Читать книгу The Tycoon's Trophy Mistress - Lee Wilkinson - Страница 7

IN THE London headquarters of Wolfe International the man with the cool grey eyes paced the luxurious private office kept solely for his use, restless as a tiger in a cage.

What would he do if she didn’t show, if she’d changed her mind?

Above the muted but ever-present background roar of Piccadilly’s traffic he heard the high-pitched whine of the lift.

A moment later, pausing by the long narrow horizontal window between the two offices, he saw the door of the outer office open.

Screened by the cream vertical-slatted blind, he watched her walk into the empty outer office and stand by Telford’s large, imposing desk.

A natural redhead, he judged—long-legged, slender and graceful, with an oval face, a straight nose, high cheekbones, a determined chin and a mouth like a young Sophia Loren’s.

Her hair was taken up into a smooth coil which served to emphasize her pure bone-structure, and from his vantage point he could see that her eyes slanted up a little at the outer corners. Disappointingly, he couldn’t make out their colour.

She was so exactly like his dream of a perfect woman that she could have been built to his specification.

Though this woman was far from being a plastic, mass-produced, empty-headed doll type.

A special something—the alignment of her features maybe—made hers a fascinating face rather than merely beautiful. And, judging by the job she did and what he had already found out about her, she had brains and character.

Assets most of the others had lacked.

But until now, avoiding any risk of involvement or emotional blood-letting, he hadn’t been looking for brains or character, merely a beautiful companion to decorate his arm at public functions and a beautiful body to take to bed at night. In short, his physical needs satisfied while his emotions remained placid, undisturbed.

This time, however, his emotions were anything but placid and undisturbed. He had wanted her fiercely, passionately, since the first moment he had set eyes on her some three months previously.

Then he had caught sight of her briefly just as he was about to leave for the airport and, knocked for six, had asked his Managing Director who she was.

‘That’s Tim Hunt’s sister.’

The answer had shaken Daniel Wolfe badly and it was a moment before he said evenly, ‘I wasn’t aware he had a sister.’

‘So far as I know it isn’t common knowledge.’

‘Personnel had no other Hunt listed.’

‘Her name’s Charlotte Michaels,’ Telford told him as the two men took the lift down.

With a sudden stab of alarm Daniel demanded, ‘Is she married?’ He had always avoided married women like the plague.

‘No, she’s single.’

‘Then why the different surnames?’

‘I suppose, to be exact, I should have said she’s Tim Hunt’s stepsister.’

Daniel let his breath out slowly. ‘That would certainly have made things clearer.’ Then, thoughtfully, ‘Have you any idea if she was close to her stepbrother?’

‘I gather they were extremely close.’

‘She wasn’t at the funeral.’

‘Charlotte was away when it happened. Not having had a holiday the previous year she’d taken five weeks off and, by the time she heard the news and flew home, it was all over.’

‘How old is Miss Michaels?’ Daniel pursued as they left the lift and made their way across the sumptuous marble-floored lobby to the main entrance where a limousine was waiting.

‘I don’t remember precisely. Twenty-five or six.’

‘What exactly does she do?’

‘Charlotte works with our main research team, analyzing current market trends and helping to predict future ones.’

‘Been with the company long?’

‘She started at the beginning of last year. Some time in February, I believe.’

‘How about her private life? Any men friends? A live-in lover, for example?’

Telford’s bushy eyebrows drew together in a frown. ‘I really don’t know.’ It was obvious that the middle-aged MD disapproved of such a personal question.

‘How does she get on with the men she works with?’

‘Very well. Though she can appear a little aloof, she’s always polite and friendly.’

‘No office romance of any kind?’ Daniel persisted.

‘Not that I’m aware of. In fact, it’s rumoured that since her engagement broke up earlier this year she’s tended to avoid men.’

‘I see. Is she good at her job?’

‘Excellent. I’d say she has one of the best brains in the team. But as well as being clever she’s genuinely nice and caring. She was extremely distressed by her stepbrother’s death.’

