Rendezvous With Revenge

‘Thafs some smile, Miss Richmond. I take it you won’t mind my being absent next Friday?’

Was it his sardonic remark, or the intensity of his gaze on her mouth which rattled her? Whatever, her smile faded immediately, although her heart began pounding behind her ribs and she found herself staring back at his mouth and wondering how it would feel upon hers.

Abby could hardly believe her train of thought. Lord, she didn’t even like the man. Yet here she was, fantasising about his making love to her.

Self-disgust made her stiffen inside. She straightened to her full five feet nine inches and delivered a cool look across the desk. ‘It makes no difference to me, Dr Grant, whether you’re here or not.’

His laugh was as cold as his eyes. ‘No. I can see that. Which is just as well, I suppose. That way you’ll be able to give the proposition I’m about to make a totally unbiased consideration.’

‘P-proposition? What proposition?’

‘Don’t look so alarmed, Miss Richmond. I’m not about to ask you to do anything immoral or criminal. I am, however, in an awkward situation where this conference-cum-holiday is concerned. It’s for couples, you see, and the ladyfriend I was going to take can’t make it.’

Abby was taken aback by the smooth delivery of the lie. Funny. As much as she didn’t like Ethan Grant, she’d never thought of him as a liar. It just showed that one should never underestimate the deviousness of the male sex.

‘That was the main reason I’d decided not to go,’ he continued coolly. ‘Because it would be embarrassing and awkward to show up alone. Actually, my sweet sister suggested I hire a professional escort instead, but I’m sure you can appreciate that’s not to my taste. However, it occurred to me just now that perhaps I could persuade you to accompany me.

‘For a price, of course,’ he added, before Abby could do more than blink her shock. ‘I don’t expect you to do it for nothing. Sylvia mentioned once that you work as a waitress on the weekend. I would naturally compensate you for any lost wages, with quite a bonus thrown in. So what do you say, Miss Richmond? Do you think you might be interested?’

What do I say?

Abby stared at him while she battled to control her simmering fury. I’d say not for all the tea in China, you presumptuous, patronising bastard. I’d say stick it in your ear. I’d say up yours. I wouldn’t spend one hour alone with you, let alone three days and three nights!

‘I’m sorry, I can’t,’ was what she actually said, congratulating herself on her silkily smooth voice.

‘The boyfriend would object, I take it?’

‘No. I don’t have a boyfriend,’ she said.

‘Surprising,’ he drawled. ‘Why, then?’

‘I wasn’t able to work last weekend because of a tummy bug. If I let my employer at the café down again this weekend I’ll lose my job there, and I simply can’t afford that.’ She couldn’t afford to lose this job either, which was why she was being so diplomatic. She’d have just loved to tell the dear doctor exactly what he could do with his proposition.

‘How much do you earn in one weekend?’

‘Why?’

He sighed. ‘Just answer the question, please, Miss Richmond.’

‘One hundred and twenty dollars, plus tips.’

‘I see. How long would it take for you to get another similar job, if you lost that one?’

‘What? Oh, I...I couldn’t say exactly. Sometimes you can be lucky, but it could take weeks and weeks.’

‘Three months tops, would you say?’

‘Y-yes.’ What was he getting at? Why didn’t he just let the matter drop? She wasn’t going to say yes, no matter how much he offered her.

He picked up a small calculator lying on his desk. ‘Thirteen weeks times one-twenty equals one thousand, five hundred and sixty dollars,’ he calculated aloud. ‘I would assume a girl like you would get plenty of tips, so I’ll up it to two thousand dollars—up front and in advance. What do you say to that, Abby? Not bad pay for three days’ work. More than enough to make ends meet till you get another job.’

His use of her first name did not escape Abby, and it sealed his fate even more than his demeaning offer. ‘I’m sorry, but I must refuse again, Dr Grant. I’m simply not a good enough actress for the part. I think Sylvia’s right. I think you should hire yourself a professional.’

‘But I don’t want a professional, Abby,’ he returned coolly. ‘I want you.’

She just stared at him, her mouth going dry. My God, if she didn’t know him better, she might think that he really meant that.

