his senior management team. It was widely known Tomas Casiraghi was a control freak. If he liked what he saw and tasted tonight then they would get the contract. Alina knew nothing about financing, but she knew everything there was to know about Italian and French cuisine, having graduated with a diploma and having spent two years abroad in Sicily and Paris She was certain, when Tomas Casiraghi tasted the sumptuous endeavours that she had painstakingly prepared, they would get the contract. She was that confident.

'I am from Rose Acre Catering,' Alina thought she would give her company a plug.

'No mistakes. I am impressed,' he nodded, ignoring her comment.

'Fax it to these numbers?' he handed her a page with two numbers on it.

'Yes,' Alina almost saluted.

'Put it in this file when you are done?'

'Yes,' Alina almost saluted again.

'Have dinner with me tomorrow night.'

'Ye---. I began your pardon?'

A smile twitched across his face for the very first time. 'You were---how you English say "on a roll?" I thought I would get a resounding yes to the dinner invitation as well. It still stands, the invitation that is.' Tomas ignored the voice of reason questioning his stupidity in inviting this ragamuffin to dinner. What was he thinking? His reputation for dating sexy blonde sirens was legendary all over Europe. He was going to set tails wagging taking out this dreary church mouse.

Perhaps they could dine in his hotel suite. Who said anything about taking her out in public? Still she had the most glossy mane of red hair he had ever laid eyes on. He longed to remove the ugly band that held it together and set it all free to cascade over her shoulders. And her eyes...they were most mesmerising, like polished emerald stones, glittering and hypnotic, sucking him in, like a whirlpool. He wanted to get lost in their depths. He'd only seen one slender leg, but it was enough to feel his member constrict inside his pants.

'I'd like to tell you about Rose Acre,' Alina interrupted his thoughts.

'Tell me tomorrow over dinner. His charcoal eyes raked over her. She shivered. Give me your address,' he demanded. He wanted to hear nothing about her company. He did not care. What was she angling for, a cash injection?

Should she accept? What if Leona disapproves? And what on earth would she wear? She had nothing respectable to wear on a date with him. Was it a date? Was she, Alina Brooke, a poor chef going on a date with the Tomas Casiraghi?

'Can I meet you at the restaurant you wish to dine at?' Alina was too embarrassed for him to see where they lived in the tiny flat, the size of a shoe box at the bottom end of London. She was certain he would lose his desire to dine with her if he glimpsed her neighbourhood.

'As you wish,' he scribbled an address and handed it to Alina. 'Meet me there at eight.' She gawked. The restaurant was in one of London's high end luxurious upmarket hotels. Nobody could get reservations there not unless you were royalty or an "A lister" like him. Not that Alina could afford to eat there. A meal there was the equivalent of a month's rent, for sure. She'd been there once, just to glimpse the menu. She'd ordered a bottle of mineral water, to the waiter's disgust. Alina had sunk low in her seat and grudgingly paid him a handsome tip. Now she was going to dine there, as a guest of Tomas Casiraghi.

Alina rushed home after work. Apparently last night's event was a success, so Leona her manager, had informed her. Conveniently she had given Alina the evening of. Disappointment had engulfed her. She would have wanted to be there to supervise at that catering project. Alina had been the head chef for that specific project. Why had her boss been so mean? A team of waiters and waitresses had been despatched to serve at the event. Leona was there to take any praises, if any were being handed out. Alina was quietly confident for Saturday's function. She was sure her considerate boss would give her the evening off again.

Alina knocked on her neighbour Patty Jenner's door, before she went home.

'Alina,' Patty answered the knock with a friendly smile. Her hair was in curlers. She was already in her night gown.

'I need a favour,' Alina began.

'What is it?' Patty switched the kettle on, hoping for some juicy tit bits.

'I'm going out tonight,' Alina hoped to part with as little information as possible. 'I need something smart---.'

'Work function again?'

'Kind of,' Alina answered vaguely, 'but high profile.'

'I have just the dress,' Patty laughed. 'I haven't worn it yet,' she walked to her closet.

'Oh I shouldn't,' Alina protested.

'Well only because I can't fit into it,' she tapped her bulging tummy and buttocks. Patty had a penchant for three things, good clothes, pastries and creamy coffee.

'Well, what do you think?' Patty held up a stunning, crimson cocktail dress.

