The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress

Mickey laughed. ‘Horses are infinitely more rewarding than women. Forget the PA and concentrate on Midas Magic, Ethan. He’ll give you a better run for your money.’

Having moved on to his favourite subject, Mickey regaled Ethan with a potted history of the jockey he was to meet, his many successful rides and his natural empathy with horses—best man for the job today.

Although he listened and made all the expected responses as they strolled on to the saddling paddock, Ethan did not forget Daisy Donahue. She was like a burr in his mind. And his body. He felt a quixotic urge to rescue her from Lynda Twiggley, make whatever was wrong for her right.

Absurd, really.

He knew so little about her.

Yet his instincts kept insisting she might be worth knowing and he could very well regret not pursuing the interest she stirred.

Seize the day…

The big question was…how to do it?

CHAPTER TWO

THE big race gave Daisy the chance to rest for a few minutes. Quite a few guests had left the marquee to watch the horses being led to the starting gates. The rest of them had their attention glued to the television screens. No one was going to make a fuss about anything while their interest was totally captivated by what was happening on the racetrack.

She found a chair and sat down to give her feet a break. The TV commentator was giving a run-down on each yearling—its bloodline, owner, trainer, the colours the jockey was wearing. Gold and black for Midas Magic. Daisy grimaced as she heard that. Of course, the money man would have chosen gold. And he’d be more in the black if the wretched horse won. No depressing red debts for him.

She thought glumly of her parents’ situation—ordinary people who’d worked hard to bring up and educate five children and finally believing they could afford the luxury of renovating their home—a new kitchen, a second bathroom, a playroom for the grandchildren and two extra bedrooms so all the family could come and stay, especially for Easter and Christmas and school holidays. They had mortgaged the house to do it, and the bank which had happily lent the money would just as happily sell the property out from under them if the interest on the loan wasn’t paid every month.

And no way would they get the full value of the house in a forced sale, given the current slump in the property market. It wouldn’t get her parents out of trouble. Besides, it wasn’t fair for them to lose their home at this stage of their lives. They deserved a carefree retirement.

Their investment advisor had got it hopelessly wrong. Last year’s share market slide had sliced over thirty percent off their superannuation savings. The resulting loss of income was never going to be recovered. Neither was there any hope of the situation improving during this recession.

The rest of the family wasn’t in a position to help. Her three older brothers and one sister were all married with young families, struggling to make ends meet. Two of her brothers, Ken and Kevin, had been laid off by their employers in the workforce squeeze. Keith had gone into business for himself and was feeling the pinch. Violet, her sister, had an autistic son who needed so much care, her marriage was very rocky because of it. They simply couldn’t cope with more pressure on their shoulders.

Which meant she was the only one who could carry the load. By far the youngest—the late accidental pregnancy—she had moved back to her parents’ suburban home in Ryde to give them the rent money she’d been paying for her share-apartment in the inner city, as well as covering most of the food bills to ensure her parents didn’t stint on their diet in their anxiety over the debt. Her contribution meant the monthly interest bill could be paid, but it was an endless cycle. She didn’t make enough money to pay off the loan.

What really irked her was if her parents had sought out Ethan Cartwright to manage their nest-egg…But how were ordinary people supposed to know he was the man to go to? There’d been no publicity about him until after the economic crash. Besides, he probably only dealt with multi-millionaires. The big spenders in this marquee only mixed with each other.

The commentator’s voice rose several decibels as the race began, calling out a string of names. A hubbub of excitement broke out from the spectators gathered in front of the television screens. Daisy rigidly refused to look, resenting how much money these people were prepared to risk on stupid bets. It was a well-known fact that race-fixing went on all the time. If you weren’t in the know…although perhaps the Magic Millions was different with all the owners wanting their new purchases to perform well in such a prestige event.

‘Midas Magic hits the front at the turn and is starting to leave the field behind. He’s two lengths ahead…three…four…no one’s going to catch him!’

The screaming from the commentator assaulted her ears. And her heart. The man who had everything was about to get a lot more with his horse winning this race. It wasn’t fair. It vexed her even further that he’d put her in the know and she had ignored his advice, sticking to her principles of not taking any gambles. Besides, who could believe that any horse was a sure thing?

Lynda Twiggley for one!

Daisy scrambled guiltily to her feet as her employer came bursting out of a group of people, gleefully brandishing a betting ticket and catching her PA sitting down on the job. ‘I won! I won!’ she cried. ‘Isn’t it marvellous? Ten thousand lovely dollars!’

‘Ten thousand?’ Daisy repeated, totally stunned by the amount.

‘Yes. I wouldn’t have taken such a plunge on a horse if Ethan Cartwright hadn’t recommended it,’ Lynda archly confided. ‘Such a gorgeous, clever man! He’s made my day!’

‘I’m very pleased for you, Miss Twiggley,’ Daisy managed to force out. At least it had put her employer in a good mood, unlikely to snipe at any shortcomings she perceived in her PA.

The glittery blue eyes narrowed in determined calculation. ‘Now I must get him to look at my shares portfolio. If I can net him into another tête-á-tête, don’t interrupt us for anything, Dee-Dee. Should any problem arise, use your own initiative to solve it. That’s what I’ve trained you for.’