‘Maybe I should clarify that last statement,’ he went on drily, a single eyebrow lifting at her obvious surprise. ‘The reason I said I wanted you specifically is because I know that underneath your oh, so cool politeness you can’t stand a bar of me. I have no wish to have to fire you afterwards because you’ve stupidly fallen in love with me. On top of that, I would imagine that in the right clothes you could be quite lovely. Yes...’ His eyes drifted down from her face to the swell of her breasts. ‘Quite lovely.’

Abby didn’t know which part of his speech infuriated her the most. Certainly the condescending and lukewarm ‘quite lovely’ kept going round and round in her head. My God, if she set her mind to it, she could knock this supercilious devil’s eyes out!

‘Aren’t you afraid my underlying dislike might show through?’ she asked through gritted teeth.

‘No. I have great faith in the acting ability of women. Besides, I never take out females who fawn all over me. Of course, under the circumstances, I will only expect you to pretend to be a friend, not my live-in lover. Consequently I will change the booking to twin rooms.’

Abby only just managed to hide her contempt. So Evelyn had been expected to sleep with him during this little jaunt, play the part of his wife without ever expecting to get the part for real.

Charming.

For all Dillon’s subsequent betrayal, he’d at least been prepared to pull out all the stops in winning her heart before expecting her to become his lover. Nothing had been too much trouble—flowers, chocolates, candlelit dinners. He’d swept her off to bed with sweet words ringing in her ears and promises of forever. Whereas Ethan Grant promised his women nothing...except a cold-blooded, machine-like performance between the sheets.

Why, then, did Abby find herself suddenly wanting to experience that machine-like performance? Why, for pity’s sake? It went against everything she’d ever believed about herself.

Heat rushed into her cheeks at the appalling thoughts which sprang into her mind.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, flustered now. ‘It... it’s quite out of the question. I simply can’t.’

‘There’s no such word as can’t,’ he bit out. ‘So what’s the problem, then? I would have thought two thousand dollars would have smoothed over any antagonism you felt towards me. Believe it or not, I can be quite personable company when I want to be. Look, don’t say no straight away. Think it over and give me a ring at home on Sunday night around eight. Sylvia will be out, so you needn’t worry about any awkwardness there.’

Abby decided that it would be much easier to refuse for the second and last time over the telephone. It was hard to sound convincing when one was blushing and stammering. And when underneath one was insanely tempted to say yes. My God, she must be going mad!

‘All right,’ she agreed shakily.

When the beginnings of a smug smile pulled at her employer’s disdainful mouth, Abby’s heart immediately stopped its stupid fluttering. He believed she’d say yes, that the money he’d offered would override any qualms she might have.

Abby’s heart hardened further as she recognised that he might even suspect that underneath her surface hostility she was sexually attracted to him. This last suspicion closed the door on the subject. Nothing on earth would ever make her say yes now. Nothing!

CHAPTER THREE

NOTHING, as it turned out, except fate, and an old lady’s heartbreak.

The first nail in Abby’s coffin came the next day, when she quit her waitressing job after the boss pawed at her bottom one time too many. Then, on that same Saturday night, some rotten thug broke in and burgled Miss Blanchford’s room. The poor old thing was so distressed that Abby spent the whole of Sunday trying to comfort her.

‘It’ll be all right, Miss Blanchford,’ Abby soothed, after the police had finally left at around four in the afternoon. They were sitting in Miss Blanchford’s room, which was the biggest and best in the ancient old boarding bouse, its large window overlooking the rather ramshackle front garden. Unfortunately, it had been this same window which had given the thief easy entry into the downstairs room.

Miss Blanchford shook her head as two big tears trickled down her wrinkled cheeks. ‘All gone,’ she said with a strangled sob. ‘Five years’ savings. All gone.’

Abby bit her bottom lip to stop herself from crying as well. The poor old thing. But, oh...if only she’d put her money in the bank, instead of in a biscuit tin under her bed.

The police thought the thief was probably someone who’d once lived in the same boarding house and had learnt about Miss Blanchford’s distrust of banks—not an uncommon thing with survivors of the great Depression. Unfortunately, the police also thought there was little hope of finding the perpetrator and recovering the money, although they hadn’t said as much to Miss Blanchford. Abby had insisted on that. The poor old love was upset enough as it was.

The real tragedy was that the money had been to buy an electric wheelchair. Miss Blanchford was suffering a degenerative muscular disease which was making it harder and harder for her to get around in her handpropelled chair.

