Читать книгу Mistress By Contract - HELEN BIANCHIN, Helen Bianchin - Страница 6

RAFAEL picked up the draft document delivered by courier only hours before. The pre-nup. Skilfully worded, legally scripted, it contained sufficient clauses to cover every eventuality, and then some.

He idly flicked through the pages. Fifteen months. What manner of whim had seen him extend the time-frame? Hell, he might want out in far less time. He’d even had a clause drawn up to take care of it.

There was a separate document, a waiver dropping all charges against Joshua Petersen.

Yet another document that amounted to a personal agreement between Rafael Velez-Aguilera and Mikayla Petersen.

The question was…did he implement them?

He weighed the pros and cons, and went with his gut instinct. As he had with every other decision in his life.

There was an advantage to having a mistress. The boundaries were clear-cut. Little more than a legally defined business deal.

He picked up a pen and rolled it absently between two fingers. Then he tossed it down onto the blotter and reached for a file, noted the location, checked his watch, instructed his secretary he’d be out for a while, if needed urgently he could be contacted on his mobile, then he grabbed his jacket, shrugged into it and collected his keys.

Mikayla heard the bell signalling the end of class, the end of the school day, and hid a sigh of relief. Teaching English literature to sixteen-year-old students from varied multicultural backgrounds was an art form in itself. Gaining and retaining their interest was something else again. Usually, she could make it fun.

Today she felt tired, through lack of sufficient sleep, anxiety about her father’s slide in health, and acute trepidation as to whether Rafael Velez-Aguilera would make contact.

Three days had gone by since she’d shared late-night coffee with him. There had been no phone call, and the strain was beginning to tell.

‘Don’t forget, assignments are due in tomorrow,’ she reminded as there was a swift exodus towards the door.

She tidied a stack of papers, slid them into her satchel, and slung the strap over one shoulder. Then she scooped up a small pile of textbooks, balanced them against one hip, and followed the last student out into the corridor.

Thank heaven she wasn’t rostered for detention duty. It left her free to go home, set an exercise for each of tomorrow’s classes, shower, eat, then call into the hospital before going on to the restaurant.

‘Hi, Miss Petersen.’

She lifted her head and smiled at the student who’d paused to greet her. ‘Hi, Sammy.’

‘Carry your books?’

‘If you like.’ She handed some of them over, and dug a hand into her jacket pocket. It kind of evened up the load.

‘Do ya reckon Shakespeare worked for hire?’

She spared him a wry glance. ‘Perspiration, rather than inspiration?’

‘Yeah.’

They reached the long stretch of paved walk leading through the grounds. Tall trees spread their leafy branches, and the afternoon sun filtered through in a dappling effect.

‘Some of his plays were commissioned.’ And written in a burst of creative energy, born of desperation.

‘That’s what I figured.’

She parked her car in the reserved bay near the entrance gates, and she headed towards it.

‘You in trouble, miss?’

The query startled her. ‘No. Why?’

‘There’s a suit by your car.’

She glanced up, and felt the blood drain to her feet. Rafael Velez-Aguilera.

‘Want me to front him?’

The thought of Sammy standing up to Rafael Velez-Aguilera was laughable. Except she didn’t even smile.

‘It’s okay.’

Sammy looked at her, then at the man who stood indolently at ease, waiting as if he had all the time in the world.

‘Sure?’ he queried doubtfully. He recognised the look, respected it, and didn’t know if his teacher had a clue as to the man’s calibre. ‘I can go get help.’

‘I know him.’ She didn’t, really. Apart from his personal profile. Statistics, nothing that revealed the real man behind detailed facts. ‘Thank you for carrying my books.’ She held out her hand for them, and stifled a resigned sigh as Sammy walked right up to her Mini, waited as she unlocked the door, then transferred the books and her satchel onto the passenger seat.

‘Thanks, Sammy.’ It was a dismissal, and he gave her a long keen look before turning on his heel.

‘You have a stalwart defender,’ Rafael drawled as she pushed the door closed and stood looking at him.

Attempting to assess why he was here was a useless exercise. But his personal appearance had to mean something, surely?

‘Yes.’ The ball was in his court. She just had to wait for him to play it.

One eyebrow lifted. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’

Her stomach clenched into a painful knot. ‘There’s a park not far from here.’

‘Your flat would be better.’

Of course he knew where she lived. He’d have made it his business to find out. ‘My landlady is against tenants entertaining in their rooms.’

He could imagine. ‘Get in the car, Mikayla. I’ll follow you.’

Five minutes later he drew up inside the kerb outside a double-storied brick complex that looked a little worse for wear. The fence needed repair, paint peeled off the stand of communal letterboxes, and the grass grew weeds.

‘Second floor.’ She opened the front door with a master key, then made for the stairs, all too aware he followed close behind.

