The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress

‘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.’

The fight in her eyes wavered into a sea of vulnerable uncertainty—the need for no break in her money chain warring with a mountain of doubts about what she might be getting into by putting herself in his power. Her throat moved convulsively. She was swallowing hard. And blinking hard.

‘Are you serious?’ she asked huskily.

‘Yes. I’m sorry for causing you so much distress,’ he said quietly, realising she was desperately trying to stem a gush of tears. ‘The least I can do is tide you over until you find better ground for yourself.’

She bit her lips. Her eyelashes swept down. She lowered her head. Her hand dropped from her hip and fretted at the pill-box hat she was holding in her other hand. ‘It might be months before I can find another job,’ she mumbled anxiously.

‘I expect the renovations will go on for months. It’s a messy business. It will be good to have someone on site, checking up on everything. Even the most reputable builders need a critical eye on them to get it all right and clean up after themselves. In effect, you’d be my PA for a special project. Okay?’

The eyelashes slowly fluttered up again. He had the weird sense of his heart turning over as she looked earnestly at him. ‘You’re really serious about this? You’ll pay me as much as Lynda Twiggley did?’

Down to the bartering line again, he thought with his usual cynicism, but if that’s what it took to get this woman he’d do it. He reached for his wallet. ‘I’ll give you an advance on your salary to seal the deal.’

She stared at his bulging wallet as he opened it—the hook that never failed to work.

‘How much were you being paid? A couple of thousand a week?’ He riffled through the notes, prepared to give her any sum she nominated. It was irrelevant to him. He’d just won two million dollars in prize money on Midas Magic.

She shook her head.

‘More? Less?’ he prompted.

Her gaze lifted, meeting his with steely pride. ‘I don’t take money I haven’t earned, Mr Cartwright. My salary was fifteen hundred dollars a week before tax. If you’re satisfied with what I can do for you after the first week of being your on-site PA, I’d appreciate it if you’d pay me then.’