Bedded at the Billionaire's Convenience Read online

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much black leather outside a furniture shop,’ she announced, openly staring. There were only a handful of people in the vast sitting area and all of them were reading newspapers.

  ‘What do you want to drink? Tea? Coffee?’

  ‘Tea, I guess.’

  ‘Only healthy stuff here, I have to warn you. So think fruit teas or Darjeeling.’

  A few minutes later and Georgie was sitting in front of a cup of aromatic tea, which, she suspected, would taste like dishwater.

  ‘Right. Now are you going to tell me the purpose of your visit here, Georgie? What did you mean that my mother is well-ish? If there’s any health problem at all, then I don’t intend to sit here and play guessing games with you about it.’ Pierre sipped some of his coffee and looked at her coolly over the rim of his cup.

  Now she was divested of her artistic poncho, he could see that the glimpse of red was, in fact, a brightly patterned jumper of which red was but one of the primary colours.

  ‘Has someone gone mad with a paintbrush on your jumper?’ he found himself asking, and Georgie beamed and looked proudly down at herself.

  ‘As a matter of fact, several little people went completely mad with paintbrushes and this is the result. Christmas present from the class last year. If you look closely you’ll see that the splashes are, in fact, four-year-old renditions of themselves all overlapping one another and everyone’s written their name under their pictures. Adorable, isn’t it?’

  Pierre grunted. ‘Unusual. You were telling me about my mother.’

  ‘She’s fine.’ Georgie tried some of the tea but after one sip she hurriedly returned the cup to its saucer.

  This, strangely enough considering she had known Pierre for so many years, was the first time she was actually having a one to one conversation with him in private. Usually, on the occasions they had met in the past, they had been surrounded by mutual friends, family and acquaintances, and over the past few years even those accidental meetings had petered out. Once his father had died, Didi had lost interest in the big parties they had become famed for throwing.

  Now Georgie was noticing things about him that had not been apparent. He was as arrogant as she remembered, naturally, but there was also a watchfulness about him, as if nothing, not one little stray word or movement, was going unnoticed. It made her nervous and she had to stop herself from fiddling with her cup or playing with her hair.

  It was obvious from his silence that he was waiting for her to carry on. Silence, she imagined, was a quality he would have found useful.

  ‘After that minor stroke she had earlier in the year…Didi’s just not been the same.’

  Pierre frowned. ‘The consultant informed me that she would make a full recovery and I needn’t remind you that he was the top guy in his field.’

  ‘She has made a full recovery…’

  ‘Then where are we going with this?’ Pierre glanced at his watch. As always he was running on a very tight schedule. He still had some important emails to send off the minute he returned to his apartment and tonight he was seeing Jennifer. After a fortnight of trying to work around their packed agendas, they had finally managed to fix up a dinner date in between their work commitments.

  ‘Sorry, am I keeping you from something?’ Georgie enquired coldly.

  ‘I might have been able to spare you more time, Georgie, if you had given me some advance notice…Believe it or not, I lead a pretty busy life here.’

  ‘And I would have done, but I came here on impulse.’

  ‘Typical.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Pierre looked at her, taking in the unruly blonde hair, the bizarre clothing, the huge green eyes, which were more often than not narrowed at him in judgement. ‘I have no idea how you manage to hold down a proper job, Georgie.’

  ‘And I have no idea how you ever manage to have fun, Pierre.’

  ‘There you go again. Talking without thinking.’

  ‘You feel free to make comments about me. Why shouldn’t I return the favour?’ Georgie felt her hackles rise. Predictably. Didn’t they always when she was in his presence? ‘Because I’m impulsive doesn’t mean that I’m irresponsible!’

  ‘How are the chickens, Georgie?’