Telford held open one of the heavy smoked-glass doors for his boss and, as though by way of warning, added, ‘After reading the reports in the press, and hearing the office gossip, she became very upset and angry. She seemed to think that you were largely to blame for what had happened…’

Someone passed them, coming in, and the MD lowered his voice. ‘She handed in her notice but I didn’t want to lose her, so I told her to take some time off and think things over. I must admit I was both surprised and pleased when she chose to come back.’

Daniel’s grey eyes narrowed.

Most of his previous women had been easy, almost boringly so. Discovering what he was up against told him that this one would be anything but easy. In fact, it might prove to be one of the biggest challenges he had ever taken on.

But it was typical of the man that he never for an instant thought of giving up. He had always been a man who knew precisely how to get what he wanted, and he wanted this woman. Wanted her more than he had wanted anything for a very long time.

And he intended to have her.

He wondered briefly whether to postpone his flight, go back and speak to her now, introduce himself.

If he could bring everything out into the open he would be able to start his campaign immediately, as he was itching to do, rather than wait.

But a sure instinct warned that if he made his move too soon he could spoil everything. It would pay to be patient, to allow more time to elapse. That way heated emotions would have a better chance to cool.

So, reining in his impatience, he handed the waiting chauffeur his small amount of luggage, shook hands with Telford and reluctantly climbed into the limousine to be driven through the sunny September streets to the airport.

Back in New York he had hired Alan Sheering, a discreet London investigator—based, ironically enough, in Baker Street—to dig out everything he could about Charlotte Michaels and any possible boyfriend.

Sheering reported that, apart from her ex-fiancé, he could find no trace of any boyfriends past or present. He had also come up with a goodly amount of general information, including the fact that she had always enjoyed travelling and had expressed a wish to one day visit the States.

Using that as a starting point, Daniel had decided on a plan. A plan that would, if it worked, bring him a step nearer to his goal, by providing a change of scene and distancing both Charlotte Michaels and himself from what had happened in London.

Sounding brisk and businesslike, he had phoned Telford. ‘I’ve decided that, in order to provide firsthand experience of how things are done both in the States and the UK, there should be some exchange of personnel.’

‘What exactly do you have in mind?’ his MD had asked cautiously.

‘As a trial run, say, one of our London-based Research Team changes places with one from New York to study the possible differences in market trends.’

‘For how long?’

‘Six months. A year. We’ll see how it goes.’

‘Have you anyone particular in mind?’

‘From this end an up and coming youngster named Matthew Curtis is eager to give it a try.’

‘And from the London end?’

Bearing in mind that the move had to be voluntary, Daniel suggested as casually as possible, ‘Suppose you see who’s interested?’

If she didn’t take the bait he would have to think of something else.

‘I don’t know how well such a scheme will be received,’ Telford said slowly. ‘You see, the majority of our team are either married or have partners, and as most of them also have young families they’re hardly likely to welcome so much upheaval. Still, I can always circulate a memo and see what response we get.’

‘Do that.’ Daniel crossed his fingers and waited with what patience he could muster.

In the end, only two people put in for the temporary transfer—Paul Rowlands, the newest member of the team and, to both Telford’s and Daniel’s surprise, Charlotte Michaels.

Briefly, Daniel wondered what had made her apply. But, if Sheering was right, there was nothing to keep her in London and perhaps she felt she needed a change of scene, a chance to leave the past behind.

Delighted that things had worked out so well, he could hardly control his impatience. These last weeks had seemed endless, making him feel restless and dissatisfied. Eager as a boy.

‘Are you thinking of interviewing the candidates yourself?’ Telford had asked.

Wanting everything to seem routine and above board, Daniel had answered, ‘No, I’ll leave that to you. All the same, as it’s my baby and I’ve a personal interest in the outcome, I’d like to hold a watching brief, so when you decide on the day I’ll make a flying visit. But don’t advertise it,’ he added crisply, ‘and don’t send the car to the airport. I’d prefer to slip in unnoticed.’

If his MD wondered at these instructions he said nothing.

Now the big day had arrived, and things were going well so far. Telford had talked to Paul Rowlands that morning and been unimpressed, convinced that he was not yet ready to benefit from such a move.

Now, after lunch, it was Charlotte Michaels’ turn.