Cooking smells permeated the papered walls, and he doubted the paintwork had seen a brush in twenty years.

Her room was just that, a room with an alcove that held a portable cook-top; beneath the counter was a bar-fridge, and there was a sink and a power-point. A door led off to what he surmised was a minuscule bathroom.

Sofa-bed, small desk with a laptop, a chair. Basic. He’d lived in much worse.

‘Would you like to sit down?’

‘I’ll stand.’

Did he realise how he dwarfed the room? He was too tall, too broad, too much.

He could sense her tension, almost feel it, and had to admire her control.

‘I need to set up an appointment for you with my lawyer.’

Her fingers curled into her palm. ‘Is that a yes, Mr Velez-Aguilera?’

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘I have set out my terms.’ His gaze was direct, inflexible. ‘It is essential you fully comprehend them.’

A conditional yes, based on his requirements. Whatever made her think it might be different?

‘The only free time I have available is between three-thirty and five.’

He withdrew his mobile, punched in a series of digits and initiated a brief conversation, then ended the call.

‘Four, tomorrow afternoon.’ He withdrew a card and penned a few lines on the back of it. ‘The name and address.’

Mikayla inclined her head. ‘Thank you. Is there anything else?’

‘Not for the moment.’

‘Then you must excuse me.’ She walked to the door, opened it, and stood waiting for him to leave, aware of the faint amusement apparent, the slight quirk at the edge of his mouth as he inclined his head and walked past her to the stairwell.

She shut the door and leaned against it for several long seconds until the hammering of her heart settled into a steady beat.

Then she crossed to her satchel, retrieved papers and selected a textbook. Tomorrow’s lessons beckoned, and with practised skill she outlined pertinent points she wanted to emphasise, then when it was done she made toast, heated a small can of baked beans, and ate the makeshift meal before heading for the shower.

Her father showed no change, and she sat with him for three-quarters of an hour before heading towards Darlinghurst.

The restaurant was busier than usual, and she stayed late in order to appease the Italian owner who seemed more than his usual temperamental self. Plates smashed, curses flew, voices rose. Even the patrons seemed more voluble and demanding than before.

It was a relief to slip out the door and walk to her car.

She was only metres away from the Mini when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She turned swiftly, and saw two youths crowding her, one reaching for her bag, the other held something in his hand.

The defensive stance was automatic, the kick well-placed as it connected with a satisfying crunch. Except two against one wasn’t fair odds, and she felt a stinging slash to her arm. The headlights of an on-coming car saved her from a more vicious attack, and the youths ran off, disappearing over a wall.

They’d dropped her bag in their hurry, and she picked it up, checked the catch, then moved quickly to the Mini. Once inside she locked the doors and put the car in motion.

She didn’t even stop to check her arm, she just drove until she reached the flat, and it was only in the clear light she realised the amount of blood and the deepness of the gash meant it required suturing.

Who did she call at this late hour? No one, she decided grimly as she wrapped a small towel round her arm, collected her purse, and retraced her steps to the car.

There was a public hospital not too far distant. Accident and emergency would tend to it.

They did, eventually, after a two-hour wait. There were emergencies far more urgent than hers, and there was the police statement.

It was after three when she returned to her flat, and she took the sedative the doctor advised, then pulled out the sofa-bed and crawled in beneath the covers.

Painkillers helped her get through the school day. She wore a jacket and no one suspected she had sixteen sutures in her forearm, or that it ached like hell.

Rafael Velez-Aguilera’s lawyers were housed on a high floor in one of the inner city’s glass-walled office towers, and she parked her car on the outskirts, then rode a bus into the city.

She made the four o’clock appointment with a minute to spare, and no sooner had she checked with reception and taken a seat than an elegantly clad woman emerged into the foyer and escorted her into a luxuriously appointed office where an immaculately attired man in his late thirties rose to greet her.

‘Miss Petersen. Take a seat.’ He motioned to one of four comfortable armchairs, then resumed his position behind the desk. ‘Rafael has been delayed.’ He pulled forward three documents, and opened the first. ‘However, we can begin without him.’ He handed her three copies. ‘If you examine the pre-nuptial agreement, I’ll go through it with you.’

He was thorough, Mikayla noted, following the document clause by clause as he clarified legalese. Every eventuality was covered.

She noted with consternation that she was to reside in Rafael Velez-Aguilera’s home. Surely a mistress was a part-time lover who was maintained in an apartment of her own, and made herself available on request?

Rafael Velez-Aguilera had also changed the time-span from twelve months to fifteen, thereby lengthening her sentence.

Whatever had made her think she could stipulate terms and conditions?

He also had the right to end the relationship at any time prior to the fifteen month term. She had no such right.