‘What am I going to do, Abby?’ the old lady cried. ‘I don’t want to go into one of those government nursing homes. But soon I won’t be able to manage on my own. If I don’t have my independence, I’d rather be dead.’

‘Now you stop talking like that,’ Abby reprimanded, but gently. ‘The police’ll get your money back for you; don’t you worry.’

‘No, they won’t. It’s gone. I’m a silly old fool for keeping it in that tin.’

‘Now stop that. It won’t help, crying over spilt milk. I have this gut feeling your money will show up. Give them a few days.’ Abby had a gut feeling all right. Her stomach was already churning with the acceptance of what she was going to do to get Miss Blanchford that money.

‘The man was coming to show me a chair next Wednesday. He said it was one of the best second-hand electric chairs he’d come across. And only three thousand dollars. New ones cost a lot more, you know.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Abby said, her thoughts whirling along with her stomach. If Ethan Grant was willing to pay two thousand for her company, might he pay more? Three thousand, perhaps? ‘Up front and in advance’, he’d promised. If he agreed to her counter-proposal, she’d be able to give Miss Blanchford the money before Wednesday.

Of course, she would tell her that the police had recovered the money. Her old ballet teacher was very proud and would never accept charity. On top of that, she might ask Abby some sticky questions about where the money had come from.

‘Come now, Miss Blanchford,’ Abby urged. ‘Dry your tears. The woman who put me through my paces at the bar would not succumb to self-pity. Neither would she despair so quickly. Give the police a chance. And promise me you won’t cancel that man coming on Wednesday.’

‘All right, Abby.’ The old lady found a watery smile from somewhere. ‘Whatever would I do without you?’

‘You’d do just fine, like always,’ Abby reassured her old friend. Privately, however, she wasn’t so sure. The once seemingly indestructible old lady was looking very frail today.

‘I still can’t get over my good fortune in your coming to live here. You’re so good to me, Abby. Reading to me and playing cards with me. You’re not going to move out after you get a full-time job, are you? I know this is not the nicest place in the world...’

Nice! It was a dump—the old house crumbling around them. But it was cheap, and only a short train ride from the city centre. She’d been given the address by a cellmate, and had hoped that she wouldn’t need it. She’d hoped to be able to live at home.

But when she’d arrived at the house the day she’d been let out of prison six months earlier, there had been a message from her father saying that she was not welcome there, though he’d magnanimously said that she could take her personal belongings. She’d been so upset, however, that she’d left the house without taking anything, relying instead on the clothes she’d brought from prison.

The decrepit old boarding house had come as a bit of a shock to begin with, but not as much of a shock as the inhabitant of the downstairs front room.

Miss Blanchford had taught Abby ballet from the age of three till Abby had been shipped off to a private boarding school during her twelfth year. She hadn’t seen her dance teacher since then, but had never forgotten her, having always admired her staunch sense of selfdiscipline. She probably had Miss Blanchford to thank for instilling in her enough strength of character to sustain her during her dark days in prison.

It seemed that Miss Blanchford had never forgotten Abby either, her face lighting up with pleasure once she recognised her old pupil. She and Abby had talked for ages, and Abby had told her everything that had happened to her in the intervening years. It had been wonderful to find a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on.

Miss Blanchford’s friendship meant the world to Abby, and she could not bear to see the old lady so unhappy. She vowed to do whatever was necessary to get her the money she needed for that wheelchair. She leant forward and patted the old lady’s knees. They felt very thin and bony through the crocheted rug.

‘Now, don’t you go worrying,’ she said softly. ‘If I ever move then you’ll come with me. And we’re going to get you that wheelchair, come hell or high water!’

At eight that evening, Abby set about putting her mouth where her vows were. She walked down to the telephone booth on the corner and dialled Ethan Grant’s home number. It killed her to lower her pride this way, but, given that there was no viable alternative, Abby resolved to do it with style—priority number one being that her lordly employer never twig onto her unfortunate weakness in finding him attractive.

‘Ethan Grant speaking,’ he answered coolly, and another of those erotic shivers rippled down Abby’s spine. Damn, but he did have an incredibly sensual voice, once one was attuned to it.

‘Abigail Richmond here, Dr Grant,’ she said as soon as she’d gathered herself.

