The Millionaire's Daughter (The Carew Stepsisters Book 1)

by Sophie Weston

  He raised his eyebrows. From the gleam that came into his eyes, Annis thought he was beginning to enjoy himself.

  ‘Can’t leave a job half done,’ he said virtuously.

  Annis regarded him with the deepest suspicion. ‘Are you playing some game?’

  Konstantin looked hurt. ‘Would I?’

  ‘Yes, if it got you what you wanted,’ Annis whipped back sharply. She heard what she had said and blushed. ‘I didn’t mean that you wanted me. I mean, I did, but not like that. I mean…’ She floundered into silence and her colour deepened.

  Konstantin watched her with deep enjoyment. ‘Want to rewind that one?’

  I’d like to rewind this whole conversation.

  Annis took another gulp from the bottle of mineral water while her mind took rapid stock. She recalled what she had said to Roy. Nothing would change in Vitale and Partners unless Konstantin changed it personally. She straightened her shoulders.

  ‘This company is your baby. You make every decision. No one else can do anything unless you tell them to. If you want to change—and frankly I’m unconvinced—you change it.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Turning me down, Annis?’ he said softly.

  She did not meet that one head-on. Instead she met his eyes indignantly.

  ‘Do you want to change?’

  He hesitated. ‘Maybe I’m already changing.’

  Another pause, longer and more complicated. This time Annis found her unease was more than embarrassment. Was he—could he be—serious? And, if so, was he talking about work alone? Or…?

  I can’t handle this. I don’t know where I am with this man. I’ve got to get out of here.

  Annis picked up her briefcase. ‘Read the report,’ she advised. ‘Properly, this time. If you’re serious, we can talk about implementation once you’ve decided which of my strategic solutions you want to go for. Until then—’ she drew a shaky breath ‘—just keep out my hair, OK?’ Her voice very nearly broke.

  ‘Annis—’

  But she shook her head and pushed past him before he could detect her confusion. Or the naked hunger.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘WE’RE saved! Vitale wants us to do a follow up implementation scheme.’ Roy was beaming. Annis felt her heart rock like a moored boat at the first sign of a tidal wave.

  ‘You mean, Vitale wants me to do a follow-up,’ she corrected in a hollow voice.

  ‘Same difference. I can keep after the other clients. You make sure the short term cash flow keeps up. Have you billed him for the first report yet, by the way?’

  ‘No.’ She hesitated, then said in a rush, ‘Look, Roy, I’m really not sure about this one.’

  They were sitting in Roy’s untidy office above the garage, converted from a guest bedroom when he’d started the partnership with Annis. In the distance his wife called out to one of the children to put their outdoor shoes on. It was a reminder Annis did not need that Roy had a wife and children to support.

  ‘You can handle it,’ he said, now bracingly.

  Annis was dry. ‘Can I?’

  ‘Never met a client yet you couldn’t talk round. And he’s asked for you.’

  ‘Quite,’ muttered Annis.

  But Roy, scrolling through the client entries on his screen, did not notice.

  ‘If you’ve done your billed timesheets, I’ll put the account in for you, if you like,’ he offered.

  Annis sighed. He swung round, suddenly paying attention.

  ‘Look, I know you don’t like the guy but this is work, love. We can’t afford to turn it down.’

  She bit her lip, looking away.

  ‘Do you know how many partnerships collapse in the first eighteen months because they get the cash flow wrong? This is a gift.’

  The partnership had been Roy’s idea in the first place. He had shown a lot of confidence in Annis by asking her to join him and she owed him for that. Besides, he had more to lose than she had and they both knew it. Annis gave a long sigh.

  ‘I know. All right, I’ll do it.’

  Roy’s conscience stirred. ‘He’s worked for your dad, hasn’t he? If you’re not happy, why don’t you ask him how to handle Vitale?’

  Annis nodded slowly. ‘That’s a good idea. I might just do that.’

  Her father was surprised and rather touchingly flattered to be asked for advice. But his diary was clearly full to bursting.

  ‘Never mind. I’ll get through somehow. I usually do,’ said Annis, trying to be cheerful.

