‘Fine!’ he agreed, barely hiding the jolt of surprise at her refusal to grab the money.
Honesty…fair play…Daisy Donahue was exhibiting a fine sense of both, making him feel slightly uncomfortable about having his own secret agenda.
‘Where is this property?’ she asked.
‘Hunters Hill.’
She pressed him for more details, weighing up the information he gave, assuring herself there was a genuine job to be done. Once they’d settled on a meeting at the house at eight o’clock on Monday morning of the next week, she took her leave of him, very firmly, and Ethan let her go, watching the seductive swish of her bottom, content with the thought he’d be seeing a lot more of Daisy Donahue in the very near future.
He was looking forward to it.
In fact, he couldn’t remember looking forward to a meeting with a woman quite so much!
CHAPTER FOUR
HUNTERS HILL…the wealthiest suburb in Sydney, according to one of the Sunday newspapers. Daisy also recalled reading that a famous Australian actress had a home there, along with other celebrities. It was no surprise that Ethan Cartwright had chosen to buy a property in such a prestigious area. Birds of a feather definitely flocked together.
Why he had chosen to pursue some kind of acquaintance with her at the Magic Millions race-day was odd in the extreme. She could only think his ego had been piqued by her dismissive behaviour. They had nothing in common. Absolutely nothing. Except they were both now paying for the outcome of that encounter—he offering her a job out of guilt, she taking it because there was no other choice immediately available.
It was far from an ideal situation, and as she drove her little car towards the address he had given, she felt increasingly anxious about whether there would be anything of real value she could do for what he would be paying her. Builders were messy and often careless. She knew that from when her parents had renovated their home. Nevertheless, she suspected that for much of the time she’d simply be watching and twiddling her thumbs.
Fortunately Hunters Hill was not a long or difficult trip from her parents’ home in Ryde, much less hassle than going across the Harbour Bridge to Lynda Twiggley’s office at Woolloomooloo. At least she would save on petrol while she worked for Ethan Cartwright. Her Hyundai Getz was a very economical car, but the price of fuel still hurt.
Anxious not to be late, Daisy had given herself plenty of time to arrive at her destination before eight o’clock. The nearer she got to it, the more impressive the properties became—big old homes set in much larger grounds than any normal suburban block. Some were massive and built of sandstone which would be horrendously expensive these days, but this was an old established area in Sydney, close to the harbour and at the mouth of the Lane Cove River.
She couldn’t imagine Ethan Cartwright living in any of them. Why would a bachelor want to rattle around alone in a mansion when a luxurious apartment right in the CBD would provide an easier lifestyle? No doubt he had simply made a shrewd investment. Even the top end of the property market had slumped—dropping millions of dollars in recent months—so it was an opportune time to buy. It was the best time to renovate, too, with so many builders out of work. He’d probably bought an old home in bad repair but on prime real estate, and was anticipating making a huge profit when fortunes changed again.
There were several tradesmen’s trucks parked along the designated street when Daisy turned into it, more or less marking the place she had to find. Confirmation of the address brought a flood of amazement. It was a mansion and it looked absolutely beautiful the way it was, at least on the outside.
The huge, white, two-storeyed house had been built with perfect symmetry, the windows and doors—all of which had French doors that opened out—matching up on both floors, which also had perfectly matching verandahs with glorious white wrought-iron railings. The roof was dark grey slate and a wide set of bluestone steps led up from a semi-circular driveway to the front door. Within this semi-circle was a large stone fountain.
There were no gardens, just green lawn and trees along the side fence-line, giving the setting a wonderful simplicity that highlighted the splendid grace of the house. The front fence and two side double gates were also of white wrought-iron in the same pattern as the verandah railings. One set of gates was open, obviously for the workmen’s use, as there was another driveway down that side of the house to the back.
A black BMW roadster was parked at the foot of the front steps—definitely a billionaire’s car, which meant her new employer was already here waiting for her. Daisy decided to drive into the grounds and park behind it. After all, she was supposed to be in charge of this project, right on site.
