Rendezvous With Revenge

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‘Yes, boss.’

‘Don’t be cheeky.’

She’d be more than cheeky if she went swimming wearing the bikini Dillon had picked out for her five years ago. Abby had gone up a size since then, especially in her bust. It must have been all that lovely fatty prison food. Or the free doughnuts and cappuccinos she’d been stuffing herself with every weekend at the café, so that she didn’t have to spend so much money on food.

She would literally have to starve herself between now and Friday if she wanted her old clothes to fit her properly, but at least she’d already made a good start. She hadn’t eaten a darned thing all day!

‘Abigail?’

‘Yes?’

‘Oh, nothing. Is there anything else you want to ask?’

‘Do you have my address to send the money to tomorrow?’

His sigh sounded irritable. ‘I’m glad you’ve still got your priorities right. Yes, I have your address. You’ll have the money, in cash, by three at the latest. Is that satisfactory?’

‘Quite.’

‘And I’ll expect my money’s worth in return.’

‘You’ll get what you paid for. And nothing more.’

‘I’m glad to hear that, Abigail,’ he drawled. ‘Because that’s exactly what I am paying for. Nothing more. No complications and no consequences. See you Friday. And don’t be late!’ he snapped, then hung up.

Abby glared down into the dead receiver, her heart thudding angrily. At least, she hoped that it was with anger. Friday seemed a long way off, but it would come round all too quickly, she feared.

It did, dawning cool and sunny, a beautiful autumn day. The week, which usually dragged when she spent it searching fruitlessly for a full-time job, had simply flown. Any spare minute had been taken up with alterations to her clothes. Hems had been taken up or down, and seams let out where possible.

‘Tell me again the name of the place you’re off to, dear?’ Miss Blanchford asked as she watched Abby packing the freshly washed and pressed garments.

‘Bungarla,’ she replied, smiling as the old lady manoeuvred the chair closer with a small movement of the joy-stick-style steering. In just two short days she’d become a real expert, whizzing up and down the hallway and rarely bumping into anyone any more. Seeing her so happy made the sacrifice of the coming weekend worthwhile. ‘It’s a private hotel just outside of Bowral.’

‘And what exactly is it you have to do there?’

Abby swallowed. ‘Just secretarial work. Dr Grant wants me to take notes on all the lectures he’ll be attending.’ No way could she tell the old darling the truth. She would simply die, then demand that Abby give Ethan back the money and not go. Which would be a little difficult when it was already in the wheelchair company’s bank account.

‘And you need all these lovely clothes just for that?’ came her frowning enquiry.

Abby tried not to look guilty. She laughed, and hoped that it didn’t sound too false. ‘No, of course not. There will be some socialising in the evenings. You wouldn’t want me to look dowdy in front of all those high-flying doctors and their wives, would you?’

‘You could never look dowdy, Abby.’ Sharp grey eyes latched on to the heightened colour gathering in Abby’s cheeks. ‘This is all on the up and up, dear, isn’t it? I mean... this boss of yours... he’s not the type to expect you to be anything more than his secretary, is he?’

‘Good heavens, no! Dr Grant’s not like that at all.’

‘I thought you told me he was very handsome. And quite young.’

‘Well, yes, he is.’

‘In that case he’s like that, believe me, dear. I’ve been around long enough to know that all handsome young men are like that. Unless he’s queer, of course. He’s not queer, is he?’

‘No,’ Abby choked out. ‘No, I’m sure he’s not. But there’s no need for you to worry. He doesn’t fancy me at all. Certainly not in that way.’ Which was just as well, given her unbidden excitement over the coming weekend.

‘What makes you say that? Why wouldn’t he fancy you? You’re a very fanciable girl. And you’re going to look stunning in that dress you have there.’

Abby stared down at the coffee-coloured lace gown that she was carefully folding into the case. ‘I might not wear this one. It’s a little tight.’