  She glared at him. Yes, she kept chickens. Just four of them. They clucked around happily in her back garden and laid a steady supply of the best eggs anyone could hope for. Pierre, naturally, was mystified by that small gesture of animal husbandry. In a minute he would doubtless mention her sprawling vegetable patch where she grew everything from carrots to runner beans. He had only ever been to her house once, on an errand from his mother, but it had been enough to cement in his mind a completely distorted picture of her as a slightly batty young woman totally out of tune with the twenty-first century.

  ‘The chickens are well and fine, Pierre.’

  ‘And the self-sufficient lifestyle?’

  ‘You are infuriating!’

  ‘I know. You’ve told me.’ Pierre grinned. He had to admit that she did do maidenly outrage very well indeed. All flushed cheeks and flashing eyes.

  ‘It’s common sense,’ Georgie said through gritted teeth, ‘to have as organic a lifestyle as possible—’

  ‘Oh, spare me. I spent years listening to that claptrap from my parents. I don’t need to revisit that tired old place again.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with growing as much of your own food as you can. At least when I pull up my vegetables, I know that they haven’t been doing freestyle in a swimming pool of fertilisers!’ She looked around her with scathing condescension. ‘I don’t know how you could do all this, Pierre.’

  ‘All what?’ His voice was very quiet, which made her think that it might be an idea to abandon the developing conversation.

  ‘All this. The clinical expensive gym, the clinical expensive apartment in the heart of the city. I mean, you grew up on a farm!’

  ‘Correction. I grew up in a boarding school. I had holidays on a farm and that was enough for me to realise that as permanent lifestyles went, it wasn’t one I cared to pursue. But you didn’t come here to catch up, did you, Georgie? You might be impulsive but you’re not that impulsive.’

  ‘It’s a little awkward…’

  Pierre recognised the sheepish tilt of her head, the way her eyes shifted away from him, her body language as she drew back slightly. A little awkward. Could only mean one thing, really. She needed money for something and she had come to beg. Only somewhere along the line she had forgotten that beggars should be humble and accommodating.

  A humble Georgie. Should make interesting viewing, he thought. He decided to watch her wriggle in her own discomfort and inclined his head to one side with an expression of lively but uncomprehending interest.

  ‘I mean…’

  He leaned forward and frowned helpfully.

  Georgie sighed dramatically. ‘This tea’s awful. Have you ever tried a fruit infusion? Disgusting. I don’t suppose you could get me a coffee, could you? I’d love a latte, as a matter of fact. Haven’t had one of those for ages…’

  Pierre could recognise delaying tactics from a mile away. He forgot about the important emails waiting to be sent and nodded. ‘Sure.’

  ‘I know you’re probably in a rush…’

  ‘Take your time, Georgie.’ He flashed her a smile and wondered how she would ask the favour she had clearly come to ask. Georgie was as proud as they came. Must be something very important that would have her come to him cap in hand. ‘I’ll go get you that latte and maybe something to eat? They do a nice line in bran muffins and fruit and nut bars. Should be right up your street.’

  ‘Because I have a vegetable plot doesn’t mean that I like bran muffins and fruit bars!’ She watched as he stood up, fishing in the pocket of his jogging bottoms for his wallet. He absolutely towered. It wasn’t simply his height, but all that impacted muscle on show. His arms were lean, brown and hard and his torso had athleticism and
grace. She couldn’t actually remember noticing all this about him, but then again she had rarely spent time with him on a one-to-one basis and certainly never here, in London, on his turf. The saying ‘Lord of all he surveys’ sprang into her head.

  He returned moments later with a latte for her and some mineral water for himself which he drank straight from the bottle.

  ‘So…’ he leaned forward, his hands loosely linked between his legs ‘…why don’t you ditch the pleasantries, Georgie and cut to the chase?’

  ‘Ah.’

  Pierre sighed impatiently. The emails could happily wait for a couple of hours, allowing him to savour the rare opportunity of watching her squirm, but Jennifer, his carefully arranged date, could not. He decided to speed things along a bit and help her out of her obvious misery.

  ‘You haven’t travelled all the way from Devon to give me a hard time about my choice of lifestyle. And you’ve told me that my mother is fine—’

  ‘Ish.’

