The Millionaire and the Maid

Great-Aunt Edith glared. ‘But is it seemly?’

Jo glanced back at Mac, who could barely drag his gaze from her legs, and a female purr of satisfaction rose through her. ‘Oh, I expect it’s quite the opposite, Aunt Edith, but I believe that’s the point.’

Before her aunt could remonstrate further the doorbell rang and Jo went to answer it, putting a sway into her step for Mac’s benefit.

Eat your heart out.

When she returned he’d retreated to the kitchen and she could breathe easier again. He needn’t think he could come around here and get her all het-up without expecting some kind of payback.

Five additional guests had been invited to dinner, all of them longstanding friends of her grandmother’s and great-aunt’s—people Jo had known all her life.

Each of them stared at her as if they didn’t recognise her when she answered the door. They’d stare a whole lot more before she was through this evening.

She went to serve drinks, but Mac was there before her.

‘Who is that young man?’ her great-aunt demanded of her grandmother.

‘Aunt Edith, this is Malcolm MacCallum—the famous chef,’ Jo said. ‘I was his housekeeper for a short time not that long ago.’

‘Humph. I remember. I can’t believe you’d waste your education on such a lowly position as housemaid.’

‘What does it matter?’ her grandmother piped up. ‘As long as she was happy.’

Happy? Jo shoulders started to droop.

‘And I can’t believe you’re turning your back on the possibility of promotion, not to mention stability, by switching vocations so late in life.’

Late in life? Jo choked.

Mac’s lips twitched, and her great-aunt’s eyes narrowed. ‘Precisely how well do you know this Malcolm?’

She made her smile bright. ‘Very well.’

Great-Aunt Edith drew herself up to her full formidable height. ‘I’d like to know—’

‘I’m afraid it’s none of your business.’

‘Jo!’ her grandmother remonstrated.

‘Or yours either, Grandma.’

The sisters stared at each other, evidently nonplussed.

‘How long before we eat?’ Jo shot out of the corner of her mouth.

Mac cleared his throat. ‘If everyone would like to move into the dining room, I’ll serve the entrée.’

Jo silently blessed him, and moved towards the kitchen to help, but with a gentle shove he pushed her towards the dining room.

‘I have it covered.’

Right. Was he ever going to tell her what Ethan was doing at his beach house? And did it have any bearing on them—him and her?

There is no you and him.

Her grandmother sat at the head of the table and her great-aunt at the foot. Her grandmother’s allies sat on the right side of the table—which was where Jo found herself—and her great-aunt’s ranged down the left.

Like a battlefield.

As if this were a war.

And then it started.

‘Do you think it’s wise to wear such high heels when you’re such a large girl, Jo?’

‘Eadie, don’t be such an old-fashioned prig. Our Jo is the height of fashion.’

Everyone else around the table weighed in with an opinion.

‘I think that dress and those heels are perfect,’ Mac said, serving mussels in garlic sauce.’

Both sisters glared at him, united for a moment in their mutual suspicion. Jo hid a smile.

In the next instant, however, the entire table had lost themselves in the delight of the food, forgetting all about Mac. Across the table he caught her eye. He mouthed ‘perfect’ before disappearing back into the kitchen. Her pulse skittered. Her heart throbbed.

When everyone had finished the entrée her great-aunt said, ‘Jo, I really think you need to reconsider this career change you’ve been talking about.’

‘Oh, Eadie, stop fussing. If this is what Jo wants—and if it’ll make her happy—then so be it.’

‘Heavens, Lucinda—a paramedic? Any Tom, Dick or Harriet can train as one of those. Our Jo is better than that.’

‘Your Jo is quite simply the best,’ Mac said, having whisked their entrée plates away and now serving lamb so succulent it melted in the mouth.

‘She’ll become a drudge,’ her great-aunt said.

Grandma shook her head. ‘Her choice.’

‘I’d quite happily become her drudge,’ Mac said.

Jo nearly swallowed her tongue.

‘Who is he?’ her great-aunt demanded.

‘He’s Mac.’ She had no other explanation.

‘He’s her admirer,’ Grandma said.

‘If Jo had what it took to catch a man she’d have done so years ago,’ scoffed Great-Aunt Edith.