Should he choose to terminate the relationship prior to the agreed upon date, the months remaining would be reduced to a percentage and calculated against the total amount owed. An amount she would be deemed liable to repay over a specified time.

Effectively, she had nowhere to move, nothing to negotiate. He held her, legally and contractually, in the palm of his hand.

Rafael Velez-Aguilera walked into the office as Mikayla cast the pre-nuptial agreement to one side and examined the second document.

She directed him the briefest of glances, her gaze cool, dispassionate.

The personal agreement was personal, for it covered health issues, blood tests. There was a part of her that was offended, almost insulted. Twin flags of colour heightened her cheekbones, and she was only measurably appeased to discover Rafael Velez-Aguilera had already subjected himself to similar tests.

‘A necessary precaution,’ the lawyer said smoothly as she stiffened at the starkly listed requirements.

The waiver followed, and she read it through carefully, ensuring the lawyer’s spoken words tied in accurately with the written clauses.

‘You are, of course, free to disregard these documents.’

Free to walk from this office, and have nothing to do with Rafael Velez-Aguilera. But if she took that course, she’d inherit a half-million dollar debt, which would involve her being adjudged bankrupt. Her chances of retaining her teaching position would be slim.

Whereas fifteen months wasn’t a lifetime. At the end of it, she’d be free, and able to regain her own life.

The lawyer took her silence for granted.

‘Do you have any questions?’

She had to strive to be businesslike. ‘No.’ Inside she was breaking apart.

‘A doctor’s appointment has been arranged following this. I have also organised a concurrent consultation with an independent legal colleague to advise you on the documentation. The test results should be through within a forty-eight hour period, a copy of which will be available to you.’

It was professional efficiency at its best. So why did she feel as if she’d just stepped onto a roller coaster?

This was what she wanted, what she’d strived for. All charges against her father dropped. She wouldn’t need to wait tables every night, and she’d get to move out of her rented room.

‘Thank you.’ She rose to her feet and took the cards the lawyer pressed into her hand.

‘The doctor’s suite is on the third floor,’ he informed. ‘My legal colleague has a suite on the tenth floor.’

Convenient, effectively eliminating travelling time, and ensuring she could arrive at work on schedule.

Mikayla inclined her head in Rafael’s direction, then walked to the door as the lawyer held it open for her, and his secretary escorted her to the bank of lifts.

The lawyer closed the door and turned towards the man who was seated comfortably to his left. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘You’ve effectively ensured everything is water-tight,’ Rafael drawled, waving a hand in dismissal as his long-time friend crossed to a concealed bar and withdrew a decanter of whisky and two tumblers.

Ice, a splash of whisky followed by soda, then the lawyer turned back to face the man who’d joined him so long ago in a climb to success.

‘This time you’re dealing with a human being, not stocks, bonds, bricks and mortar.’

‘The deal intrigues me,’ Rafael inclined indolently. ‘As does the woman.’

‘You’re writing off a large sum of money.’

‘One can only hope the reward for doing so will be adequate.’

The lawyer tossed back a long swallow from the tumbler. ‘I wish you well.’

‘Gracias, amigo.’

Mikayla walked into the restaurant at six, donned an apron, the stiletto-heeled pumps, and went to work.

There was no time to reflect on the afternoon’s events, although lack of adequate sleep had her mixing up two orders and incurred the owner’s wrath. Her arm throbbed after hours of carrying plates, trays and dishes, and she vowed if she incurred one more familiar pat on her rear, she’d walk.

Tonight she’d managed, by dint of circling the block numerous times, to find a parking space on the main street, and at eleven she collected her bag, her pay packet, and walked out onto the pavement.

‘Mikayla.’

The voice startled her. The man to whom it belonged, even more.

Rafael Velez-Aguilera presented a formidable figure, his features shaded into angles and planes by the flashing multi-coloured neon sign.

‘What are you doing here?’

He slanted her a hard look. ‘Terminating your employment.’

Her mouth opened, then closed again. ‘You can’t—’

‘Watch me.’

He was gone only a matter of minutes, and when he returned his expression turned her to stone.

‘Get in your car. I’ll follow you home.’

Her chin lifted, and her eyes blazed brilliant green fire. ‘In two or three days you can tell me what to do. For now, you don’t have a snowflake’s chance in hell of ordering me around.’

‘Brave words, pequeña.’ His voice was deadly quiet. ‘Were you as brave last night when you were attacked?’

The doctor, she surmised, who’d questioned her bandaged forearm. ‘News travels fast.’

‘You checked into the hospital at midnight, and out of it at three.’

My, he was thorough. ‘Your sources of information are admirable.’

‘Next, you’ll tell me you can take care of yourself.’

‘I’ve been doing it for a while.’ She hadn’t meant to sound so cynical.

‘Get in the car, Mikayla.’

