Secret Billionaire on Her Doorstep

by Michelle Douglas

‘Do you think we could smuggle him into the hospital with us? I bet Mr Singh would love to see him and—’

  ‘No.’

  But his lips twitched as he said it, and things started to feel more comfortable between them again. Her pulse was slowly returning to normal.

  She told him the name of the hospital and he gestured towards the path they should take.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CALLIE WORE THE softest woollen sweater in butter-yellow and a striped scarf in mint-green and orange. She looked like a summer day in spring, but the moment she slid into the car beside Owen he knew something was wrong.

  Yeah, idiot, you kissed her!

  It was five days since their afternoon tea and their walk in the park. And that kiss. Of course she was going to be stand-offish. She’d made it clear she didn’t want a repeat performance.

  He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. What on earth had possessed him to kiss her? He’d asked himself that same question over and over, but still couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. Nor could he dredge up a satisfactory amount of regret. The kiss itself had been sensational. Not that it could happen again.

  Irritatingly, he found he could dredge up more than enough regret about that.

  He ground his back molars together. That was why he had to play it cool now. After exchanging a brusque greeting with her, he focussed his attention on the traffic and getting out of the city. The family estate of Ellerslie was in Cooperstown, nearly four hours away, and they were aiming to arrive by lunchtime.

  Callie made no effort at small talk, and she only turned every now and again to check on Barney, who dozed in his crate on the back seat.

  He glanced across when they were finally free of the city, his index fingers tapping on the steering wheel. Was it just that kiss or was something else on her mind?

  ‘I didn’t think to ask, but do you get car sick?’

  ‘No.’ She hunkered down further in her seat, arms folded. ‘Though I still don’t know what was wrong with taking the train. I checked, and it would’ve been fine for us to take Barney.’

  ‘We’ll have more freedom with the car.’ He fought a frown. ‘Besides, Barney will be far more comfortable in the car than he’d be on a train.’

  They’d discovered that Mr Singh, Barney’s owner, lived a short walk from the apartment block. The elderly man wasn’t due out of hospital for another week. They’d assured him they’d be delighted to continue looking after Barney till then.

  Owen tried coaxing her out of her odd mood. ‘How many times have you been to see Mr Singh this week?’

  ‘Every day,’ she answered, as if it were the most stupid question ever asked. ‘He needs someone to coax him to go for his twice-daily walks. Anyway, he’s good company.’

  And Owen wasn’t?

  He tried to quash that thought. It was pathetic, being jealous of a man who was old enough to be Callie’s grandfather. Besides, he wasn’t jealous. Mr Singh was minus one kidney. He’d just been through a major operation. With Callie to bear him company, though, Owen didn’t doubt Mr Singh would now make great strides forward in his recovery.

  Callie might not realise it, but she was a lot like her grandmother. She saw a need and rushed to meet it—whether it involved stray dogs, high school seniors wrestling with math problems, or lonely old men.

  ‘I’ve dropped in on Mr Singh’s neighbour a couple of times too—the one who was supposed to be looking after Barney. She felt so bad about him getting away from her... She’d been scouring the streets for him.’

  ‘Didn’t she see the posters?’

  ‘She’s seventy-seven. If she wasn’t wearing her glasses... I know what you’re doing, you know—you’re trying to distract me.’

  The collar of his polo shirt—a staid and boring navy—tightened. ‘From what?’

  ‘Of you going to the trouble and expense of hiring a car!’

  Was that what had been bothering her? ‘No trouble. No expense. Callie, this is a company car.’

  As he owned the company, he technically owned the car. Not that Callie knew that. He’d made damn sure she had no idea. But the lie was starting to rankle.

  He opened his mouth. He closed it again. His financial situation had no bearing on their relationship. Besides, what they had wasn’t a relationship. It was an...association. He and Callie had made a deal. As soon as she got this job he’d never see her again. He’d buy the apartment block. And everyone would be happy.

  Unbidden, the memory of their kiss rose through him. If he hadn’t been driving he’d have closed his eyes to try to shut it out. If she hadn’t been sitting beside him, he’d have sworn out loud.

  It had just been a kiss—nothing more—a crazy, impulsive moment that had been brief and perfect. He told himself part of its perfection was due to its very transience.

  Yet that hadn’t stopped the kiss from being on a slow-motion replay in his mind for the last five days. Five days in which he’d barely seen her. Oh, she’d dropped Barney off whenever she went out. And she’d been going out a lot. But she hadn’t volunteered to tell him where she was going and he’d refused to ask.

  He gripped the steering wheel. He had to stop thinking about that kiss and he needed to get their...association back on an even keel.

  Before he could come up with a neutral topic of conversation she closed her eyes. He didn’t know if she was feigning sleep or not, but he let her be.

  Damn! She’d been so excited about filming at the estate and now she could barely stand to look at him.

  When she stirred an hour later, he had a question ready for her. ‘Hey, sleepy-head, I’ve been meaning to ask—did you get a chance to meet with your mother’s friend? The Ryder woman?’