If Ethan Cartwright hadn’t changed his mind in the meantime.
It was a worry.
Her parents had both been very dubious about what they saw as an impulsive and irregular offer of work Daisy wasn’t trained for. She’d had to explain the circumstances of losing her job to them and they were only too painfully aware of why she had accepted this one. Her father kept muttering, ‘It isn’t right,’ and they should sell up and move somewhere cheaper—a place in one of the housing estates for senior citizens.
Daisy couldn’t bear the thought of that happening. Not only did it deeply wound her sense of justice, but it would also completely change the dynamics of the family. She’d insisted this was only a stopgap solution until she found another proper job and they weren’t to worry. She was perfectly capable of managing anything she set her mind to.
Nevertheless, her confidence wasn’t so easy to hang onto as she alighted from her car and started up the steps. Her stomach felt downright jittery. She told herself it was caused more by the prospect of having to meet Ethan Cartwright again—being subjected to his powerfully male charisma and those riveting green eyes—than trying to keep a check on the work of a team of tradesmen. Once he was gone and out of her hair, she’d be fine.
Not that he’d been in her hair. Neither was she about to let him anywhere near it. The tug of his sheer sexual impact on her female hormones was warning enough that she was dangerously attracted to the man, despite the huge differences between them. She had to maintain a hands-off policy whenever he plagued her with his presence. The way his touch affected her was far too disturbing. It could draw her into very foolish behaviour.
Today she had deliberately chosen a very downmarket appearance—a loose cotton tunic printed with daisies on a blue background, blue jeans, flat sneakers on her feet making her look even smaller in stature, a blue scrunchy holding her long, brown hair back in a ponytail, and no make-up apart from pink-brown lipstick, which was next to nothing.
It had to be patently clear to him that she was not aiming to be an object of desire in his eyes. Though she couldn’t really imagine she ever had been anyway. His pursuit of her on the Magic Millions race-day had definitely been an ego thing, not an attraction thing, and this whole business now was a fix-up thing, which was purely temporary. The X-factor problem was all on her side and it had to be kept hidden.
Having reached the front door, she took a deep, calming breath and pressed the call button. Ethan Cartwright did not give her time to twiddle her thumbs. The door was opened within seconds and the oxygen Daisy had drawn in was instantly trapped in her lungs.
The man was utterly, utterly gorgeous.
He was dressed in a superbly tailored dark grey suit, white shirt and a silk tie striped in red, grey and green. Some nose-prickling exotic cologne had been splashed on his strong, freshly shaven jaw. His thick, black hair flopped onto his forehead in an endearing wave. The green eyes sparkled as though he was delighted to see her and his smile kicked her heart into thumping like a drum.
‘Good morning!’ he said cheerfully, his rich male voice making her ears tingle.
‘Hi!’ was all she managed to croak.
‘Come on in and I’ll show you around,’ he invited, stepping back and waving her forward.
He’s not for me, he’s not for me, he’s not for me, her mind wildly recited as she willed her feet to move. The job was obviously still on. All she had to do was be sensible and adopt a strictly practical attitude.
The verandah had been tiled in a grey-and-white diamond pattern. This was repeated in the wide hallway she stepped into, but with an inset border featuring a black-and-white scroll. This border led to and framed a central staircase which curved up to the top floor, the balustrade painted in a shiny black lacquer, the steps carpeted in dark red.
‘Wow!’ she murmured.
‘Do you like the red?’ he asked, looking quizzically at her.
‘Well, the effect is very dramatic,’ she said cau tiously, unsure if this was some kind of test.
‘I’m thinking of recarpeting in green.’
‘Green would look good.’
‘You don’t have to agree,’ he said dryly.
‘No, I think green would be easier to live with. The red is a bit in your face. Though it’s all a matter of taste, isn’t it? I wouldn’t bother changing it if you’re planning to sell. Let the new owner choose.’