  Something in her voice must have struck a chord in Tony.

  ‘Breakfast,’ he said. ‘Savoy. Seven tomorrow.’

  Annis was prompt but Tony was already there at a table in the window. He stood up when he saw her threading her way through the tables.

  ‘I’ve ordered you porridge and eggs Benedict,’ he said, kissing her briskly. ‘Your stepmother said you were looking peaky and I ought to feed you well. She sends her love by the way. Told me to ask about some boyfriend but I’ve forgotten his name.’

  ‘Good thinking, Dad.’ Annis was dry. ‘Carry on forgetting.’

  He looked at her hard. ‘You know your own business best. Now, tell me what you’re doing for Kosta Vitale.’

  She did, succinctly.

  ‘Mmm.’ He poured himself more coffee and swirled sugar round in it. ‘You think he’s going to give you the run-around.’ He looked up, sharp as an arrow. ‘Professionally or personally?’

  Annis caught her breath. Of course, that was why her father was a self-made millionaire. That knife-like cutting through the undergrowth to the root of a problem was his greatest strength.

  She answered carefully. ‘I’m afraid the two are intertwined.’

  He pulled a face. ‘Well, I can’t advise you on that,’ he said ironically.

  ‘But how did you get on with him? I had the impression at dinner that it was not entirely—er—harmonious.’

  Her father gave a crack of laughter.

  ‘Well, he’s an awkward cuss and stubborn as hell. He likes to win. Kept telling me he had to consider the people who had to look at my building as well as everyone who used it. The guy who was paying seemed to come at the bottom of the list. So we had a bout or two.’

  ‘Who won?’

  He stirred his coffee vigorously. ‘About fifty-fifty.’

  Annis knew her father. That meant that Vitale must have won more often. So even Tony Carew, captain of industry, couldn’t get the better of him. Her heart sank. How was she supposed to keep control of the situation with Konstantin if even her father could not?

  ‘Look,’ he said abruptly, ‘I’m not a woman and I don’t know a damned thing about the man’s private life. But I know you. You’ll be all right as long as keep your head down and do your job.’

  Annis was unconvinced and it showed.

  Tony put his knife and fork down and took her hand in uncharacteristic encouragement.

  ‘You’re an expert. He respects expertise. Trust in that and don’t get tangled up in personalities.’

  ‘Easier said than done.’

  He squeezed her fingers bracingly. ‘You’ve been doing it for years. Every cocktail party your stepmother gave. You can do it. Melt into the background. Wear camouflage gear.’

  Annis laughed. ‘Yes, I can do that.’

  ‘Just don’t ever take him on head to head.’

  But could she do that? Would Konstantin Vitale let her? She did not voice her doubts to her father, though. He would not know what she was talking about.

  ‘Thanks, Dad. You’ve been brilliant.’

  He scanned her face. ‘I’m proud of my clever daughter,’ he said gruffly. ‘Don’t let the bastard wind you up. You can handle him.’

  Thus encouraged, Annis marched into Vitale and Partners next morning wearing the best camouflage she could manage, her drabbest suit and most severe hairstyle. And repeating a silent mantra, Don’t take him on head to head. Don’t take him on head to head.

  Konstantin V
itale met her in the reception area. If Annis had been of a suspicious turn of mind, she would have said he was lying in wait for her. He took in her appearance in one comprehensive blink. His mouth quirked wickedly.

  ‘Hi, gorgeous.’

  Don’t take him on head to head.

  Annis breathed hard. ‘May I have a word in private, Mr Vitale?’

  ‘Just what I was thinking myself.’

  And he flung the door to his office open with great ceremony.

  Annis was almost certain that she heard Tracy at the reception desk giggle. It did not improve her mood. Almost before the door was closed she swung round on him.

  Don’t take him on…It was no good. If she let him get away with this sort of blatant teasing at the very start of the assignment, how far would he go by the end? Identify problems early and deal with them at once. That was the management consultant’s creed.

  So, dealing with the problem, or so she told herself, Annis banged a hand down on his desk. ‘You can just cut that out.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I won’t have you “Hi, gorgeousing” me,’ said Annis furiously. ‘It’s not respectful. And it gives the staff the wrong idea.’