  ‘Hitchcock now—Melissa Hitchcock.’ She stretched and straightened. ‘I met with her yesterday. She seems lovely, and was really pleased to see some up-to-date photos of my mother...asked me to send her best, et cetera. But as for shedding any light on my paternity...’

  ‘No luck?’ That would explain her low spirits.

  ‘She thought my best bet would be to talk to Richard.’

  ‘Donna hated Richard. Why did Melissa think he could help?’

  She pushed her hands through her hair. ‘She said he always seemed to know a lot about other people’s business.’

  Charming.

  She was quiet again for a long time. Several times Owen opened his mouth to ask if anything was wrong, but shut it again. If they were friends, he’d ask. If they hadn’t kissed, he’d ask. But they weren’t, and they had, so he didn’t.

  ‘Did you organise those painters?’ she finally blurted out. ‘Three men showed up before we left this morning, saying they’d been hired to paint the interior of my apartment.’

  ‘Finally!’ He feigned exasperation. ‘The apartment should’ve been painted weeks ago. Frances refused to have it done while she was alive—didn’t want her peace disturbed. She hated having tradesmen of any kind in the place. I’m sorry, I didn’t think to warn you.’

  She stared out through the front windscreen, her hands gripping her opposite elbows. ‘I rang Mr Dunkley. He knew nothing about it, though he told me the firm was a reputable one that he’d often used and recommended.’

  Damn. He hadn’t thought to clue the lawyer in.

  ‘Then I rang the firm to find out when they’d been booked, and they told me it was a rush job and they’d only been hired on Monday.’

  He grimaced. Sprung.

  She stared at him. ‘So it was you. You want to tell me why?’

  Things inside him knotted. ‘Are you mad at me?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  Why would she be mad at him? He’d organised it for her benefit.

  ‘The truth is it should’ve been done before you arrived in New York...’

  ‘But
you didn’t want to change things.’ She turned to face him fully. ‘That’s understandable. You were grieving.’

  ‘But seeing you in the apartment—getting used to seeing you there—has made me realise how damn gloomy the place is. You’re spending a lot of time in it—working, living, sleeping there. You deserve something better than a...a dreary brown box.’

  He’d been about to say prison, but checked himself. It wasn’t a prison. And he refused to think of it as a prison for Frances either. It had been a haven.

  ‘Why did you lie about it being something you’d organised ages ago?’

  His collar threatened to cut off his air supply. ‘I didn’t want you feeling it was a nuisance or that I was going to a lot of bother—which I wasn’t, by the way.’ He glanced at her briefly then back at the road, and swallowed. ‘I didn’t want you refusing and putting up with all that depressing brown. I didn’t want you getting into a funk.’

  Something flashed through her eyes and her lips briefly flattened. A bad taste stretched through his mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve been upfront with you. But it’s been an emotional time and...’ His words petered out. ‘You’re mad.’

  ‘I’m not mad.’

  He didn’t believe her.

  ‘I’ll be glad to be rid of the brown. It was nice of you to think of it.’

  All he’d done since Callie had landed in New York was think about her. He stretched his neck, first to the left and then to the right. As soon as she started her new job and her new life things would return to normal.

  ‘But...’ she said.

  Something in her tone had everything inside him clenching twice as hard.

  ‘Can I ask you not to make any more decisions like that? I know you’re Frances’s executor, but for the time being at least the apartment belongs to me. I should be the one to make any decisions about it. I mean, what if I’d organised painters myself?’

  He stiffened.

  She huffed out a laugh. ‘Relax! I haven’t. It seemed too much trouble to go to when the future is still so uncertain.’

  He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. ‘This is what’s been bugging you since you hopped in the car?’

  ‘Technically it’s been bugging me since the painters knocked on my door.’

  ‘Why didn’t you have this out with me earlier instead of sitting there stewing in silence?’

  ‘If your actions had been mean-spirited, Owen, I’d have raked you over the coals before I even entered the car. But you organising the painters wasn’t mean-spirited. You were trying to look after me in the same way you do with Lissy.’

  ‘But it’s still irked you?’

  ‘Because I’m a grown up! You took a decision I should be making out of my hands. You’ve no right to do that!’

  He snorted. ‘You sure you’re not mad?’

  Her eyes flashed and he berated himself for poking at her.

  ‘Sorry...’

  From the corner of his eye he saw her haul in a deep breath, as if trying to compose herself.

  ‘I’m not long out of a relationship with a man who...’

  He found himself gripping the steering wheel too hard again. ‘Who what?’ He barely recognised his own voice.

  ‘Who tried to rob me of my power. Who almost succeeded.’

  He swung to her, appalled. ‘I wasn’t trying to do that.’

  ‘I know—which is why I’m not mad. I know you’re looking out for me because of the obligation you feel towards Frances.’

  Except it was starting to feel like a whole lot more than that.

  ‘I’m really sensitive to anyone taking advantage of me or overstepping boundaries at the moment. Normally I’d have let it pass. But after Dominic I swore to myself I’d stop being a doormat.’

  He mulled her words over. ‘So me going over your head to organise something you were more than capable of organising yourself...?’

  ‘Pushed all my buttons.’ She twisted her hands in her lap. ‘It’s not so easy to slap someone’s wrist for overstepping boundaries when the service offered is kindly meant.’

