He took his seat and then changed his mind and stood to take off his jacket, the waitress practically tripping over herself to catch it.
He didn’t smile at the waitress, Allegra noticed, nor did he thank her.
Nor did he glance over to the table of women who had fallen rather silent as he peeled off the black garment to reveal a crisp white shirt that set off his olive skin. There were no horrible surprises beneath his jacket, just a toe-curling moment as he tucked his shirt in a little, and Allegra again breathed in the scent of him, wanted another glimpse of that smile. But it had retreated now and he gave her the silence she’d insisted on and just sat and stared beyond her and out of the window, his index finger idly circling the top of the glass. Maybe it was too much champagne, or maybe he knew exactly what he was doing, maybe he had a doctorate in suggestive flirting, because for a bizarre moment she wished she were beneath his finger, wished it was her that he idly stroked.
‘Sorry.’ He misinterpreted her shifting in discomfort. ‘I’m not much company—today has been a harder one than I expected.’
‘Was it someone close?’ she asked, for it was clear he had been to a funeral.
‘Not really.’ He thought for a moment. ‘He works for me, or rather he did—Charles. We were, in fact, here last week for his retirement.’ He glanced around the room clearly remembering.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘That’s just what you say, isn’t it,’ Allegra responded, wishing he wouldn’t make her cheeks burn so, wishing he didn’t make her over-think every last word.
‘He wasn’t a friend,’ Alex said, and topped up his champagne. ‘Really, I hardly knew him—you don’t have to be sorry.’
‘Then I’m not!’ She blew up her fringe with her breath, gorgeous to look at he may be, but he really was rather hard work. ‘I’m not in the least sorry that you’ve been to a funeral and that you’re feeling a bit low. Funerals do that...’ she added. ‘Even if you hardly know the person.’
‘They don’t bother me,’ Alex said. ‘And believe me, I’ve been to many.’ And then he conceded. ‘Well, usually they don’t get to me.’
She wasn’t going to risk saying sorry again.
‘So what’s your excuse?’ He looked up from his glass. ‘Or do you regularly sit nursing a bottle of champagne in the afternoon.’
She actually laughed. ‘Er, no. I lost my job.’ He didn’t fill the silence, he didn’t offer condolences as anyone else would; he just sat until it was Allegra who spoke on. ‘Or rather I just walked out.’
‘Can I ask why?’
She hesitated, and then gave a tight shrug. ‘My boss, he...’ The blush on her cheeks said it all.
‘Not in your job description?’ Alex said, and she was relieved that he got it. ‘There are avenues for you...tribunals.’
‘I don’t want to go down that route,’ Allegra said. ‘I don’t want...’ She didn’t finish what she was saying, not quite comfortable to reveal who her family was, so she moved on without elaborating. ‘I thought I’d easily get another. It would seem I was wrong. Things really are tough out there.’
‘Very tough,’ Alex said, and though she had been looking at him, she flicked her eyes away, bit down a smart retort, for what would a man like him know about tough times?
‘I’m very conscious of my responsibility,’ Alex explained, something she had never really considered. ‘If I screw up...’ She felt the tension in her jaw seep out just a little. ‘I employ a lot of people.’ He did what for him was unusual, yet he did not hesitate; he went into his jacket and handed her his card.
‘You just found another job.’
She looked at the name—Santina Financiers—and of course she knew who he was then: Alex Santina. His companies seemed to ride the wave of financial crisis with ease. He was all over the business magazines, and... She screwed up her forehead, trying to place him further, for she had read about him elsewhere, but half a bottle of Bollinger on a very empty stomach didn’t aide instant recall.