The Millionaire's Daughter (The Carew Stepsisters Book 1)

by Sophie Weston

  Annis was slightly ashamed of herself. ‘I can see that,’ she admitted. ‘I decided not to replace my car for that very reason.’

  He glanced at her sideways. ‘But it’s always easier to think the worst of me, hmm?’

  Annis did not answer that. Instead she said, ‘Do you keep a car in every port?’

  ‘No. Nor a girl, either, if that’s what you were going to ask next.’

  ‘I wasn’t,’ Annis assured him sweetly, though of course she had been. ‘I was going to ask if you found it difficult switching about between left- and right-hand drive.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not as long as there’s plenty of traffic.’

  ‘Doesn’t that make it worse?’

  ‘No. When the traffic is nose to tail you don’t try and drive on the wrong side of the road.’

  Annis gave a choke of laughter. ‘That hadn’t occurred to me,’ she admitted.

  He smiled but didn’t answer. He was concentrating on easing the car through a maze of single direction lanes. In the rush-hour traffic he was driving with precision and a cool lack of impatience that Annis would not have expected.

  ‘Do you like driving?’ she asked eventually, as they left the congestion of Hyde Park Corner behind.

  ‘I suppose. I like to keep my options open. You can’t do that without wheels.’

  That was much more what she’d expected. Annis relaxed. She did not like the way Kosta kept disconcerting her. It was good to know that she had got him right in that, at least.

  ‘So what do you do when you are in your other homes?’

  ‘Rent in New York. Share in Sydney. Use the office runabout in Milan.’

  Share? Annis opened her mouth to ask him who he shared with and closed it almost as once. None of my business, she told herself firmly.

  Only—what sort of relationship would you have to have with someone to share a car with them? Close, she thought. Really close. Like, you would have to be certain that you wouldn’t want to use the car at the same time. Or that you were always going to go to the same places. Like lovers would.

  She pulled her collar up round her ears, suddenly chilled.

  I know nothing about him. Tracy says he has a different girlfriend every month. But what if he has one special girl in Sydney? Tracy would not necessarily know.

  And then another thought struck her. What does it matter to me if he has?

  She pulled her coat close at the throat and held it.

  ‘Cold? I’ll turn the heating up.’

  He flicked the glimmering control panel and a swathe of warm air curled seductively round her ankles. In spite of herself, Annis released her death grip on her coat collar.

  ‘I guess I’m just tired.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. You really don’t seem to have any switch-off mechanism at all. Don’t you ever blow up?’ He sounded irritated.

  Annis relaxed further. She was more comfortable with Kosta irritated than Kosta all warm and concerned.

  ‘I’m a work horse,’ she said with a touch of smugness. ‘Just keep on plodding on.’

  That did nothing to abate his irritation. ‘You need a good shaking up.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘For your own good,’ he said warming to his theme. ‘No one should be an automaton at twenty-nine.’

  ‘I’m not an automaton,’ protested Annis. She was slightly shaken to discover that he remembered her age so precisely. Of course it was the very first thing she had told him. But he shouldn’t have bothered committing it to that phenomenal memory. Why had he?

  His next remark told her. ‘Your parents think so too.’

  She stiffened. She knew that Vitale’s biggest project was Carew’s new head office on the river bank. Kosta had visited the site only that morning. But he had never mentioned that he had bumped into her father at any of the planning meetings. And there was no reason at all why he should meet Lynda.

  ‘My parents?’ she echoed, several degrees of frost in her voice.

  ‘All work and no play. That’s what Lynda said. She wasn’t even sure that you were coming to this fling of hers tomorrow night.’

  Annis felt her spine lengthen and mutate into pure steel.

  ‘You’re going?’ The frost had just turned polar.

  He did not look at her. ‘I’ve been on the guest list longer than you. Lynda bounced me into buying a ticket weeks ago. In fact—’ He stopped.

  Annis was so angry with herself that she did not notice. Why on earth had she not asked Lynda who else was going in the Carews’ party? She was so stupid.

  She came back to the present with a jerk. He was musing aloud.