  He reached out and clasped her hands. The tension radiating from them told him it had taken courage for her to raise the topic and stick up for herself, to claim her power. But she’d still done it, and he admired her for it.

  ‘You have my sincerest apologies—along with my promise to observe all appropriate boundaries from now on. I’ve no wish to make you feel less capable or less anything, Callie.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The smile she sent him had heat gathering in his veins. He reefed his hand back, hastily reminding himself about appropriate boundaries.

  ‘So...’ She shuffled down in her seat, the movement easy and relaxed. ‘Did you get my party invitation?’

  It had been slipped under his door yesterday afternoon. ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘It’ll be nice to have the apartment looking fresh for that.’ She surveyed her fingernails. ‘Are you going to come?’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Who else have you invited?’

  ‘All the other tenants. I so hope they come.’

  He made a vow to ensure each and every one of them turned up.

  She rattled off three names in quick succession. ‘They’re the girls you met in the park, plus their parents.’

  She’d met their parents?

  ‘And I’ve invited your mother, Jack and Lissy. Mr Dunkley and his wife. As well as Josephine, Eliza and Betty. Melissa Hitchcock and her husband.’ She waved a hand in the air. ‘And a few other people.’

  He started to laugh. ‘Who else have you had a chance to meet?’

  She gave an exaggerated eye-roll. ‘A couple of librarians I became friendly with at the library...the coffee shop manager from that place on the corner.’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘I love a good party, don’t you?’

  Not really. Not that he said as much. ‘Sure.’

  She laughed. ‘Liar. I remember—you’re an island unto yourself.’

  ‘I’m not! I—’

  The gates to the estate had come into view, along with a big brass plaque with the word Ellerslie burned into it, and the sight of it had his protest dying in his throat.

  Callie gave a funny little hiccup and swung towards him. ‘Pull over.’

  He did as she asked.

  ‘Remember when we were talking in the park the other day about how you shouldn’t let a broken heart turn you into a hermit?’

  He remembered every pulse and nuance of their time in the park. And the seriousness of her expression now punched him in the gut.

  ‘Would you react that way if some careless or conniving girl broke your heart?’

  It struck him then that that was exactly what he had done when he’d discovered Fiona’s duplicity. Not as completely as Frances, admittedly, but he’d definitely cut himself off and shut himself away. And forcing himself out in the service of helping Callie solve her family mystery felt good.

  ‘It might send me to ground for a while—give me a chance to lick my wounds in private,’ he said slowly. ‘But not for good.’

  It felt freeing to know that he meant it.

  Callie smiled then—a real, straight-from-the-heart smile that pierced through him, sweet and pure.

  ‘Good. You deserve better than that. We all do. I think we should make a pact in Frances’s memory. A pact to never let disappointment in love or a broken heart let our worlds become smaller and narrower.’

  His mouth went unaccountably dry. He had to swallow before he could speak. ‘Callie, what are you afraid of? What do you think we’re going to discover?’

  The hand she’d held out for him to shake lowered. She stared at the ornate gates and chafed her arms. ‘I don’t know. That’s what worries me.’

  ‘We do
n’t have to go through with this, you know... Maybe some secrets shouldn’t see the light of day.’

  ‘It feels too late to turn back.’

  He knew what she meant, but...

  She grimaced. ‘It feels as if the lid on that can of worms you mentioned has been peeled halfway back already, and I can’t pick up all the worms and put them back in.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘That’s a seriously disgusting analogy. I just mean I’ll always have questions now.’

  ‘Callie—’

  ‘No, ignore me.’ Shaking her head, she pulled in a breath. ‘This is a bout of nerves—nothing more. I’m fine. It’s just—’ She swung towards him again. ‘Owen, whatever we find out, I should hate for it to mar your memory of Frances.’

  He reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘You don’t have to worry about me, Callie. My regard for Frances is steadfast, whatever happens.’ He gestured. ‘Are you ready?’

  She pushed her shoulders back and nodded. ‘I’m ready.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE DRIVE CURVED around a low hill and the house came into view as they rounded it, nestled neatly in the middle of the rise opposite. Even though Callie had seen photos of the house, coming face to face with it was still awe-inspiring.

  Owen let loose a low whistle. ‘Now, that’s what I call an impressive piece of architecture.’

  The house was a late-Georgian mansion, and its white stone gleamed in the spring sunshine, while the surrounding fields were lush with new growth, providing a perfect contrast. Further afield paddocks were neatly ploughed. It all looked fresh and clean and perfect.

  He shook his head. ‘This must cost a ridiculous amount in upkeep.’

  Callie’s research came to her rescue, helping to keep the panic from rising up and choking her. ‘It pays for itself. Ellerslie has a successful dairy breeding programme. The estate also makes its own cheese. They’ve not won any national awards—yet—but they’ve been runners-up. I’m guessing that’s all housed over there.’

  She gestured to the cluster of large buildings some distance away to their left and then stared about. All of this now belonged to her mother. Had Donna spent a lot of time here as a girl? Did it hold fond memories for her? No memories? Bad memories?