‘I won’t go near him,’ Daisy firmly promised.

She couldn’t stand seeing him shine with triumph anyway. It would be sickening. Privately she thought her employer had little chance of netting him again. Ethan Cartwright had tried to hang onto the diversion of Daisy’s gaffe in interrupting their last encounter, insisting on being properly introduced, continuing to speak to her despite Lynda’s obvious impatience for her to be gone.

He wouldn’t have bothered trying to connect with her under ordinary circumstances. She was way beneath his notice. He’d simply been using her for his own purpose—breaking up a meeting he didn’t like. She wished she could dismiss him from her mind. Everything he stood for stirred her up. Worst of all was the fact that she’d felt an undeniable physical attraction to the man. Which was understandable, given that he was a standout male, but she hated him all the more for it, making her want what she knew could never be available to her.

‘I’d kill for a cup of coffee right now. I wish they’d get on with serving it.’

The whining complaint from one of the models—very much a VIP, having been chosen to star on the runway for Victoria’s Secret—sent Daisy straight to the catering tent to investigate the delay. Lynda Twiggley would have a fit if she heard one of her prized guests being put out by any failure in the arrangements made for their pleasure and comfort. Bad PR. It was up to Daisy to prevent or fix anything bad.

Two of the chefs were having a raging argument and their assistants all looked rigid with tension, doing nothing but watching from the sidelines. This catering outfit was being very highly paid to do a top-class job and they weren’t delivering. Daisy steeled herself to walk right into the line of fire between the fighting chefs and remind them of their prime responsibility.

‘People are asking for coffee,’she stated briskly, giving both of them a stern look. ‘It should be out there being served. VIP guests don’t like to be left wanting anything.’

It startled them into turning their attention to her.

‘It’s also supposed to be accompanied by chocolates and petits-fours. Are they ready to go?’ she ran on, reminding them of what was expected, then adding a sensible warning. ‘You don’t want to lose your good reputation with these people. They always remember delays like this.’

One of the temperamental chefs threw up his hands and glared around at the motionless staff. ‘Move! Move! Get on with it!’

Satisfied she had made her point, Daisy returned to the VIP marquee, intending to assure the model that coffee was on its way. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Ethan Cartwright chatting to her. Venomous thoughts exploded in her head. Nothing but the best for a man like him! She’d known—of course, she’d known—he wasn’t really interested in a little brown cow. This was reality—birds of a feather flocked together.

No doubt the magnificent model had taken his advice to bet on Midas Magic, too. The two high-flyers were both beaming with the pleasure of victory, making Daisy’s stomach churn from the terrible injustice of it all.

Ethan felt it again, his whole body tingling from a blast of electric energy. He turned his head, his gaze instinctively homing in on the source—Daisy Donahue, her eyes blazing at him with feral animosity, stirring the urge to do battle with her, catch her, cage her until she was tamed to his satisfaction. The weird, exciting thoughts raced through his mind, swiftly followed by Mickey’s catch-cry—seize the day.

He’d looked for her without success when he’d reentered the marquee after the race. Now here she was a few metres away, within easy reach, the challenge she threw out drawing him like a magnet. He automatically started to move towards her, their eyes locked in a duel of sizzling passion.

‘Ethan?’

The full-of-herself model he’d been talking to was calling him back. He’d forgotten his manners. ‘Please excuse me, Talia,’ he swiftly tossed back at her. ‘Someone I have to see.’

In that brief moment of disengagement with Daisy she’d taken flight, dodging behind groups of people, apparently intent on hiding from him. It spurred Ethan on to catch up with her, force a face-to-face confrontation. He sliced through the throng, his interest aroused to an intensity that surprised him, his heart beating like a battle drum as he intercepted her attempted escape, making it impossible for her not to acknowledge him.

‘Hello, again,’ he said, revelling in the flush of angry frustration that flooded into her cheeks, giving her pale, flawless skin a peaches-and-cream vivacity, making the eyes that warred with his in flaming fury even brighter.

His abrupt appearance in front of her had shocked her into stillness, but it was the stillness of a tightly coiled spring, nerves twanging at the suppression of movement away from him. Her chin jerked up belligerently. The brown pill-box hat slid slightly from its perch on top of her head. He barely restrained himself from reaching up and straightening it for her. He wanted contact—intimate contact—with this woman.

‘Mr Cartwright…’ she bit out, obviously hating being trapped into this encounter.

He smiled, intent on pouring soothing balm over whatever was making her bristle in his presence. ‘Let’s make that Ethan.’

She sucked in a quick breath, her eyes flaring a denial of any familiarity between them. ‘Congratulations on your win,’ she said tersely. ‘I didn’t place a bet on your horse. As I told you before, I don’t gamble, so there’s nothing more to say, is there? We have nothing in common.’

Ethan was not about to let his feet be cut out from under him before he’d even started to make inroads on getting to know her. He turned his smile into an ironic grimace. ‘I need some assistance.’

She raised a disbelieving eyebrow, offering him no encouragement to spell it out.