A year with the billionaire

Chapter 6

Donald

I pull open the door to the street and can’t resist one last look.

She’s face-planted on her laptop and laughter bubbles up inside me, its force as surprising as its presence. I shake my head, step out, grateful for the chill in the morning air.

Nothing about this is funny.

Nothing at all.

She’s been back in my life less than twenty-four hours and already turned it on its head. No. Correction. Gran has done that. And as much I loved her, respected her, on this she couldn’t have called it more wrong.

Or hurt me any more than she has.

It’s not about the money. It’s about love and loyalty and my ancestral home. How could she do this? Gift half of it to a woman who’s been MIA for twenty years? How could she bring her back into my life and risk exposing me to that kind of pain again?

Betrayed and broken, I have no idea how to fix the way I feel. But I’ll stay in control and buy myself the necessary time to eradicate her from my life for good. I have my advisors looking into the terms of the will—if there’s a loophole, they will find it.

There’s no blood connection and no bond... The woman didn’t even make it back for Gran’s funeral. What kind of person claims to care and doesn’t even turn up to say goodbye?

I clutch the letter in my coat pocket and swallow down the rising sickness, walk away before I storm back inside the café and demand that she tell me.

Now isn’t the time or the place. Glenrobin is.

My jaw is throbbing by the time I enter the foyer of my Scottish headquarters, the double-height entrance enhanced by its glass front, white-tiled floor and flashes of chrome. Some might say it’s clinical—to me it means business. A space for focus and success. Success I’ve worked damned hard for, proving that I’m more than just my father’s name... My father’s title.

And look at Amanda now...being gifted a fortune so vast it could feed a small nation and having done nothing to deserve it, too.

Well, over my dead body.

Sorry, Gran.

MYCARPULLSup outside her hotel bang on time and I’m surprised to find her already waiting on the pavement. Perched on her backpack, one booted foot tapping, her arms wrapping a vibrant yet ridiculously thin kimono around her.

Does the woman not own a coat?

It’s not raining today, but the clear sky offers no protection from the chill, and even with the sun’s rays lighting her up on the pavement it can’t be enough to warm her.

I leap out of the car before my driver can approach her. ‘Get in. It’s freezing out here.’

She shoots to her feet, her cheeks radiating the same heat as her eyes. I’ve annoyed her, but I don’t care. Where is her common sense?

‘Hello to you too.’

I ignore her snippy remark and grab her bag, handing it to my driver as she gives a huff of protest.

‘Get in, Amanda,’ I repeat, holding open her door. ‘As much it will save me a headache or two, I really don’t want you to catch your death right now.’

She stares at me hard, opens her mouth and closes it again. Whether it’s because of the hint that I might actually care about her wellbeing or the cold itself, she finally moves. Shrugging her satchel off her shoulders and slipping inside, she promptly slams the door in my face.

I look over the roof, take a breath and deny the smirk that wants to form. ‘Keep it under control.’

I walk around the car and get in the same side I exited.

‘Seatbelt,’ I say, without looking at her, knowing she won’t have fastened it.

I’m saved from a retort by my driver, who catches her eye in the rear-view mirror, and she gives a soft sigh, does as I’ve asked. More for his benefit than mine, but that’s just fine.

As soon as she’s secure he pulls away from the kerb and I breathe more easily...until I catch the faint trace of her perfume. Light, sunny...all her.

‘Are you always this grumpy, or do you save it just for me?’

Another smile teases at my lips and I beat it back. This isn’t amusing. If I could stay grumpy this wouldn’t be such torture.

‘Behave like an obstinate child and I’ll treat you like one.’

‘A child? What the—?’

She breaks off as the privacy glass glides into position, saving my driver from hearing more than he should.

‘How dare you?’

Slowly, I turn to face her. Prepare myself for having her so near. The luxurious back seat is far too cosy, and never have I needed us to be at loggerheads more.

‘You’re stood outside in the freezing cold, paying no heed to the weather—how else should I treat you?’

‘“Paying no heed”?’ she splutters back at me, laughing, her eyes wide and disbelieving. ‘What century did you walk out of?’

‘Cut the attitude, Amanda.’

‘My attitude? Have you checked yourself out in the mirror lately?’

Heat collides with heat. Her chest is undulating so rapidly with her breaths that her kimono parts and my eyes unwittingly dip. I fist my hands against the pulse in my groin and she grunts, tugging the fabric back together and throwing herself back in her seat, arms folded, pout to die for.

‘For your information,’ she blurts to the passing world outside, ‘I don’t own a coat.’

‘You don’t...?’ I frown. She can’t be serious. ‘How can you not own a coat?’

She fires a look at me. ‘You want to make a big deal out of that?’

‘But Amanda—no coat? Seriously?’

‘I follow the sun, Donald. I don’t need a coat.’

‘Everyone needs a coat.’

‘Not when everything you own has to fit on your back, you don’t. I carry what I need. Satisfied?’

Her eyes dare me to object, but I’m already pressing the intercom to speak my driver. ‘Parker, we’re taking a detour. Miss Evans needs to purchase some clothes.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Donald!’ She gapes at me. ‘We’re not going shopping.’

‘We are.’

‘Don’t we have a train to catch?’

‘No.’

‘Well, if we’re driving the whole way it would be nice to get there before sundown, so... What? Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘We’re not driving.’

‘A bus...?’

She gives me a confused frown and now I really am struggling not to laugh. Me on a bus? Is she serious?

‘We’re taking the helicopter.’

‘The helicopter?’ she chokes out. ‘Are you for real?’

I say nothing.

‘Of course you are.’ Now it’s her head that’s shaking, her lips twisted in disdain. ‘I really shouldn’t be surprised, should I?’

‘I don’t know, Amanda,’ I say evenly. ‘The helipad is a recent addition to the estate. It stands to reason you wouldn’t know about it.’

I feel her continued censure as she stares out of the window. What exactly is her problem? The fact that I’m highlighting her absenteeism or the fact that my considerable wealth makes such things as a helipad possible?

Would she be so disgruntled if she knew the reason the helipad exists at all?

I have the ridiculous urge to explain, but bite my tongue. I don’t care for her opinion. We just need to get through the next few days, weeks, months—a year, even, heaven forbid—without killing each other.

‘Where to, sir?’ Parker’s voice pipes through the car, reminding me he’s waiting for a revised destination.

‘Harvey Nicks.’ It’s the most obvious choice—everything under one roof. Quick. Simple. Efficient.

She looks back at me, her blue eyes bright. ‘We are not.’

I hold her blazing gaze, unperturbed. ‘Would you rather House of Fraser, or—?’

‘We’re not going shopping, Donald!’

‘No, we’re not. You are.’

‘I don’t have the money to just—’

‘Correction. You do have the money—or have you forgotten already?’