  ‘You know, before I met you I thought you were one of those luxury ladies who try on careers for size. Rich chick messes up; Daddy buys off everyone who got hurt, and on they go, leaving the injured to lick their wounds.’

  His voice was rueful but Annis thought she detected a hint of bitterness. She would put money on there being a rich chick who’d left him somewhere in his past. Against her will, she felt a surge of something like sympathy.

  He was not aware of it, pursuing his own thoughts. ‘Only, you don’t pretend, do you? You’re the real thing. Management consultant to your unpainted fingertips.’

  Annis stuffed her hands in her pockets.

  ‘Oh, yes, you’re professional. In spades. Trouble is, you’re nothing else.’ No doubt at all now. The bitterness was steaming off him like the sybaritic in-car heating.

  ‘Thank you for the character analysis,’ said Annis with awful politeness.

  They were at the entry to the private road that led to her block. He turned the car and coasted to the barrier, winding down the window to reply to the duty porter’s disembodied query.

  ‘Vitale bringing home Miss Carew.’

  The barrier rose at once.

  ‘It only takes one visit for the porters to recognise you,’ said Annis, not best pleased.

  ‘Charm,’ said Kosta lightly.

  She snorted. The car swished through the barrier, almost silent except for the tyres on the wet tarmac.

  He smiled faintly. ‘The charm of a good story backed by hard cash. It was not easy to persuade them to mop up that flower arrangement.’

  ‘What did you tell them?’ demanded Annis, suddenly suspicious.

  ‘You wouldn’t want to know.’

  ‘But—’

  He flicked a glance sideways at her.

  ‘Be honest. You don’t really want to know about anything that’s out of your control, do you?’

  The car slid silently up to the brightly lit entrance and stopped. Annis swung round in her seat. In spite of the faint smile, his eyes were not amused.

  He forestalled her before she could speak. ‘You’re not going to ask me in. I know.’

  For a moment Annis was almost sufficiently annoyed to invite him. For a moment. Almost. Only then she saw the calculated strategy behind it.

  ‘You think you know me so well,’ she flared.

  If he was disappointed at the failure of a stratagem, he did not show it. He shrugged.

  ‘Doesn’t take much. For instance, I’d put money on you already working on your excuse for tomorrow evening.’

  Annis flung her door open. ‘Then you don’t know me as well as you think,’ she flung at him. ‘I keep my promises.’

  The contrived smile died. ‘And what does that mean?’

  ‘Some people don’t.’

  ‘You mean me,’ he interpreted. ‘When did I ever break a promise?’

  Annis thought of all the messages she had seen on his e-mail files. Woman after woman wondering why he wasn’t calling, where he was, what she had done…Her anger was like a fizzing firework in the civilised confines of the luxury car.

  ‘Some people,’ she said savagely, ‘take good care not to make promises in the first place.’

  She banged her way out of the car without looking back.

  All very satisfying at the time, but it left Annis with a probl
em. She could not, now, get out of going to the ball without climbing down in the face of Kosta’s blatant challenge. Which, of course, was out of the question.

  So what she had to do was knock his eyes out! She promised it to herself ferociously. A professional and nothing else, indeed! She would make him see exactly what else she was. She would make Konstantin Vitale grovel if she never did anything else. It would be a blow for all those women in his obsolete files.

  It was only when she simmered down that she realised the practical difficulties of turning herself into an instant knockout. She spent a strenuous morning cruising the smarter shops. Nothing worked. Her panic-level rose. Despairing, she returned home and was reluctantly contemplating a range of feeble excuses after all when Gillie Larsen rang.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ said her friend at once.

  ‘A small case of despair,’ said Annis ruefully. ‘I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.’

  ‘About time,’ said Gillie obscurely.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Never mind. Explain.’

  Annis did.

  Gillie was, as always, immensely practical. ‘Sounds like a job for style counsellor Larsen. Get yourself down here and we’ll have a head-banging session.’

  She went. Gillie, devastating in leather trousers and a figure-hugging short-sleeved top, stepped through a floor of toys and marched her straight to the spare room.

