The Billionaire Takes a Bride. Liz Fielding
answer to a problem that had been giving his entire development team a headache for the last couple of weeks. He checked his wristwatch. The best part of ten hours ago.
He tugged at the stocking, caught a hint of the musky scent she’d been wearing. He really needed to concentrate on one thing at a time, he decided, as the napkin fell into the melted ice.
Work—nine-till-five. Personal life—
Forget it. Work was his life.
He shrugged, picked up the napkin. Her note was short and to the point.
LOSER.
Succinct. To the point. No wasted words. He admired brevity in a woman.
However, there was still the earring found by his uninvited caller. An earring not meant to be found by a casual glance. It suggested that she’d given herself a chance to call him—after sufficient time had elapsed for him to understand that she was seriously annoyed—and offer him the opportunity to tease her into forgiving him. Resume the chase.
And he grinned.
Then, as the scent of coffee brewing reached him, his eyes narrowed. It seemed as if Ginny Lautour hadn’t been in as much of a hurry as she’d made out…
He left the note where it was and, tossing the stocking over the arm of the sofa, headed for the kitchen.
‘So, you decided to stay for breakfast after all—’
He came to an abrupt halt as he realised it was his cleaner—rather than his interesting new neighbour—who was making coffee. It left him with oddly mixed feelings.
Relief that she hadn’t, after all, taken up his casual invitation to stick around, taking advantage of an unexpected opportunity to get close to him. That she hadn’t been that obvious.
Disappointment…for much the same reason.
Not that he doubted she’d be back. Like the earring, Hector gave her all the excuse she needed to drop by any time she felt like it. Which was fine. He didn’t believe for one minute that she was a criminal mastermind. He simply wanted to know who was pulling her strings.
‘Good morning, Mr Mallory. I’ve made fresh coffee. Would you like me to cook breakfast for you?’
‘No. Thank you, Mrs Figgis.’ He’d lost his appetite. ‘I’ll have something at the office.’ Then, ‘You’ll keep a look-out for Miss Lautour’s hamster?’
‘Of course. I’m sorry she disturbed you,’ she said. ‘If I’d realised you were home…’
‘Late night. No problem.’
Far from it. If he’d left for the office at the usual time, or even taken this Friday off as he had originally planned and driven off into deepest Gloucestershire, Ginny Lautour could have searched his flat from top to bottom at her leisure and he doubted it would have crossed his cleaner’s mind to even mention it.
The hamster, he realised, was a clever excuse. It was possible he’d underestimated the girl. No, that wasn’t right, either. She might blush like a girl, but she had the eyes, the body of a woman…
‘She’s staying in the McBrides’ apartment this summer?’ he asked. It wouldn’t hurt to double check.
‘That’s right. Keeping an eye on the place. She’s a very quiet young lady,’ she said. ‘For a student.’
Maybe. Being quiet didn’t preclude dishonesty. The prize of newly developed Mallory software was enough to tempt the most innocent of souls. Or maybe she was doing it for some man.
She might blush like a nineteenth-century village maiden, but those eyes didn’t belong to a nice quiet girl.
‘She’s a student?’
‘According to Lady McBride’s daily.’
‘And she’s living there on her own?’
‘Yes. She wants some peace and quiet to work, apparently.’
‘I see. Well, let me know if you find the creature.’
‘Yes, Mr Mallory.’
He poured himself coffee, calling his secretary as he retreated to his bedroom.
‘Wendy,’ he said, as she picked up the phone. ‘I need you to organise some flowers.’
‘For the lovely Lilianne?’ she asked, hopefully.
‘No.’ She’d forfeited the flowers and the apology when she’d indulged herself with that cryptic note.
For that he’d make her sweat a bit before he called her again.
‘What happened?’ Wendy demanded, interrupting his train of thought.
‘What? Oh, nothing happened.’
‘Nothing? You left the party with the most beautiful woman in the room in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. What went wrong?’
‘Not a thing. I just had an idea, that’s all. I didn’t think it would take more than five minutes to check it out—’
‘And before you noticed, it was morning. You are the absolute limit, Richard.’
‘I’m a total loss as a human being,’ he agreed. ‘But my computer loves me.’
‘A computer won’t keep you warm in your old age.’
‘No, but it’ll pay the electricity company to do the job.’
‘You’ll end up a lonely old bachelor,’ she warned.
‘Read the gossip columns, Wendy,’ he said, rapidly growing bored with this conversation. ‘There are no lonely old millionaires. Bachelor or otherwise.’ Then, ‘The flowers are for my sister. It’s her wedding anniversary.’
‘I’ve already ordered some.’
‘Have you? When?’
‘The moment the invitation arrived. I offered to have a little bet with the girls in the office on the likelihood of you wriggling out of a long weekend of come-and-join-us marital bliss. Your sister, bless her, isn’t subtle. She wants you married and producing cousins for her own offspring while there’s a chance they’ll be in the same generation. But they all know you too well. I had no takers. Not even the new girl in the software lab.’
She was kidding. She had to be kidding…
‘Save the smug gloating for the ladies room, Wendy, and sort out a working lunch for the research and development team in the boardroom for one o’clock. I’ll be there in thirty minutes—’
‘I really think you should send Lilianne flowers too,’ she said, not in the least bothered by his Chairman of the Board act. ‘At the very least.’
Wendy had been with him since he’d started the company and had seen him through the bad times as well as the good. She thought it gave her the right to treat him like a rather bossy nanny. Occasionally, he allowed her to get away with it. But not today.
‘I really don’t have the time for this—’
‘Is the situation salvageable, do you think? What kind of statement do you want to make?’
Who did he think he was kidding? She always got away with it.
‘No statement of any kind.’ But, since he recognised a brick wall when he saw one, and he’d meant it when he had said he hadn’t got time for petty details, he went on, ‘Okay, I’ll concede on the flowers.’ And honesty compelled him to admit that Lilianne had had a point. She did deserve an apology. ‘But they are not to be red roses. Not roses of any hue.’
‘Terribly vulgar, red roses,’ she agreed. ‘And, besides, you’re right. It would be unkind to raise any serious expectations in the lady’s breast. She is, after all, just another passing fancy.’