Waiting impatiently for her to arrive at Telford’s office, Daniel had half wondered if she really was as lovely as he’d first thought her. Suppose on second sight he was disappointed?

But when she finally appeared he sighed. She was even more beautiful than he remembered and, as if he had carried her picture in his mind, oddly familiar.

Though he still didn’t know what kind of voice she had, what her smile was like, or what pleased her most when she was being made love to.

But it would be fun finding out, he told himself with anticipation.

As he watched her through the blind he noticed that she waited quietly for Telford, without fidgeting or showing obvious signs of impatience.

Yet a certain tension in the slim shoulders told him she was nowhere near as calm as she had first appeared. That the outcome of this interview mattered to her.

She glanced down and, with the first hint of nervousness she had betrayed, brushed an invisible speck from the lapel of her charcoal-grey jacket.

Just watching her hand lightly brush the curve of her breast brought a sudden rush of desire that surprised him with its strength and urgency. It sent his blood surging through his veins, clawed at his insides and urged him to walk out and chance his arm at once, rather than have to endure another endless period of waiting.

But at this point, as she had readily walked into the trap he had set with such care, it would be idiotic to risk losing the game. Though when she had officially been offered the transfer it might be possible to hurry things along a bit.

While Charlotte waited for Mr Telford she made an effort to calm her nerves and concentrate on the coming interview. If only she could get this transfer to the States…

After fruitlessly racking her brains for a way forward the memo suggesting the exchange of personnel had come as a heaven-sent opportunity.

Of course she might be nowhere near Daniel Wolfe’s office. She might not even be based in the same building. But, as he lived in New York, she had more chance of meeting him there than she did on one of his infrequent visits to the UK.

She knew when he visited Wolfe International’s London headquarters by the stir his arrival inevitably caused amongst the rest of the staff, but she had never set eyes on him in person. All she had seen were pictures of him in glossy magazines or the society pages.

Tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair that curled a little, a bony nose and light, piercing eyes set deep beneath well-marked brows, he was undeniably handsome.

Though not in the film star sense.

His was a lean face, tough and attractive, with a cleft chin and a mouth that had affected her strangely, always managing to send little shivers down her spine.

In the more sensational sections of the press he was often referred to as a latter-day Lothario, and frequent stories appeared about him and his latest ‘conquest’, some of which verged on the scurrilous.

Until a matter of months ago, repelled by such blatant sexuality, her instinct had been to avoid him at all costs.

Now things had altered completely. Meeting him, getting close to him, had become her only aim in life. Her mission.

On his last visit, despite all her efforts, she hadn’t even managed to catch a glimpse of him. When she had finally thought of a reason to go up to the top floor executive suite it was to discover he had just that minute left for the airport.

Instead of making her give up her failure only served to stiffen her resolve.

During the following weeks, while trying to work out some practicable strategy to achieve her goal, she had kept an eye on the papers and learnt all she could about him.

A top-flight Anglo-American entrepreneur from a wealthy background, he was known in the business world for his ability and in the outside world for his philanthropy.

A man who was said to work hard and play hard, Daniel Wolfe was today’s hottest news, the centre of media attention on both sides of the Atlantic.

With an English mother and an American father, he had been educated at Columbia and Cambridge and, after graduating, had taken over the running of his godfather’s ailing software company.

When that was firmly on its feet he had diversified, buying up other rocky companies and doing the same for them.

Now, at barely thirty, he was a multi-millionaire. Admired. Envied. Feared. Respected. Occasionally reviled.

In spite of so much coverage, he managed to keep his private life private. So, though Charlotte was soon familiar with his public image, she was able to glean little about the man himself.

In a recent article in Top People he’d been described, more temperately, as an unrepentant bachelor. But a bachelor who liked women. Especially beautiful women.

When, after each London visit, pictures of him appeared in the newspapers, there was always a willowy blonde or a redhead clinging to his arm.

Cursed with the kind of looks that attracted the opposite sex like a magnet, Charlotte had often wished she were plain. It would have saved a great deal of hassle, and made life so much simpler.

Entranced by her face and figure, men had been pursuing her since she was fifteen. Their unwanted, unlooked-for attentions, their sheer persistence, had driven her to hide behind a cool, impenetrable façade that only Peter had ever managed to breach.