'I can't wear that,' Alina shook her head. 'It barely covers anything.' She was much taller than Patty.

'Nonsense,' Patty ushered Alina out. 'Go home, shower and get back here.'

'Find me an alternative, just incase,' Alina pleaded, as she unlocked her own flat.

'Hi puppet,' Alina greeted her niece.

'Aunt Alina,' Emily rushed to greet Alina.

'I helped mum bake brownies,' Emily announced proudly.

'Do I get to taste one?' Alina went in search of her big sister and found her in their tiny kitchen.

'Hey sis,' Alina greeted  Caroline.

'You're home early again,' Caroline smiled.

'Have to rush out again,' Alina dismissed casually. Nobody was going to know about her mystery date tonight. She opened the container and helped herself to a brownie. 'Did you buy these Caroline? They are so delicious,' Alina took a bigger bite.

'I told you I helped mum bake them Aunt Alina.'

'Nooo!, you didn't make them, they are so delicious.'

'I'm not as good as you then?' Emily gave her aunt a wounded look.

Alina laughed, 'come here princess. Of course you're just as good as me,' she carried her niece. 'Will you hep mum with the dishes. I need to go out.'

'Okay,' Emily smiled. 'I have a letter from teacher,' Emily whispered to Alina. 'I left it in the bedroom.'

Thank you,' Alina smiled. She was certain it was for some cost. 'Oh, I have something for you,' Alina removed a packet from her bag.

'For me?' Emily murmured.

'Open it,' Alina hinted mysteriously.

Emily ripped the box apart and discovered the prettiest school shoes. 'Thank you Aunt Alina.'

'Are you spoiling her again,' Caroline coughed incessantly.

'School shoes are hardly spoiling Emily, besides she's been so patient. Do you have enough medication?' Alina asked Caroline.

'Yes, enough until the end of the week,' Caroline replied.

'I'll see you two a bit later then,' Alina had a quick shower and rushed next door to Patty's.

'I don't know---it looks too short,' Alina complained, tugging at the hemline.

'Stop that,' Patty smacked her hand gently. 'Let me do your hair,' Patty styled her hair expertly. 'So you didn't meet anybody exciting today?'

'No,' Alina lied.

'Be patient. Mr. Right is coming,' Patty winked.

'How was work?' Alina changed the topic.

'Same old, same old,' she shrugged her shoulders. She was a typist at a legal firm. Occasionally Patty saw fit to reveal confidential information about who was getting divorced and what the settlements amounted to.

Let's do your nails,' Patty winked again.

'Can't we skip the polish, you know I hate it?'

'We have a sexy dress, sexy hair style. We have to do the nails. Oh, my shoes won't fit you.' Patty had extremely large feet.

'I brought a pair,' Alina murmured. Last year she had invested in a pair of heels when the price had reduced by more than fifty percent.

'Look at that,' Patty whistled. She had transformed Alina into Cinderella. The dress clung to her body, giving her a very shapely look. Her hair was styled to perfection and her nails were done in a colour complementing her dress very nicely.

Tomas was sitting at the bar. He saw her first, through the mirror the instant she walked through the revolving doors. Madre de Dio. What happened to the dreary church mouse? That hair...it was opened...those heels.

Every other man turned around. Tomas continued to unhurriedly sip his wine.

Alina held her breath as she walked nervously into the hotel foyer. She spotted him immediately at the bar and nervously tried to summon the boldness to walk to him.

'Signor Casiraghi,' Alina greeted brightly with a confidence she was far from feeling.

'Buonasera,' His eyes caressed every inch of her appreciatively. Alina tugged at the dress self consciously. She wished she'd carried a trench coat or something.

You look beautiful bella.'

'Thank you,' she murmured.

No doubt the money he'd paid her had been put to good use. New hairstyle, manicure and that boutique dress---

'We shall dine in my penthouse.'

His penthouse suite? She hesitated.

'You've changed your mind?' He turned around when she did not follow.

Alina dragged her eyes up to him. If she did change her mind about dining with him, Alina was certain he would just open his black book and call the first blonde listed there and if she was not available, he would scroll down until one was available. That was something else that she was curious about. She had Googled him just before the taxi picked her up. He only favoured blondes, so why was he dining with her?
She shook her head in response to his question.

       -end chapter one-