The Husband Assignment. Helen BianchinЧитать онлайн книгу.
influence in his own interest?
‘With my daughter, Mr. Lanier, whom I’m due to collect from the day care center in half an hour.’ Her personal file was easily accessible to anyone with the right connections. Eliciting such details would be a breeze for someone of Michel or Raoul Lanier’s standing.
His eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘It isn’t possible for you to hire a baby-sitter?’
She wanted to hit him for attempting to infringe on her personal life. ‘Difficult, at such short notice,’ she responded stiffly.
‘Make the call, Stephanie.’
She disliked being controlled, and she resented this man’s aura of power.
There was the temptation to tell him to go to hell, and she barely managed to bite her tongue. Michel Lanier was a wealthy man in his own right, although she couldn’t be certain part of his investment wasn’t being funded by the Lanier conglomerate. In which case, Raoul Lanier had a legitimate claim.
She could insist on another evening. In fact, she was sorely tempted to do just that. Except it seemed foolish to be irksome just for the sake of it.
Her expression was cool and composed as she inclined her head. ‘If you’ll excuse me?’ She walked to the door and opened it, waiting as both men filed past her and exited the room.
One pair of dark gray eyes held a glimmer of amusement, and her own sharpened, then deepened with silent anger.
He was enjoying this, and didn’t appear to give a second’s consideration to what it would cost her in time and effort.
She closed the door behind them, then she crossed to her desk and pressed the required digits to connect with the teenage student she relied on to baby-sit. A few minutes later she replaced the receiver, gave a heavy sigh, then walked out to reception.
Michel Lanier was using his cell phone, and she was acutely conscious of Raoul’s studied appraisal as she crossed to his side.
‘Six-thirty, the Sheraton Mirage foyer,’ she confirmed, adding with a certain cynicism, ‘I shall look forward to it.’
He withdrew a slim billfold. ‘My card, with my cell phone number.’
She wanted to ignore the courtesy, and add with cutting sarcasm that Hell could freeze over before she’d willingly choose to contact him.
Stephanie caught the quick gleam of amusement apparent, and deliberately arched an eyebrow in silent query, held it, then she accepted the card from his outstretched hand, careful to ensure their fingers didn’t touch.
Was that an imperceptible quirk of mockery at the edge of his lips? She told herself she didn’t give a damn.
Without a further word she turned and retraced her steps.
It was almost five, which allowed her one hour and ten minutes to collect Emma from the day care center, drive to Mermaid Beach, feed and bathe her daughter, then shower, dress, brief the baby-sitter and leave.
Do-able, provided there were no hiccups or delays. An added bonus was that Sarah, her baby-sitter had offered to arrive early and take up any slack.
Something for which Stephanie was immensely grateful as she stepped into a slim-fitting black dress and slid the zip home. A few strokes of the brush to her strawberry-blond hair restored order to the stylish bob, and she examined her makeup, added a touch of blusher to her cheeks, spritzed her favorite Hermés perfume to several pulse points, then she slid her feet into stiletto-heeled black pumps, caught up a black shoulder bag and stepped quickly into the lounge.
‘Bye, darling.’ She leaned down and gave Emma a hug. ‘Be a good girl for Sarah.’ She turned toward the baby-sitter. ‘Any problems, ring me on my cell phone. I won’t be late. Thanks,’ she added with heartfelt sincerity.
‘Anytime. Enjoy yourself.’
That was debatable, Stephanie perceived as she crossed the path and slid in behind the wheel of her car.
Business, she reminded herself as she reversed out from the driveway, and eased the sedan down the quiet suburban street. Tonight is strictly business.
Why, then, did she have the feeling that she’d been very cleverly manipulated?
The distance between Mermaid Beach and the Sheraton Mirage hotel at Main Beach represented a fifteen-minute drive…slightly less, if she was fortunate enough to strike a green light at every traffic controlled intersection.
It was a beautiful summer evening, the sun reflected the day’s heat, and Stephanie reached forward to adjust the air conditioning.
High-rise buildings stood like tall sentinels, vying with luxury hotels lining the long gently curved stretch of oceanfront.
The Gold Coast had been her home for almost four years. Years in which she’d mentally fought to put a broken relationship behind her and deal with the bitterness of knowing the man in her life had expected…no, begged, her to terminate an accidental pregnancy on the grounds a baby would represent too much responsibility and wreck his plans. With icy calm she’d handed back his engagement ring and walked out of his life.
It hadn’t been easy. Yet Emma made it all worthwhile. She was a dear child, Stephanie’s image with soft blond curls with the merest tinge of reddish gold.
A horn-blast shattered Stephanie’s introspection, and a slight frown creased her forehead as the car developed a faint bump. Seconds later she didn’t know whether to curse or cry as she pulled into the side of the road and brought the vehicle to a halt.
Just what she needed. A puncture, when she hadn’t allowed herself a minute to spare. Dammit. She reached forward and popped the boot, then she slid out of her seat and prepared to change the tire. Left front, she determined as she removed the jack and set it in position.
Stiletto heels and a figure-hugging dress didn’t make for ideal maneuvering. Nor did she relish wrestling with unfamiliar tools as she attempted to loosen stubborn wheel nuts.
This was one occasion when she was more than willing to put feminine self-sufficiency to one side and welcome male assistance.
Except no car stopped, and she battled with the task, completed the wheel change, replaced tools and then cleaned up as best she could with a packet of moist wipes and a box of tissues.
A quick glance at her watch confirmed she was already ten minutes late, and she reached for her cell phone, extracted Raoul Lanier’s business card and keyed in the appropriate digits.
He answered on the second ring, and she identified herself, offered an explanation, an apology, and ended the call before he had the opportunity to say a further word.
Five minutes later Stephanie slid the car to a halt in the Sheraton Mirage hotel underground car park and took the lift to the main lobby.
She saw Raoul at once, his height and breadth of shoulder emphasized by superb tailoring, his dark hair well-groomed.
As she drew close he turned toward her, and he stood watching her approach with an unwavering scrutiny that made her want to check if there was a smudge on her nose or cheek, and wonder whether her hasty cleaning-up had removed every speck of grease and dust.
Stephanie mentally squared her shoulders as she summoned forth a warm smile. She was practiced in the social graces, and adept at handling any situation. It was very rare for her to allow anything or anyone to ruffle her composure.
All she had to do, she assured herself silently, was get through the next hour or two with her dignity intact.
‘Sandrine. Michel,’ she greeted with ease as she joined them. ‘Raoul,’ she acknowledged civilly. ‘I’m sorry about the delay.’
Take control, a tiny voice prompted. ‘Shall we go in?’
She didn’t miss the faint narrowing of his dark eyes, nor did she mistake the deceptive indolence apparent, and she ignored the slight shiver that feathered