  ‘But what sort of idea does it give you?’ asked Konstantin, interested.

  Annis eyed him broodingly. And told him the truth.

  ‘It fills me with an almost irresistible urge to poke you in the eye.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘No, it’s not excellent. It’s violent and childish and I very much resent it.’

  He grinned.

  ‘Which is why,’ said Annis very, very calmly, ‘you and I have got to come to an agreement on this.’

  ‘Are you proposing to me?’

  Her calm rocked dangerously. ‘In your dreams,’ Annis retorted before she could stop herself. She took several calming breaths. ‘Look, I will come and work for you. I will work through the possible strategies with you. I will put this place on a viable footing. But I will not—not under any circumstances—take any more of your nonsense.’

  Konstantin looked delighted. ‘My nonsense,’ he echoed, rolling it round his tongue like a fine wine. ‘Do you have great-aunts, by any chance?’

  Annis had realised the moment she had said it that it sounded unbearably pompous. Why did he always manage to wrong foot her? Why could she never learn to deal with his teasing without losing her rag? She dealt with other people well enough.

  ‘You know what I’m talking about,’ she said, despairing.

  He gave her a beautiful smile. ‘You want me to keep my hands off you,’ he interpreted.

  To her fury Annis flushed to her eyebrows. ‘No—’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Well, yes, of course,’ she corrected, blushing harder. ‘That goes without saying. I’m trying to be professional.’ Appalled, she heard her own voice: it was close to breaking. She gritted her teeth. ‘Can’t you do the same?’

  There was an odd silence while he watched her from narrowed eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he gave a quick, very foreign shrug. It was as if the game had suddenly lost its entertainment value.

  ‘OK. Professional as you like.’ He paused. ‘At work.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s all here,’ he said, flourishing her own report at her. It was, Annis saw, well-thumbed. ‘Work time. Non-work time. Presumably even you aren’t going to tell me what to do in my non-work time?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Fine,’ he said briskly. ‘Professional in the office. Outside it, you take your chances.’

  It was the start of one of the most stressful few days in Annis’s life. In the office Konstantin Vitale was as good as his word. Well, almost. If he prowled round her like a tiger circling its prey, if his eyes were full of secret laughter every time he looked at her, if his every courteous gesture was thinly disguised mockery—well, nobody else in the partnership seemed to see it.

  But on one thing he was adamant.

  ‘No more, Mr Vitale,’ he said firmly. ‘Kosta.’

  ‘Professional?’ Annis said wearily.

  ‘Sure. Everyone calls me Kosta. Here in London, in Milan, in New York. Even my lawyer calls me Kosta and no one treats me more professionally than he does. You should see the bills.’

  Annis gave up. ‘OK. Kosta it is.’

  She thought he would revel in his triumph but he did not.

  Instead he said quietly, ‘Didn’t hurt, did it?’

  And when she looked at him she found his eyes were oddly bleak.

  By Friday night, Annis was exhausted. Kosta came in from a site meeting to find her drooping at his desk and took decisive action.

  ‘Get your coat. I’m driving you home.’

  ‘No,’ said Annis, shooting upright.

  ‘Don’t be a fool. You’re bushed.’

  ‘I can carry on for a couple of hours.’ Annis struggled to focus on the files open on the desk.

  ‘Not in time I’m paying for, you can’t,’ he said grimly. ‘What sort of quality control do you management consultants use, for God’s sake?’

  Annis had to admit he had a point. She brushed a weary hand through her loosened hair. For once she forgot to cover the scar that ran from brow to hairline. Forgot, at least, until she saw the sudden intent look on Kosta’s face.

  ‘What’s that?’

  Her fingers flew to the ugly mark. Too late. She turned away, shaking her hair forward.

  ‘I’ll just pack up and—’

  He crossed the room in two swift strides.

  ‘You’ve hurt yourself. Let me see.’

  He took hold of her and turned her to face him. Annis strained away but he would not be gainsaid. His fingers brushed away the soft hair, found the puckered skin, traced it gently, paused…

  ‘How did this happen?’