‘Ah yes, Miss Richmond. I’ve been expecting your call.’

Abby hoped that her counter-proposal would wipe some of the smugness out of that sexy damned voice.

‘I’ve thought about your offer, Dr Grant,’ she said in a marvellously matter-of-fact tone, ‘and I’ve decided I should be able to accommodate you...’ She paused just long enough for his male ego to swell further before adding, ‘For a price, that is.’

His sharply indrawn breath rasped down the line, followed by a few seconds of taut silence.

‘I’ve already offered you two thousand dollars,’ he resumed at last, not a trace of sexiness left in his voice. It was as cold as an arctic blizzard. ‘I would have thought that more than sufficed for the job.’

‘I’m sorry, but it doesn’t.’

‘I see,’ he grated out, with a derisive edge added to the chilly reproach. ‘How much would be enough, then?’

‘Three thousand.’

‘That’s one thousand a day!’

‘That’s my price, Dr Grant. Take it or leave it.’

His laughter surprised then unnerved her. ‘Oh, I’ll take it, Miss Richmond, but only on one condition.’

‘And what condition is that?’

‘I don’t have to change the room booking. Frankly, for reasons which I have no intention of explaining, I would prefer to pretend we were lovers, not just friends. Naturally I do not expect you to sleep in the same bed with me. I will make sure our room has a convertible sofa which will guarantee separate sleeping arrangements.’

‘And if I say no?’

‘Then you say no, and I’ll make other arrangements.’

Abby only had to think of Miss Blanchford’s despairing depression to know that she would never say no. But she detested Ethan Grant for manoeuvring her into a corner like this.

Still, there was no point in prolonging the agony. It would only add to her humiliation. Better to agree immediately, letting him think that she wasn’t at all fazed by this change.

‘All right,’ she said with a superbly blithe offhandedness. ‘I appreciate that for three thousand you can call the shots. But I want it all up front and in advance, as you promised.’

Once again, Ethan fell silent on the other end.

Had she surprised him? Shocked him, even?

Too bad. This was business—the business of healing an old lady’s heart and giving her back a reason to live. She had no sympathy for Ethan Grant’s feelings. Any man who offered money for a woman’s company got what he deserved. Which was nothing.

‘I’ll send you the money by courier tomorrow,’ he said in a faintly sneering tone. Clearly she hadn’t surprised him at all, Abby realised. She’d acted exactly as he expected women of her ilk to act—like a mercenary-minded bitch!

‘Cash, please,’ she snapped, goaded into speaking sharply by a fierce inner fury. Couldn’t he see that he was the more contemptuous person, for offering her money in the first place?

‘Naturally.’

Abby scooped in then let out a shuddering sigh. It was done and couldn’t be undone. God, but she wished that she didn’t feel so low. Anyone would think that she’d just hired herself out body and soul for life, instead of just her companionship for three miserable days.

‘I suppose we should get down to details while we’ve got the opportunity,’ he said abruptly. ‘I don’t want Sylvia to know anything. This is just between you and me. As far as my sister is concerned, I’ll be going to this conference on my own. You must give me your word on that, Abby.’

Abby was thrown for a moment by this second use of her first name. Till she accepted that he could hardly keep calling her Miss Richmond. She wasn’t about to argue about Sylvia not knowing either. Really, the whole situation was a tad tawdry.

And slightly mystifying.

She wondered why Ethan was so keen to have his colleagues believe his companion was his lover. Did he have a reputation as a stud to uphold? Or did he have some other secret reason for such a pretence?

Something—some feminine instinct—rang a warning bell at the back of her mind. There was more to this than met the eye...

But Abby could not allow herself to be swayed by worries and qualms of such an indefinite nature. Three thousand dollars beckoned. Three thousand very real, very vital dollars. Ethan’s motivation for such a sham was his business. All she had to do was collect the money then play the appropriate part.

Maybe what she was really worrying about was how difficult playing that part might be. She hoped she wouldn’t make a fool of herself and betray her own secret. Despite not liking Ethan Grant one little iota on a personality basis, she could not think about him any more without thinking of making love with him.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘FIRST things first,’ Ethan continued abruptly. ‘Your clothes.’

‘My clothes?’ she repeated blankly, her mind still back on her perturbing weakness for the man.