And then it had been for all the wrong reasons.

Poor Peter.

But if her despised beauty could seriously attract Daniel Wolfe it would be worth all the problems it had caused in the past.

She had never imagined herself using her looks to try to ensnare a man, but knowing she was the type of woman he went for was an unexpected bonus and helped to bolster her determination.

But if he invariably went in for the kind of casual relationships where no feelings were involved the whole thing might well be impossible.

To succeed in what she was hoping to do, not only had she got to make him want her, somehow she had to make him fall in love with her…

As the office door opened and Mr Telford came in she looked up, a mite flustered, her cheeks growing hot as though he could read her thoughts.

Crossing to his desk, the tall, grey-haired MD said, ‘Charlotte, my dear, do sit down. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I got held up at lunch.’

Taking a seat opposite, she strove to look cool and collected, as though the outcome of the interview didn’t matter all that much.

His light blue eyes kind, Telford asked, ‘So you’re still interested in the move to New York?’

‘Yes.’ She hoped she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt.

‘Quite sure? It might mean having more contact with Mr Wolfe.’ It was as far as he could go by way of warning.

‘Absolutely.’ She answered steadily.

It seemed that she had decided to put the past behind her. Relieved, he asked, ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me why?’

She had expected the question and rehearsed her reply. ‘Apart from the fact that a firsthand knowledge of American market trends could prove to be invaluable, it would be a good chance to compare the way different teams work. I understand the New York team are usually extremely accurate with their predictions. I thought I might learn something.’

‘A text-book answer,’ he remarked with a smile. ‘Though I rather suspected you had a more personal reason for wanting this move?’

She froze. It seemed he knew.

But he couldn’t possibly know.

‘How do you mean, a more personal reason?’

A twinkle in his eye, he said, ‘Didn’t you once tell me you’d like a chance to live in New York?’

‘Yes. Yes, I did… I’m just surprised you remembered.’ Then boldly, ‘Does having a personal reason disqualify me?’

‘Of course not. The mere fact that you want to live there is a big plus.’

Her sigh of relief was audible.

‘In my opinion you’re the candidate best suited to the move and, though I’m sure they’ll miss you on the team, I’ll put your name forward to Mr Wolfe.’

‘That’s marvellous.’ She smiled at him brilliantly.

Blinking, he thanked the Lord that he was a very happily married man. Though she had been working for Wolfe International for almost two years, her beauty never failed to move him.

‘If he’s in agreement, which I’m sure he will be, all your travelling expenses will, of course, be met and you’ll have the use of a company flat. Any idea how long it will take you to get organized for the transfer?’

‘I can be ready as soon as you wish.’

The sooner the better.

‘With Christmas less than two weeks away, I imagine some time around mid-January should be fine. Will leaving your present accommodation give you any problems? I mean from a practical point of view?’

‘No. I share a rented flat with an old school friend. Carla should have no trouble finding someone to take my place while I’m away.’

‘Excellent… Then, as soon as I’ve had a word with Mr Wolfe, I’ll let you know.’

‘Thank you.’ Her legs not quite steady, Charlotte made her way back to her own office—one of a row of small offices, little more than cubicles, that made up Research and Analysis—and sat down at her desk.

Her thoughts were chaotic, tumbling over each other like clowns in a circus ring. She had succeeded in taking the first step.

So long as Daniel Wolfe raised no objections…

But why should he? She and Tim had different surnames and, out of the country when it all happened, she hadn’t been involved in any way, so he would have no idea there was any connection.

Charlotte felt her whole body tense as once again the hatred and anger rose up inside, sharp and biting, bitter as gall on her tongue.

After leaving college, and the somewhat wild bunch he had run around with, Tim had seemed to lose a lot of the feckless ways that had so worried her.

Settled in his new job with Wolfe International—a job Charlotte’s recommendation had managed to get him—and confident about the future, he had fallen in love with Janice Jeffries, a pretty young blonde who had worked in the next office.

Janice, in her turn, had been fascinated by the young fair-haired giant with sparkling green eyes and a winning smile.