  ‘Fine…fine-ish. At any rate if there was anything wrong I would know about it by now. Which just leaves us with one possible reason why you might have undertaken a four-hour trip to spring a visit…’

  ‘It does?’

  ‘Money.’ Pierre sat back, sipped some of his water and continued to watch her. ‘Makes the world go round,’ he said lazily, ‘or not, in some cases. So how have you managed to get into debt, Georgie?’ He played over a few scenarios in his head. ‘I thought a teacher’s salary in Devon could go a pretty long way. Not much there to spend the pennies on, after all…’

  Georgie momentarily found herself distracted and bristled at his criticism. ‘No clubs like this, at any rate, Pierre. But I wouldn’t say you spent money in a place like this. More wasted it! Anyway, I haven’t come here to—’

  He held up one imperious hand. ‘…argue with me. Yes, yes, yes. I understand that, although I notice that you just can’t seem to help yourself. It’s that bossy boots disposition of yours, Georgie. If you don’t watch it, you’ll end up organising the local Women’s Institute…and don’t burst a blood vessel just because I happen to be telling you the truth. I mean, you can’t even keep that tongue of yours under check when you’ve come here to ask a favour from me! Because you have, haven’t you? Come to ask me a favour…’

  Technically speaking, Georgie supposed that that was trueish and, while she briefly pondered how he had managed to shove her into the role of beggar when she wasn’t, she caught him smiling smugly at her and shaking his head.

  Unfortunately, while she wanted to jump in and vigorously set him straight, actually telling him why she had madly hopped on a train to London was beginning to present itself to her in all its dubious glory. She would just have to let him ramble on for a bit while she tried to rationalise what she wanted to say and work out how she had managed to forget just how objectionable the man was.

  ‘Okay. Spit it out. Where has your money gone?’ Pierre raised his eyebrows in a question. Close up she could see that those blue eyes which she had always imagined to be as cold as the winter sea, could also darken when he was amused, as he now evidently was at her expense. ‘House extension for a few more animals?’ He appeared to be giving the conundrum a great deal of thought. ‘Luxurious chicken coop because they deserve the best? No? Well, I can’t imagine you having expensive taste in clothes and jewellery…’ He looked her up and down and Georgie scowled back at him in return. That was one thing he had always been very good at. Making her feel gauche and unappealing when it came to her choice of clothing. She had never had conventional taste when it came to what she wore, and over the years she had come to recognise that expression in those blue, blue eyes when he looked at her as a sort of vague, unspecified contempt.

  But then the man lacked imagination. She only had to think of the women he had brought back to his parents; house over the years. Humourless intellectuals who had been fine rabbiting on about world affairs, economics and the British legal system but at a loss discussing anything else.

  ‘It’s not practical wearing designer suits to teach kids,’ Georgie felt compelled to defend herself.

  ‘Did I imply that it was?’

  ‘You didn’t have to.’

  ‘So it’s not the clothes because, as you pointed out, you don’t see the point of wearing anything expensive or feminine—’

  ‘I never said that!’

  ‘If you’re not in long gypsy style-skirts, you’re wearing jeans, Georgie. I think there’s a distinct possibility that you emerged from the womb clad in various layers of flowered fabric. So we’ve established that it’s not excessive retail therapy. Hmm.’ He watched her splutter with a feeling of satisfaction. Hard to occupy the moral high ground when your secret vices had caught you out!

  ‘Having fun, Pierre?’

  ‘Always amusing to watch the preachers come undone…’

  ‘I am not a preacher!’

  ‘No? I remember a number of tedious sermons on my appalling personality, my ruinous obsession with money, my lack of proper filial concern…the list goes on.’

  Georgie reddened. Put like that, it did make her out to be something of an interfering, prissy bore, and for the first time it was driven home just how much of a pain he had always seen her. Too close for comfort and hence too familiar for the subservience he enjoyed. In a world where wealth and status were everything, he was the undisputed king of the city. The way he was treated at the over priced gym in which they were now sitting told its own story of deference and respect. She, on the other hand, had always been the burr under his skin and still was.