  ‘Who? What? Where?’ she said briskly. ‘And why is he worth all this bother?’

  ‘He isn’t,’ said Annis, weaving her way less daintily. A plastic fire engine crunched under her foot. ‘Oh, sorry.’

  ‘All flesh is grass,’ said Gillie, unmoved. ‘Likewise plastic vehicles. Even rich kids have to learn that.’ She waved Annis to an elaborately flounced dressing stool. ‘Sit.’ She narrowed her eyes measuringly and turned to a stuffed cupboard. ‘Why the effort if he isn’t worth the bother?’

  ‘I work for him.’

  ‘You work for lots of people.’

  Annis gave a reluctant laugh. She was remembering a little too clearly. ‘He said I was a management consultant to my unpainted fingertips,’ she said in a rush.

  Gillie blinked. ‘You’re joking, right?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you minded?’

  ‘Yes, I—’ Annis caught up with the implications of Gillie’s tone. ‘Of course I minded,’ she said heatedly. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Oh, I would,’ agreed Gillie.

  ‘Well, then—’

  There was a brief pause. Then Gillie seemed to pull herself together.

  ‘Right. One management consultant, fully transformed. We can do that.’

  Gillie ran her finger along the rail. ‘If you’re ending the evening together you’ll want something he can slip you out of without a degree in advanced engineering.’

  Annis swallowed. By a supreme effort of will she neither blushed nor allowed her mind to dwell on the too easily conjured up picture of Kosta slipping her out of anything. Nevertheless she was aware of a faint uneasiness at what she had unleashed.

  ‘Don’t get carried away.’

  ‘I won’t. You, on the other hand, might,’ Gillie said. She sounded pleased.

  Selecting a couple of hangers, she threw their contents carelessly onto the bed behind her. ‘A woman has to be prepared for every eventuality.’

  ‘Not that one,’ said Annis firmly.

  Gillie turned bright eyes on her. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well—er—’

  ‘You want to knock his eyes out? You gotta take the consequences.’

  ‘Maybe this was a bad idea,’ said Annis, getting up.

  Gillie pursed her lips, considering something in fuchsia. ‘Why?’

  ‘These—’ Annis gestured at the fabulous pile of silks and velvets ‘—are much too glamorous for me. I couldn’t keep up.’

  ‘So why all this concern about what you wear in the first place?’ demanded Gillie shrewdly.

  Annis gave a gusty sigh and said simply, ‘I got mad.’

  ‘Fine. Stay mad,’ Gillie advised. ‘I’ve been wanting to do this for years. You have a figure to die for. It’s criminal the way you waste it.’

  ‘Th-thank you,’ said Annis, startled.

  ‘That was not a compliment.’ She turned back to her wardrobe, tapping her teeth. ‘Now, what about chestnut satin?’

  In spite of herself Annis looked and squawked in alarm. ‘I can’t wear that. It hasn’t got any front.’

  ‘That’s the point. You provide the front.’ Gillie turned the hanger round with a flourish.

  Annis made a discovery. ‘And less back. I couldn’t wear that. I’d be terrified.’

  Gillie raised her eyebrows. ‘That’ll be a culture shock. You’ll get used to it.’

  Annis shook her head. ‘No way. That’s the sort of thing Bella wears, not me.’

  ‘It would knock his eyes out, though,’ said Gillie, wheedling.

  ‘And give me a nervous breakdown.’ Annis put the bronze dress down with determination. ‘Do you think there’s anything in there that will do?’

  Gillie grinned. ‘Is the world round? Brace yourself. I am going to make you irresistible.’

  She did not quite do that. But after a kaleidoscope half-hour of lime-greens and petrol-blues, leather and velvet, silk and fur, Annis was at last stunned into accepting an outfit that, Gillie assured her, would drive any man wild with desire.

  ‘You mean it doesn’t look as if it was designed for the management consultants’ annual bun-fight?’ said Annis, concentrating on essentials.

  ‘Absolutely not. All I have to do is take the hem up a bit.’

  ‘Why? It looks fine.’