‘You do own something other than that black skirt and white blouse you wear every Friday, don’t you?’

Abby thought of all the designer clothes hanging up in her wardrobe at home in Killara. They wouldn’t really have dated, being timeless classical styles. She didn’t doubt they would still be there either. She would have no trouble getting them if she went during the day, when her father was at the office.

‘Actually, I have quite an extensive wardrobe,’ she replied coolly, resenting both the criticism and scepticism built into his question.

‘Yes, but what type of clothes?’ he countered derisively. ‘You must appreciate any lady friend of mine will be expected to be well dressed. Nothing cheap or flashy.’

‘I am never cheap or flashy.’

‘You’re certainly not cheap, I’ll give you that,’ he muttered drily. ‘And other than one wayward button, you haven’t been flashy either. So far,’ he added cynically. ‘But I wouldn’t like any nasty little surprises once we get down to the hotel. Which reminds me—there’s nothing in your past or present which would preclude you taking this job, is there?’

One very good reason catapulted into Abby’s mind and she gulped. Surely there wouldn’t be anyone at this conference who knew about her trial or her sentence? It had not been in any of the papers. Her father hadn’t been prepared to help her with a decent lawyer, but he had used his influence to suppress any publicity.

‘Such as what?’ she asked, guilt making her sharp.

‘God only knows. You haven’t graced the centrefold of any of the better known men’s magazines, have you? Or any of the lesser ones, for that matter. I’m well aware that Sylvia hired you without checking into your background too extensively. I didn’t come down in the last shower, Abby. When a girl’s hard up for money and has a figure as good as yours, she might be talked into doing things not too savoury.’

Any guilt disappeared as Abby almost blew a gasket. Not too savoury! What in hell did he think she was doing now, going away with him? Lord, who did he think he was, looking down his nose at her when he was the one paying for her dubious companionship? As for her figure... She was fed up with him equating her lush curves with loose morals.

‘I’ve never done a thing I’m ashamed of, Dr Grant,’ she said with cold dignity. Till now, that is, she added silently. ‘Believe me when I say I will do you proud as your...er... girlfriend. You won’t have cause to complain.’

‘Mmm. That’s to be seen, isn’t it? By the way, can you play tennis at all?’

‘Yes, but I...’

‘You don’t have to be proficient,’ he cut in dismissively. ‘Adequate will do. I suppose it’s too much to ask if you can play golf as well?’

His patronising tone made Abby seethe. She’d only been going to say that she didn’t have a racket.

If I ever get him on a tennis-court or a golf-course... she vowed blackly. Thank you, Father, for all those holidays filled with never-ending lessons. You did do something for me after all.

‘Actually, I do play golf. A little,’ she added, not wanting to give the enemy advance warning.

‘You’ve surprised me, Miss Richmond. I would have thought your talents lay elsewhere than on the sporting field.’

Abby decided to ignore that remark. He would keep. ‘I wish you’d make up your mind what you’re going to call me,’ she said waspishly. ‘One minute it’s Abby, and then we’re back to Miss Richmond.’

‘You’re quite right. But I don’t feel altogether comfortable calling you Abby. Shall we compromise and make it Abigail?’

‘Whatever you wish. You’re the boss. Just so long as I know where I stand and what to expect. Speaking of what to expect, I’m not going to get any nasty little surprises when we get to the hotel, am I?’

The silence on the line was electric for a few seconds. Abby had no doubts now that Ethan had some hidden agenda at this conference, and it was beginning to niggle her.

‘Meaning?’ he asked coldly.

Meaning what are you up to, you conniving devil? she wanted to say. What is making you pay three thousand dollars to have me there as your pretend lover?

‘Meaning you wouldn’t be the first man I’ve come across who was a wolf in gentleman’s clothing,’ she tossed back instead. ‘I don’t want to have to fight you off every night.’

He laughed drily. ‘How beautifully blunt you can be, Abigail. I rather admire it. Actually, I rather admire you. You are a girl of rare spirit and a quite tantalisingly enigmatic character. On top of that, you’ve never resorted to the manipulative ploys an attractive female in your position might be tempted to use. But, no... you don’t have to worry about fighting me off. Rape has never appealed to me, and seducing you is not part of my plan.’