Discovering that the attraction was mutual, within a very short time they had arranged to move in together and had started to make plans to get married some time in September.

With Tim to support money had been very tight and Charlotte had taken no holidays since starting in her present job. She had five weeks due to her, so when Carla and she were offered a two-berth, last-minute cancellation on a ‘roughing it’ sailing trip around the Greek Islands she had gone off happily, not at all concerned about leaving the young couple.

While they were away it had happened, coming out of the blue swiftly, shockingly, and by the time the news had filtered through to them, and they had arrived back from Athens, it was too late.

Apparently trying to drown his sorrows, Tim had swallowed a lethal cocktail of drink and drugs.

He was dead and buried.

There was nothing anyone could do.

Though the verdict had been an unequivocal Accidental Death, the gutter press had somehow scented a story. Discovering that there had been a fight in one of the offices of Wolfe International between the dead man and Daniel Wolfe himself they were enjoying a field day.

Having managed to dig up the fact that Tim’s fiancée had been involved, they were suggesting a love-triangle and hinting at possible suicide.

Blaming herself, Charlotte had bitterly regretted going away. If she had been at home things might have been different.

No, would have been different. If what the newspapers were suggesting was true, she would have been there for Tim, as she had been every day for the past five years…

The office door opening made her jump. She glanced up, her expression bleak.

‘Don’t look so anxious.’ Mr Telford smiled at her. ‘I’ve spoken to Mr Wolfe and he’s quite willing to go along with my recommendation. There’s only one thing; he’d like you to travel over to the States as soon as possible so you can get settled in before Christmas.’

Charlotte bit her lip to hold back the sudden surge of excitement.

Misreading her reaction, Mr Telford suggested, ‘But perhaps that’s too soon? I’m sure Mr Wolfe will understand if you’d prefer to be at home with your loved ones over Christmas?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ve no loved ones left to be at home with. That’s one of the reasons I applied for the move,’ she added quietly.

Recalling not only the break-up of her engagement but what had happened to her stepbrother, and upset by his own unthinking blunder Mr Telford looked distressed. ‘Please forgive me, my dear. I’m afraid I wasn’t thinking.’

‘That’s all right.’ Then, with a determined smile, ‘Christmas in New York should be wonderful.’

‘I hope it will be.’

‘You’re very kind,’ she said warmly.

He harrumphed before asking, ‘How do you stand as far as your work’s concerned? Can some other member of the team take over?’

‘That shouldn’t be necessary. I can finish my latest report this afternoon.’

‘So when do you think you can be ready to travel?’

Adrenalin pumping through her bloodstream, she told him, ‘All I have to do is pack, so I could be ready to leave by tomorrow… If it’s possible to get a flight at such short notice?’

‘Our company have a big stake in one of the transatlantic airlines so that shouldn’t prove to be a problem. I’ll ask Mr Wolfe’s secretary to make all the arrangements. She’ll give you any other necessary information and organize a car to take you to the airport, where a ticket will be waiting for you. Needless to say, the company will be happy to defray any other travelling expenses you may incur, and this month’s salary cheque will be paid into your bank as usual.’

‘Thank you.’

Well aware that she had had to cope with more than enough heartbreak, at the door Mr Telford turned and said, ‘You will take care, won’t you…?’

Though it was, strictly speaking, none of his business, he was uneasy about Daniel Wolfe’s barely concealed interest and his motive for what Telford was beginning to suspect had been a contrived move.

But, knowing how Charlotte felt about Wolfe, common sense told him that she was hardly likely to be in any danger.

Smiling, she answered, ‘Of course.’

‘And don’t forget to come back to us.’

For an instant her smile faltered. She had already faced the fact that it would be impossible for her to return to Wolfe International. That chapter in her life was over.

Whether or not she succeeded in her mission, it would be time to put the past behind her, if she could, and move on…

But she would succeed, she vowed. She had to succeed to make the rest of her life worth living.

The bus, its grimy windows filmed with a fine drizzle, crawled through the heavier-than-usual Thursday evening traffic like a wounded snail.

By the time Charlotte got off at Belton Street and let herself into the Bayswater flat, her first, almost sick, excitement had seeped away.

So had her confidence.