  She wondered whether it would be possible to abandon her cause and slink off back to Devon without explanation.

  ‘So tell me why you want the money. It’s been fun imagining the possibilities but the game has reached its limit. I need to be out of here and I dare say you need to head back to Devon.’ He had momentarily forgotten about Jennifer, but a quick glance at his watch told him that he would have to get a move on.

  He looked at her impatiently and realised, with surprise, that she seemed stuck for words.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Georgie. Just spit it out. I haven’t got time for this.’

  ‘I don’t want to borrow money from you, Pierre. I haven’t run myself into debt gambling on the internet, or…or anything else! I’ve come to tell you that…that…’ her mind went a complete blank and she licked her lips nervously ‘…you and I are…well, it’s kind of difficult to say this…but…we’re—’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake. What?’

  ‘Engaged! Or as good as…’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘WHAT!’

  Pierre’s thunderous bellow had several heads swinging interestedly in their direction. Georgie didn’t think that too much bellowing took place in the hallowed confines of the gym café. Did extremely rich, extremely influential people bellow? Probably not. However, this one did.

  ‘Explain yourself!’ Pierre commanded, leaning forward in his chair and thereby sending her nervous system into frenzied overdrive.

  She cleared her throat and tried to maintain eye contact. ‘There’s no need to get into such a state about it…’

  ‘No need to get into such a state…? What planet are you on, Georgie? You hustle up to London uninvited, accost me at my gym and then calmly inform me that we’re engaged…and I’m not supposed to be just a little bit taken aback?’

  ‘Practically engaged…well, more sort of seriously involved…’

  ‘You’ve finally lost the plot, Georgie. You need to be on medication. Either that or making best friends with your local shrink.’

  ‘Look…I know we’ve had our differences over the years—’

  ‘That’s the understatement of the century!’

  ‘But just hear me out.’

  ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘As you know, I’m very close to your mum…I try and look in on her practically every day. Just to make sure that she’s all right.’

  ‘And
she is.’

  ‘In a manner of speaking.’

  ‘Look, you’re trying my patience here. I don’t have the time to play word games. She’s fully recovered after her stroke. I spoke to her consultant myself, and believe it or not, I do telephone her once a week.’

  ‘But you don’t see her.’

  ‘Let’s not go down this road, Georgie,’ Pierre said tightly. ‘It’s a little too well travelled for my liking.’ He was finding it difficult to rein in his anger and stupefaction at what she was saying. Having been born into a life of relative ease, the recipient of a family fortune that had descended through the generations, Pierre had single handedly seen his parents fritter it all away on a series of ill-thought-out-and bizarre schemes, from organic farming when organic had been barely a word in the dictionary, to investments in companies that had sunk without trace the minute his father had flung money at them.

  It had never seemed to unduly bother either of his parents but it had bothered him.

  Consequently, he had, from an early age, determined that the fate of his parents would never be his. He would make his fortune and he would exercise relentless control over both it and the course of his life.

  He had remorselessly stuck to his game plan, and by the time his father died and the true extent of his debts were revealed Pierre had already amassed several fortunes and was considered one of the greatest financial talents in the country. His discipline was legendary.

  Naturally not in Devon where he and his mother maintained an uneasy but superficially smooth relationship. He visited her when his hectic schedule allowed and paid lip-service to his duties as a son.

  But, hell, had she once ever congratulated him on his achievements? Even when he had paid off every penny of debt incurred by his father? And installed her in a cottage, of her choosing, with an allowance that wildly surpassed what she could possibly hope to spend in a lifetime?

  Of course not.

  Still. He couldn’t believe what he was now hearing. Seriously involved with this crazy blonde? A teeth-grindingly irritating woman whose greatest talent was rubbing him up the wrong way?