The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress. Emma Darcy
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at this stage of their lives. They deserved a carefree retirement.
Their investment advisor had got it hopelessly wrong. Last year’s share market slide had sliced over thirty percent off their superannuation savings. The resulting loss of income was never going to be recovered. Neither was there any hope of the situation improving during this recession.
The rest of the family wasn’t in a position to help. Her three older brothers and one sister were all married with young families, struggling to make ends meet. Two of her brothers, Ken and Kevin, had been laid off by their employers in the workforce squeeze. Keith had gone into business for himself and was feeling the pinch. Violet, her sister, had an autistic son who needed so much care, her marriage was very rocky because of it. They simply couldn’t cope with more pressure on their shoulders.
Which meant she was the only one who could carry the load. By far the youngest—the late accidental pregnancy—she had moved back to her parents’ suburban home in Ryde to give them the rent money she’d been paying for her share-apartment in the inner city, as well as covering most of the food bills to ensure her parents didn’t stint on their diet in their anxiety over the debt. Her contribution meant the monthly interest bill could be paid, but it was an endless cycle. She didn’t make enough money to pay off the loan.
What really irked her was if her parents had sought out Ethan Cartwright to manage their nest-egg…But how were ordinary people supposed to know he was the man to go to? There’d been no publicity about him until after the economic crash. Besides, he probably only dealt with multi-millionaires. The big spenders in this marquee only mixed with each other.
The commentator’s voice rose several decibels as the race began, calling out a string of names. A hubbub of excitement broke out from the spectators gathered in front of the television screens. Daisy rigidly refused to look, resenting how much money these people were prepared to risk on stupid bets. It was a well-known fact that race-fixing went on all the time. If you weren’t in the know…although perhaps the Magic Millions was different with all the owners wanting their new purchases to perform well in such a prestige event.
‘Midas Magic hits the front at the turn and is starting to leave the field behind. He’s two lengths ahead…three…four…no one’s going to catch him!’
The screaming from the commentator assaulted her ears. And her heart. The man who had everything was about to get a lot more with his horse winning this race. It wasn’t fair. It vexed her even further that he’d put her in the know and she had ignored his advice, sticking to her principles of not taking any gambles. Besides, who could believe that any horse was a sure thing?
Lynda Twiggley for one!
Daisy scrambled guiltily to her feet as her employer came bursting out of a group of people, gleefully brandishing a betting ticket and catching her PA sitting down on the job. ‘I won! I won!’ she cried. ‘Isn’t it marvellous? Ten thousand lovely dollars!’
‘Ten thousand?’ Daisy repeated, totally stunned by the amount.
‘Yes. I wouldn’t have taken such a plunge on a horse if Ethan Cartwright hadn’t recommended it,’ Lynda archly confided. ‘Such a gorgeous, clever man! He’s made my day!’
‘I’m very pleased for you, Miss Twiggley,’ Daisy managed to force out. At least it had put her employer in a good mood, unlikely to snipe at any shortcomings she perceived in her PA.
The glittery blue eyes narrowed in determined calculation. ‘Now I must get him to look at my shares portfolio. If I can net him into another tête-á-tête, don’t interrupt us for anything, Dee-Dee. Should any problem arise, use your own initiative to solve it. That’s what I’ve trained you for.’
‘I won’t go near him,’ Daisy firmly promised.
She couldn’t stand seeing him shine with triumph anyway. It would be sickening. Privately she thought her employer had little chance of netting him again. Ethan Cartwright had tried to hang onto the diversion of Daisy’s gaffe in interrupting their last encounter, insisting on being properly introduced, continuing to speak to her despite Lynda’s obvious impatience for her to be gone.
He wouldn’t have bothered trying to connect with her under ordinary circumstances. She was way beneath his notice. He’d simply been using her for his own purpose—breaking up a meeting he didn’t like. She wished she could dismiss him from her mind. Everything he stood for stirred her up. Worst of all was the fact that she’d felt an undeniable physical attraction to the man. Which was understandable, given that he was a standout male, but she hated him all the more for it, making her want what she knew could never be available to her.
‘I’d kill for a cup of coffee right now. I wish they’d get on with serving it.’
The whining complaint from one of the models—very much a VIP, having been chosen to star on the runway for Victoria’s Secret—sent Daisy straight to the catering tent to investigate the delay. Lynda Twiggley would have a fit if she heard one of her prized guests being put out by any failure in the arrangements made for their pleasure and comfort. Bad PR. It was up to Daisy to prevent or fix anything bad.
Two of the chefs were having a raging argument and their assistants all looked rigid with tension, doing nothing but watching from the sidelines. This catering outfit was being very highly paid to do a top-class job and they weren’t delivering. Daisy steeled herself to walk right into the line of fire between the fighting chefs and remind them of their prime responsibility.
‘People are asking for coffee,’she stated briskly, giving both of them a stern look. ‘It should be out there being served. VIP guests don’t like to be left wanting anything.’
It startled them into turning their attention to her.
‘It’s also supposed to be accompanied by chocolates and petits-fours. Are they ready to go?’ she ran on, reminding them of what was expected, then adding a sensible warning. ‘You don’t want to lose your good reputation with these people. They always remember delays like this.’
One of the temperamental chefs threw up his hands and glared around at the motionless staff. ‘Move! Move! Get on with it!’
Satisfied she had made her point, Daisy returned to the VIP marquee, intending to assure the model that coffee was on its way. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Ethan Cartwright chatting to her. Venomous thoughts exploded in her head. Nothing but the best for a man like him! She’d known—of course, she’d known—he wasn’t really interested in a little brown cow. This was reality—birds of a feather flocked together.
No doubt the magnificent model had taken his advice to bet on Midas Magic, too. The two high-flyers were both beaming with the pleasure of victory, making Daisy’s stomach churn from the terrible injustice of it all.
Ethan felt it again, his whole body tingling from a blast of electric energy. He turned his head, his gaze instinctively homing in on the source—Daisy Donahue, her eyes blazing at him with feral animosity, stirring the urge to do battle with her, catch her, cage her until she was tamed to his satisfaction. The weird, exciting thoughts raced through his mind, swiftly followed by Mickey’s catch-cry—seize the day.
He’d looked for her without success when he’d reentered the marquee after the race. Now here she was a few metres away, within easy reach, the challenge she threw out drawing him like a magnet. He automatically started to move towards her, their eyes locked in a duel of sizzling passion.
‘Ethan?’
The full-of-herself model he’d been talking to was calling him back. He’d forgotten his manners. ‘Please excuse me, Talia,’ he swiftly tossed back at her. ‘Someone I have to see.’
In that brief moment of disengagement with Daisy she’d taken flight, dodging behind groups of people, apparently intent on hiding from him. It spurred Ethan on to catch up with her, force a face-to-face confrontation. He sliced through the throng, his interest aroused to an intensity that surprised him, his heart beating like a battle drum as he intercepted her attempted escape,