As naturally tidy as her flatmate was untidy, she hung up her coat and suit jacket before going through to the bright little kitchen.

Carla, who looked like a cat, had all the subtlety of a Rottweiler and was fond of quoting platitudes. She was standing by the stove.

Her short black hair standing up in spikes, her triangular face a little flushed, she was stirring a pan of herby-smelling sauce with one hand and feeding long sticks of pasta into furiously bubbling water with the other.

Looking up, she said, ‘I thought we’d have Spag Bol tonight, if that suits you?’ Then, without waiting for an answer, ‘What happened? Did you get it?’

‘Yes, I got it.’

‘Brill! So you’re on course at last. How long will you be away?’

‘I don’t know. It all depends on how things go. The memo said six months, possibly a year… But I’m hoping to be home much sooner than that. I suppose you’ll get someone else to share the rent?’

Carla who, with another friend, Macy, ran a small but very successful boutique, shook her head. ‘I doubt it. It’s not really necessary, and I don’t know how I’d get on living with someone else.

‘Any idea when you’ll be going?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow!’ She sounded staggered. ‘Why so soon?’

‘They want me to get settled in before Christmas. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Of course I don’t mind. To tell you the truth, Andrew has been pressuring me to go up to Scotland with him on the 23rd. His family live in Dundee.’

‘You didn’t mention it.’

‘I couldn’t decide whether or not I wanted to go.’

Realizing that Carla had been unwilling to leave her, Charlotte could only feel grateful for such a loyal friend.

Knowing from past experience that her flatmate was uncomfortable with any undue display of sentiment, she merely said, ‘But you’ll go now, I hope?’

‘I expect so. Though the shop’s bound to be busy, Macy has offered to hold the fort for a couple of days in exchange for extra time off at New Year.’

Fishing out a strand of spaghetti and pinching it between her finger and thumb, Carla went on briskly, ‘This is done, so I’ll start dishing up. You can fill me in on all the details while we eat, and afterwards I’ll help you with your packing.’

Then with satisfaction, ‘It’s a jolly good job I bullied you into buying all those new clothes in the autumn sale…

‘Tell you what—’ she continued, putting down two steaming bowls ‘—get some wineglasses out and we’ll have a bottle of plonk to celebrate. When you’ve got your claws into Daniel Wolfe and brought him to his knees, we’ll have champagne.’

‘I don’t think I can go through with it,’ Charlotte admitted in a rush.

‘Of course you can go through with it!’ Carla’s dark eyes flashed. ‘That kind of swine ought to get his comeuppance.’

‘But, even if I can attract his attention in the first place, I don’t think I’m a good enough actress to pretend to like a man I loathe and detest.’

‘Certainly you are. Didn’t you play the femme fatale opposite that revolting Keith what’s-his-name when the Sixth Form put on Someone Like You?’

‘This isn’t the same…’

‘You can do it!’

‘I’m not so sure… The thing is, as well as being an extremely wealthy man, Daniel Wolfe’s got loads of sex-appeal, so he’s—’

‘How do you know he’s got loads of sex-appeal?’

‘I’ve seen pictures of him in the papers.’

‘Newspaper pictures can give a false impression.’

‘He’s always got a woman clinging to his arm.’

‘That could be something to do with his money. You know what they say about millionaires—some women will love them if they’re bald and hideous and only four foot two.’

‘He must be at least six foot and he has plenty of hair. Added to that, he’s undeniably attractive.’

‘Close to, I bet you he’s wall-eyed and has halitosis,’ Carla said sourly.

Charlotte smiled fleetingly. ‘Just in case I do manage to get close to him, I rather hope not. But what I’m trying to say is, apart from being rich, he’s clever and intelligent. I don’t know if I can attract someone like that.’

Carla lifted her eyes to heaven as though praying for patience. ‘You’ve been attracting the opposite sex since you were at school, without even trying.’

‘But Daniel Wolfe is different. He lives in a different world and with no lack of women to choose from he may not fancy someone like me.’

‘He’ll be interested.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘He’s a man, isn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘And straight?’

‘Almost certainly.’

‘Then, mark my words, he’ll be a pushover.’