She did, and drove home, parked the car, then stood her ground on the pavement as his car slid into the kerb and he crossed to her side.

‘I’m too tired to conduct a post-mortem.’ If she didn’t get inside and sit down soon, she’d fall down.

‘Take a sedative. And call in sick tomorrow.’

‘Yes, and no.’ She began turning away from him, and offered a brief goodnight over one shoulder.

He let her go, aware there was little he could do to stop her.

He waited long enough to see the light in her room go on, then he slid in behind the wheel and fired the engine.

The weekend lay ahead. Monday, the test results would be available, and he’d ensure the documentation was signed.

Even as he cleared the street and gained the main road he had to wonder why he should be concerned about a slim slip of a thing with blonde hair and green eyes.

She meant nothing to him. He had every reason to dislike and distrust her. Dammit, his legal eagle thought he was certifiably insane to consider the deal he’d drawn up for him.

So why was he not only going ahead with it, but giving way to protective instincts he would have sworn he didn’t possess?

He drove home, garaged the car, then prowled the lower floor, made coffee, drank half of it and discarded the rest before entering his study, booting up the laptop, and working solidly until weariness forced him to bed.

Mikayla spent a restless night, waking several times as her arm continued to throb. At three she got up and took two more painkillers, then settled into a heavy sleep from which she didn’t stir until the alarm pealed at eight.

Breakfast comprised orange juice, cereal and coffee, then she wrapped her arm in plastic and did her best to keep it dry as she showered.

Dressed in jeans and a loose cotton top, she tied a purple scarf over her hair, wound a purple scarf round the bandage, added several silver bangles, then she drove to Maisie’s New Age shop at the Rocks, where her friend sold scented candles, earrings, CDs and crystals.

‘Darling, great fashion accessory,’ Maisie complimented. ‘Totally rad.’

Mikayla merely smiled and wondered if she’d started a new trend.

Her arm still ached, but not as badly, and by Sunday it felt measurably less painful. Another day at the Rocks in the New Age shop kept her busy.

Tonight there was no need to rush home and change in order to work at the café, and she joined Maisie in a salad and carrot juice at the health food counter.

There was a strong inclination to confide, but what did she say? Hey, Mais, I’m moving on and up. Out of the maisonette and into a mansion. Thing was, six months ago she’d moved from a comfortable apartment into a rented room. Not exactly riches to rags, but close. For the next fifteen months, she was reversing the process.

Better she kept silent. The deal wasn’t a deal until it was done, and she had yet to attach her signature to pertinent legal documents.

Her stomach executed a nervous somersault. How soon would Rafael Velez-Aguilera want to cement the relationship?

Tell it how it is, a small voice taunted. How soon will he want you to perform sexually? How often? Every night, Mikayla.

The thought of that large male body possessing her own stopped the breath in her throat. For the sort of money involved, he would want service. Hell, he’d want her to perform every trick in the book.

She pushed the partly eaten salad to one side, and discarded the carrot juice.

‘Not hungry?’

She looked from Maisie back to the salad, and felt ill. ‘No.’

She could still walk out. All she had to do was make a phone call.

‘Darling, listen to me. Eat; you can’t afford to lose weight.’

‘So I’ll have something later.’ She pulled a note from her purse and placed it beneath the half-empty glass. ‘I have to go.’

She drove straight to the hospital, moved through corridors, took the lift, and walked into the ward her father shared with three other patients.

And faltered as she saw Joshua Petersen had a visitor. Not a friend. None other than Rafael Velez-Aguilera.

Mikayla’s expression became fierce, protective, then changed in an instant as her father turned and caught sight of her.

Rafael watched beneath slightly hooded lids as she crossed quickly to her father’s side, caught each of his hands in hers and leaned forward to brush her lips against one cheek, then the other.

‘You’ve been helping Maisie,’ Joshua Petersen said in a slightly slurred voice. His smile was faintly crooked, and her heart tore at what illness had done to this once proud man. ‘Look who came to visit,’ he continued huskily.

She threw Rafael a glance that was intensely territorial. ‘Yes, so I see.’ If you’ve said anything to upset him… The warning was there, a palpable silent entity.

She was like a lioness defending a helpless cub, Rafael mused. Claws barely sheathed, and ready to spring.

‘I’m sure you’d prefer to be alone,’ he suggested smoothly. He inclined his head toward Joshua Petersen, then repeated the action to Mikayla as he moved to the end of the bed. ‘Goodnight.’

Then he was gone, and Mikayla was left to wonder at his motive.

She stayed for an hour, grateful that her father seemed quite bright, and visiting hours were almost at an end when she slipped from the ward.

She almost expected to see Rafael’s tall frame in the corridor or near the lift-well. But there was no sign of him, and she drove home, mixed two eggs together, added cheese and tomato, made toast, and ate while she checked the next day’s lessons.