  Annis twitched her head out of his hold and stepped away. ‘A long time ago.’

  He did not try and bring her back but he watched her narrowly. ‘I can see that. How?’

  Don’t think about the scar. Don’t think about anything but work. Do what you have to do and then go on to the next thing. Just don’t stop. Don’t remember. Don’t think.

  Annis did not look at him. She put her notes to one side and closed files neatly. In a couple of the older ones, she carefully marked her place with small Post-its that obtruded like dividers to show her where to start tomorrow. She knew her way round the newer files too well to have to bother with marking anything, she thought.

  He stopped her by putting a hand over both hers and holding them still on top of the files.

  ‘How? Did someone hurt you?’

  Annis swallowed. ‘I fell off my horse into a motorbike,’ she muttered.

  He took her by the chin and turned her face up to him. He trailed a gossamer stroke along the ugly scar, his eyes intent.

  ‘Must have hurt.’

  Annis was surprised. It was a long time since she had thought about the pain of the accident. If she had ever thought about it.

  ‘Not so much,’ she said more easily. ‘At first I was too shocked and then they pumped a load of anaesthetic into me.’

  And while I was high as a kite on painkillers I heard my mother saying, ‘Her face is ruined. I can’t bear to look at it.’ And after that she left us.

  ‘How old were you?’ he said, still gentle, and so quiet she could hardly hear him.

  She had not thought about that for a long time either. She shrugged. ‘Nine. Maybe ten.’

  He was incredulous. ‘And you’ve still got a hang-up about a tiny scar all these years later?’

  ‘Her face is ruined. I can’t bear to look at it.’

  ‘Not so tiny,’ said Annis with suppressed rage. ‘It made—’ She stopped dead.

  ‘It made—?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Don’t do that,’ he said sharply.

  Annis jumped. ‘Do what?’

  ‘The sponge act.’

  She did not understand him. ‘Sponge?’


  ‘You mop up everything that anyone says and you just absorb it. You did it at your parents’ house. I watched.’

  His quietness, she now realised, masked a rampaging fury. Bewildered, she watched as he banged his fist down on the desk.

  ‘You don’t show anything. You just hold it all inside.’

  Annis froze. How closely had he watched her? She felt her heart twist in her breast. But her face, as she had trained it to, stayed impassive.

  He did not even try to hide his mounting frustration. ‘It’s crazy. You know it. I know it.’

  Annis caught her breath.

  Even so small a sign of reaction seemed to mollify Kosta. He said more calmly, ‘All this suppression is unhealthy. And,’ he added with another little eddy of exasperation, ‘it makes it bloody impossible for anyone to get near you.’

  Annis was silenced.

  ‘So, let’s run this one again shall we? When did you get that scar? And what happened to give you this hang-up?’

  But Annis had had enough. ‘I’ll get my coat.’

  She did, giving him a wide berth as she opened the cupboard door. Slightly to her surprise, Kosta neither exploded with temper nor tried to take hold of her again. But his expression did not restore her peace of mind.

  ‘One day,’ he said softly, ‘you will tell me.’

  It sounded like a private promise to himself, one he was determined to keep.

  In spite of her warm winter coat, Annis shivered.

  She tried to insist on taking a taxi but it was hopeless. For one thing he did not listen. For another, on a cold, wet, autumn evening with the theatres about to start all round the West End, every taxi she saw was occupied. She gave up and went with him to his car.

  ‘What happened to the chauffeur-driven?’

  He looked surprised. ‘It’s rented. I only use it from time to time.’

  He held the door open for her. Annis slipped inside and was instantly assailed by the smell of leather and something sharp and piny like a Scottish woodland. It was strangely familiar.

  Unsettled, she said more sharply than she intended, ‘You mean you use it when you’re out to dazzle the impressionable.’

  He got in and started the engine. ‘I mainly use it to pick me up from the airport,’ he said equably. He pulled out of the dark mews into the main thoroughfare. ‘Or sometimes if I’m going from meeting to meeting in central London. It beats the endless search for a parking place.’