The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress. Emma Darcy
being carried by him any more. He’d put her on a chair and was sitting beside her. Despite the fact that he’d shoved her head down to her knees, it was still swimming, and he had his arm around her in support, which she probably needed, though she hated needing anything from him. He’d just destroyed the lifeline to keeping her parents in their home.
‘Fetch her a glass of water, will you, Mickey?’
His voice upset her even further, loaded with concern. After the event. No concern when it really mattered.
‘Sure. And here’s her hat. It dropped off on the way.’
Total indignity on top of everything else!
By the time the glass of water came, she was steady enough to lift her head and sip it. ‘Thanks,’ she muttered to the man who’d brought it—Mickey Bourke, another A-list bachelor with no worries about where his next dollar was coming from.
‘I’ll look after her now,’ Ethan Cartwright said, dismissing his friend.
‘Right!’ Mickey Bourke grinned at him. ‘Nothing like seizing the day! Go for it, man!’
Seizing the day? The phrase scraped over all the jagged edges in Daisy’s mind. Her day, her job, a secure future for her parents had all been wrecked by Ethan Cartwright going for what he wanted. She felt like throwing the glass of water in his face, sober up some of the blind ego that had completely overlooked what he’d been doing to her. But what good would that achieve?
Despair squeezed her heart.
‘Are you feeling better, Daisy?’ he asked caringly.
Nothing could make her feel better. ‘Well enough for you to remove your arm,’ she answered tersely, sitting up straight and stiffening her shoulders to show him his support was no longer needed. Or welcome.
‘Okay, but you should keep sitting for a while. Maybe you should eat something. Did you have any lunch?’
No, she hadn’t, which might have contributed to her fainting, although she was used to running on empty in this job. Except she didn’t have a job any more. Which was all his fault.
She turned to face him, anger spurting off her tongue. ‘It’s a bit late to start caring about me, Mr Cartwright. The damage is done.’
He grimaced, but there was no regret in the green eyes boring into hers. ‘Lynda Twiggley was doing you a damage, making you bow to her tyranny.’
‘I could manage that. If you hadn’t interfered, I’d still have my job.’
‘You didn’t like it,’ he said with certainty.
‘What’s like got to do with it?’ she cried in exasperation. ‘It was the best paid job I’ve ever had and I need the money. You have no idea how much I need it. You’ve probably never known a moment’s worry over money in your entire life.’
His mouth tilted into an ironic smile. ‘Actually I carry the burden of worrying about money all the time.’
‘Big money!’ she corrected savagely. ‘Not lifedestroying lack of income.’
He frowned. ‘Surely it’s not that bad!’
‘It most certainly is!’ She quickly sipped some more water. The vehement bursts of emotion were making her feel light-headed again. Or maybe it was him sitting so close to her, exerting his mega-male attraction. A woman could drown in those green eyes.
‘I’m sorry. I thought you’d be better off in another job,’ he said with the first hint of apology.
‘You didn’t think at all,’ she muttered furiously. ‘Not on my level.’
‘What do you mean…your level?’
She lashed him with grim realities. ‘The level where people struggle to make ends meet. Where the job market is getting tighter every day. Where being out of work can bring everything crashing down.’
‘Are you in debt?’ he asked, his eyes seriously probing hers, making her heart jiggle with the wish he really did care. This was a man who could turn everything around for her parents if he wanted to. And he had a physical magnetism that was getting to her again.
‘No. Yes.’ She heaved a desolate sigh. ‘My parents are. And if I don’t pay the interest to the bank, they’ll lose their home. They can’t do it. It’s up to me.’
‘Well, there’s a twist,’ he dryly commented. ‘I thought the Y generation lived off their parents, not the other way around.’
He wasn’t interested. She’d been stupid to entertain the wild thought, even for a second, that such a highflyer would come to the rescue of ordinary people.
‘You live on a different planet, Ethan Cartwright,’ she retorted bitterly.
‘I believe in people being responsible for themselves. If your parents incurred a debt, it’s up to them to—’
‘You don’t know anything,’ she snapped. ‘Sometimes people can’t manage for themselves.’
‘Okay. Tell me the circumstances,’ he invited.
‘As if you care!’ Her eyes savaged him for his irresponsibility. ‘You didn’t care about the consequences to me when you ignored my plea to let me go. You didn’t care about offending my boss so deeply I didn’t have a chance of hanging onto my job. And just how do you think I’m going to get another highly paid position without a glowing reference from Lynda Twiggley? I’m dead in the water.’
She banged her glass down on the floor, stood up, and snatched her hat from his hands. ‘Goodbye, Mr Cartwright. I can’t say it was pleasure meeting you.’
‘Wait!’
He was on his feet so fast and blocking the direct route to the exit of the marquee, Daisy had no choice but to halt and face him again. She lifted a belligerent chin as she demanded, ‘What for?’
Ethan didn’t have a ready answer. He was acting purely on the need to keep Daisy Donahue in his life. She was magnificent—cheeks flaring with colour again, big brown eyes flashing a fierce challenge at him, her petite figure powering up to fight him. He remembered how her soft, feminine curves had felt when he had been carrying her. Add the vitality of the passion he felt coming from her now…the thought of having all that locked in his arms sent fiery tingles to his groin.
An answer came to him.
He’d created the situation which was driving her away from him.
He had to reverse it.
‘I’ll give you a job,’ he said.
Her eyes widened in astonishment, then narrowed with suspicion. ‘What as? Your cleaning lady?’
There was a huge appeal in that image—Daisy on her hands and knees, scrubbing his floors, her perky bottom swaying with the action. But he knew he was dead if he suggested it. His mind whizzed to other possibilities. He didn’t need a PA. His business was fully staffed. No room for her there. So what could he offer that she wouldn’t turn down flat?
‘You need a lifeline, right?’ he said, hedging for time to come up with an acceptable rescue package. ‘A stopgap until you can find a job that suits you?’
‘If I have to clean floors, I will, but they won’t be yours,’ she vowed rebelliously, one hip jutting out as she stuck a hand on it, emphasising the fascinating smallness of her waist. ‘You are the last person I want to do anything for right now.’
Ethan smothered a sigh. Feudal lord and serving girl was not an appealing picture to her. Although if he wrapped it up in gold paper…
‘How about executive housekeeper? I’ve recently bought a property I’ve started on renovating. You could oversee the tradesmen’s work, ensure that everything’s kept in order. I’ll pay you the same salary you earned with Lynda Twiggley.’