A Tycoon To Be Reckoned With. Julia James
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wealth. Dropping invitations to flash restaurants and assuming they’d be snapped up.
But immediately she refuted her own accusation.
He didn’t need money to have the impact he had on me. All he had to do was stand there and look at me...
She dragged her mind away. She had to stop this—she had to. How many times did she have to tell herself that?
‘Sarah!’ Max’s imperious call rescued her from her troubling thoughts.
She got to her feet, and Philip did too. ‘Back to the grindstone,’ she said. ‘And you scoot, Philip. Have fun with your cousin.’ She smiled, lifting a brief hand in farewell as she made her way back to the stage.
Within minutes she was utterly absorbed, her whole being focussed only on her work, and the rest of the world disappeared from sight.
* * *
‘So,’ said Bastiaan, keeping his voice studiedly casual, ‘you want to start drawing on your fund, is that it?’
The two of them were sitting outside on the shaded terrace outside the villa’s dining room. They’d eaten lunch out there and now Bastiaan was drinking coffee, relaxed back in his chair.
Or rather he appeared to be relaxed. Internally, however, he was on high alert. His young cousin had just raised the subject of his approaching birthday, and asked whether Bastiaan would start to relax the reins now. Warning bells were sounding.
Across the table from him, Philip shifted position. ‘It’s not going to be a problem, is it?’ he said.
He spoke with insouciance, but Bastiaan wasn’t fooled. His level of alertness increased. Philip was being evasive.
‘It depends.’ He kept his voice casual. ‘What is it you want to spend the money on?’
Philip glanced away, out over the gardens towards the swimming pool. He fiddled with his coffee spoon some more, then looked back at Bastiaan. ‘Is it such a big deal, knowing what I want the money for? I mean, it’s my money...’
‘Yes,’ allowed Bastiaan. ‘But until your birthday I... I guard it for you.’
Philip frowned. ‘For me or from me?’ he said.
There was a tightness in his voice that was new to Bastiaan. Almost a challenge. His level of alertness went up yet another notch.
‘It might be the same thing,’ he said. His voice was even drier now. Deliberately he took a mouthful of black coffee, replaced the cup with a click on its saucer and looked straight at Philip. ‘A fool and his money...’ He trailed off deliberately.
He saw his cousin’s colour heighten. ‘I’m not a fool!’ he riposted.
‘No,’ agreed Bastiaan, ‘you’re not. But—’ he held up his hand ‘—you could, all the same, be made a fool of.’
His dark eyes rested on his cousin. Into his head sprang the image of that chanteuse in the nightclub again—pooled in light, her dress clinging, outlining her body like a second skin, her tones low and husky...alluring...
He snapped his mind away, using more effort than he was happy about. Got his focus back on Philip—not on the siren who was endangering him. As for his tentative attempt to start accessing his trust fund—well, he’d made his point, and now it was time to lighten up.
‘So just remember...’ he let humour into his voice now ‘...when you turn twenty-one you’re going to find yourself very, very popular—cash registers will start ringing all around you.’
He saw Philip swallow.
‘I do know that...’ he said.
He didn’t say it defiantly, and Bastiaan was glad.
‘I really won’t be a total idiot, Bast—and...and I’m not ungrateful for your warning. I know—’ Bastiaan could hear there was a crack in his voice. ‘I know you’re keeping an eye on me because...well, because...’
‘Because it’s what your father would have expected—and what your mother wants,’ Bastiaan put in. The humour was gone now. He spoke with only sober sympathy for his grieving cousin and his aunt. He paused. ‘She worries about you—you’re her only son.’
Philip gave a sad smile. ‘Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘But Bast, please—do reassure her that she truly doesn’t need to worry so much.’
‘I’ll do that if I can,’ Bastiaan said. Then, wanting to change the subject completely, he said, ‘So, where do you fancy for dinner tonight?’
As he spoke he thought of Le Tombleur. Thought of the rejection he’d had the night before. Unconsciously, his face tightened. Then, as Philip answered, it tightened even more.
‘Oh, Bast—I’m sorry—I can’t. Not tonight.’
Bastiaan allowed himself a glance. Then, ‘Hot date?’ he enquired casually.
Colour ran along his cousin’s cheekbones. ‘Sort of...’ he said.
‘Sort of hot? Or sort of a date?’ Bastiaan kept his probing light. But his mood was not light at all. He’d wondered last night at the club, when he’d checked out the chanteuse himself, whether he might see Philip there as well. But there’d been no sign of him and he’d been relieved. Maybe things weren’t as bad as he feared. But now—
‘A sort of date,’ Philip confessed.
Bastiaan backed off. He was walking through landmines for the time being, and he did not want to set one off. He would have to tread carefully, he knew, or risk putting the boy’s back up and alienating him.
In a burst, Philip spoke again. ‘Bast—could I...? Could you...? Well, there’s someone I want you to meet.’
Bastiaan stilled. ‘The hot date?’ he ventured.
Again the colour flared across his cousin’s cheeks. ‘Will you?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ Bastiaan replied easily. ‘How would you like us to meet up? Would you like to invite her to dinner at the villa?’
It was a deliberate trail, and it got the answer he knew Philip had to give. ‘Er...no. Um, there’s a place in Les Pins—the food’s not bad—though it’s not up to your standards of course, but—’
‘No problem,’ said Bastiaan, wanting only to be accommodating. Philip, little did he realise it, was playing right into his hands. Seeing his cousin with his inamorata would give him a pretty good indication of just how deep he was sunk into the quicksand that she represented.
‘Great!’
Philip beamed, and the happiness and relief in his voice showed Bastiaan that his impressionable, vulnerable cousin was already in way, way too deep...
BEYOND THE SPOTLIGHT trained on her, Sarah could see Philip, sitting at the table closest to the stage, gazing up at her while she warbled through her uninspiring medley. At the end of her first set Max went backstage to phone Anton, as he always did, and Sarah stepped carefully down to the dining area, taking the seat Philip was holding out for her.
She smiled across at him. ‘I thought you’d be out with your cousin tonight, painting the Côte d’Azur red!’ she exclaimed lightly.
‘Oh, no,’ said Philip dismissively. ‘But speaking of my cousin...’ He paused, then went on in a rush, ‘Sarah, I hope you don’t mind... I’ve asked him here to meet you! You don’t mind, do you?’ he asked entreatingly.
Dismay filled her. She didn’t want to crush him, but at the same time the fewer people who knew she appeared here nightly as Sabine the better. Unless, of course, they didn’t know her as Sarah the opera singer