  Gillie smiled pityingly. ‘It will spoil the transformation scene if you go up the grand staircase and fall flat on your face because you catch your toe in your skirt. Leave it to me.’ She pushed her towards the door of the apartment. ‘I’ll bring it up. Go and do what normal women do when they’re going on a hot date.’

  ‘It’s not a date…’

  ‘Sure. And you’re not going with the laser-tongued sex god, either,’ said Gillie tolerantly. She thrust Annis out of the door. ‘Go and have a scented bath and paint your nails. You know you want to. That’ll really show him.’

  Annis did.

  As it turned out, that was unwise.

  Gillie did not deliver the dress herself. Instead she entrusted a large shiny purple carrier bag to the porters to deliver. A short note was attached.

  We’ve taken the kids out for pizza, so we’ll be out when you leave for your party. Herewith the dress and my gold choker in case you haven’t got anything that will do. I guarantee irresistible. Enjoy!

  Puzzled, Annis pulled aside tissue paper. She had half expected Gillie to come up and help her dress and was a little hurt that her friend had not thought of it.

  But as soon as she drew out the dress she knew why Gillie had done a bunk. It was the gleaming chestnut satin. All the soothing effects of a neroli-scented bath exploded as Annis swore and started to rip her way through her own wardrobe, knowing that it was hopeless.

  She rang Lynda.

  ‘Don’t tell me. You’re not coming. Everyone said you wouldn’t turn up when it came to it.’

  About to say exactly that, Annis paused. Everyone had said that? Including Kosta Vitale, no doubt. Well, she was not going to give him the satisfaction of predicting her actions correctly.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ said Annis between her teeth. ‘I may a bit late, though.’

  ‘I’ll leave your ticket at the entrance,’ promised Lynda.

  So rather more than an hour later Annis squared her shoulders and walked into the grand ballroom of the eighteenth-century house that Lynda’s committee had hired for their ball. There were great branches of free-standing candelabra in the marble entrance hall and the scent of hot-house lilies everywhere. Intricate eighteenth-century plasterwork had been spectacularly gilded and the pillars seemed to shimmer in the candle
light.

  But Annis was beyond noticing her exotic surroundings. She had never felt so self-conscious in her life.

  Gillie’s dress was cut on the cross. That meant that when Annis walked or danced it would swirl beautifully but when she stood still it clung. How it clung!

  Bella was the first to see her. She rushed over.

  ‘Brains, you look fantastic.’ She sounded stunned. ‘I wouldn’t have recognised you.’

  Annis grimaced. ‘That makes two of us.’

  Then she took in Bella’s own appearance and blinked. Bella was wearing black—high-necked, long-sleeved and a filigree butterfly in her hair.

  ‘Looks as if we’ve changed style.’

  Bella grinned. ‘Don’t you believe it.’

  Annis grimaced. ‘I don’t feel like myself at all.’

  ‘But it’s great. Don’t you feel wonderful?’

  Annis considered. ‘I feel,’ she said precisely, ‘like a very old wall that has just been spray-painted dayglo orange. You can see every bump and bulge.’

  Bella giggled. ‘Yup,’ she said in congratulatory tones. ‘You certainly can.’

  A couple that Annis knew from her childhood walked past. Normally they would have stopped and chatted for several minutes. Tonight, though, the woman gave her a wintry smile and speeded up, tightening her grip on her husband’s arm. His eyes never rose above Annis’s cleavage.

  ‘First blood of the evening,’ Bella murmured in her ear.

  Annis resisted the temptation to check her swathed apology for sleeves. They were set at an angle and were cleverly designed to look as if they were falling off, presumably to be followed by the whole dress.

  ‘Everyone is staring,’ she hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

  ‘That’s my girl,’ said Bella, pleased.

  Annis was wearing her mother’s ruby choker. It was old-fashioned but the crimson stones made her skin look impossibly white and soft. Now she fussed with its single blood-red teardrop. It was designed to rest in the hollow of her throat but the beat of her pulse kept jumping it off centre.

  ‘Don’t fidget with that.’