The Italian's Secret Baby Read Free

too.’
    â€˜She’s a very important woman; we can’t go around ignoring her wishes.’
    â€˜You didn’t; I did.’
    David looked somewhat mollified by this reminder. ‘That’s true.’
    â€˜Just call me Scarlet the scapegoat,’ she suggested cheerfully.
    David shot her a reproachful look from under his half-moon specs. ‘I’ll just go and organise someone to meet Mr O’Hagan.’
    A three-man job at least, Scarlet mused scornfully: one person to grovel, another to sprinkle rose petals in his path and, last but not least, one to stroke the guy’s massive ego. She for one didn’t envy anyone the task of being nice to him. Even allowing for his concern over his mother, the mega-rich playboy had come across as a nasty bully of a man. Being rich, in her view, did not give anyone carte blanche to be rude.
    â€˜Where’s a spare red carpet when you need one?’
    David shot her a wary look. ‘I hope you weren’t rude to him.’
    Scarlet adopted a puzzled expression, her eyes wide and innocent.
    â€˜Don’t look at me like that, Scarlet, it worries me. I’ve known you since you were six years old,’ he reminded her drily.
    â€˜Why would I be rude to the man? I rang to tell him his mother wasn’t well.’
    â€˜Hummph.’ David left her with a firm admonition not to take any further unilateral decisions if she wanted to keep her job.
    â€˜Are you feeling any better?’ Scarlet asked, approaching the slim, elegant figure who was dressed in a soft apricot suit that hinted tastefully at a good cleavage.
    â€˜Much better, thank you,’ Natalia O’Hagan replied in her soft, attractive Italian accent.
    She didn’t look nearly old enough to have a son the age of Roman O’Hagan.
    Unless he had begun his infamous playboy lifestyle when he was still at school he had to be in his early thirties at least to have fitted in all the beautiful women who had reputedly enjoyed his admiration. As aloof and arrogant as he was widely reported to be, he was rarely photographed without some lush beauty gazing adoringly up into his face.
    Scarlet smiled at Natalia. She had taken to the older woman immediately. Unlike her son she came across as a warm, genuine woman with no airs and graces. Just thinking about the vile son with his hateful, sarcastic drawl sent a shudder of antipathy down Scarlet’s spine.
    Maybe Roman O’Hagan had inherited his arrogance from the paternal side of the equation. It was quite a combination of genes, Italian and Irish, Scarlet reflected, and on the evidence so far she’d say the result of that fusion had produced a person who lacked the charm of the Irish and the charisma of the Italians.
    Despite her reassurance as she lifted the glass of water, there was a visible tremor in the older woman’s hand.
    â€˜Let me,’ Scarlet said, taking the glass from her and placing it back on her own desk.
    On closer inspection she could see that the scary bluish tinge had receded from around the older woman’s lips. This was good news, but despite these small signs of improvement the woman still looked far from well.
    â€˜Can I get you anything else?’
    Natalia O’Hagan lifted her head, her lips formed a weak smile, but she didn’t appear able to respond to the question.
    Scarlet’s anxiety increased. She privately called herself every sort of weak idiot for not having stood her ground in the first place and rung for a doctor straight off as she’d wanted.
    In that at least her wretched son had been right.
    She could have insisted, but when the university bigwigs, who had tagged along with David for the official opening ceremony of the crèche, had overruled her, what had she done? She’d meekly rolled over.
    As far as the powers that be were concerned they weren’t going to risk upsetting the woman whose generous donation had been responsible for the