Actually, most of the clothes she’d collected from home last Monday had been a little tight to begin with. She’d been largely able to correct this problem by letting out seams, but that had been impossible with the lace dress—all the seams being overlocked, with not a centimetre left to spare. She was only bringing the dress because she thought she might fit into it by the last evening—if she swam up and down the pool Ethan had mentioned for a hundred or so laps every day. The colour did look well on her, and it was a dress she’d always felt good in.

Good?

Her conscience pricked and Abby had to admit that that particular dress had never exactly made her feel good. Sexy was closer to the mark. On the one occasion she’d worn it for Dillon he hadn’t been able to wait to tear it off her at the end of the night.

She wondered what Ethan would say if and when he saw her in that particular dress, with her hair done up, full make-up on and her diamond and pearl choker around her throat. Seducing her might not be part of his original plan, but it might just come into his mind...if she put it there.

‘Abby...’

Abby started, then glanced up from her suitcase, aware that her pulse was racing uncomfortably. What wicked thoughts that man put into her mind! ‘Yes?’ she said a little shakily.

‘You’re not in love with Dr Grant, are you?’ Miss Blanchford asked worriedly.

‘Lord, no!’ Maybe a little in lust, she conceded with considerable understatement. But not in love. No way. The very idea was appalling!

‘Telephone for you, Abby!’ someone called along the hallway. ‘Hop to it. Chap says he’s only got a minute.’

Abby couldn’t think who it could possibly be. No one ever rang her here. She didn’t think she’d ever given the number to anyone. Her only friends since getting out of prison were Miss Blanchford and the other boarders.

She was hurrying along to where the ‘in only’ telephone sat on a solid table near the front door when she realised that she’d given Sylvia this number, which meant that Ethan would know it as well.

Her stomach tightened as she picked up the receiver, and her hello was taut.

‘Ethan here, Abigail. I’m in between operations, so can’t spare long.’

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ Her heart was already sinking at the thought that he was calling the whole thing off. Abby found her dismay highly disturbing, because it wasn’t the money she was worrying about all of a sudden but the thought that she would not, after all, get the opportunity to display herself for Ethan in that damned dress!

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he returned crisply. ‘But I was concerned over how you were going to get into town carrying luggage. I know you usually take the train and walk the couple of blocks from Martin Place when coming to work.’

‘How on earth do you know that?’ she asked, taken back.

His laugh was droll. ‘You’ve no idea the amount of useless information Sylvia relays to me about her precious Miss Richmond. I assume your cash fee arrived without any mishap last Monday?’

‘What? Oh, yes, thank you.’

‘Then use some of it to take a taxi.’

‘But I can’t!’

‘What do you mean, you can’t?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘Good God, don’t tell me you’ve already spent it all? The whole three thousand?’

‘Afraid so,’ she admitted, her lips twitching. In a way it was funny, the false things he kept thinking about her. Now she was not only a mercenary gold-digger, but a wicked spendthrift as well.

He muttered something under his breath which turned her amusement to annoyance. She hadn’t quite picked up the exact expression he’d used, but it hadn’t sounded at all complimentary.

‘I won’t be late,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t have that much luggage. Only one suitcase.’

‘I told you I wanted you to be well dressed!’

‘I will be well dressed. Very.’

‘Courtesy of my three thousand dollars, I dare say,’ he growled. ‘Still, I shouldn’t complain. You only get what you pay for in this world. I wanted a good-looking, well-groomed woman on my arm this weekend and they never come cheap. But I’m also paying for no hitches, so do me a favour and catch a taxi anyway. Do you have enough money for the fare if I faithfully promise to reimburse every single cent when you get here?’ he asked caustically.

‘Yes.’ Just.

‘Then do that. See you no later than one-thirty.’

He hung up on her again, leaving Abby disturbed and frowning. All thoughts of coffee-coloured dresses and seduction had slipped from her mind, replaced by a renewed curiosity over what this weekend was really all about. What on earth was Ethan up to that he didn’t care how much he paid to get what he wanted?

Her resigned sigh reflected the reality of the situation. Ethan was not about to tell her, even if she asked him straight out. He was paying for non-involvement.

And isn’t that what you want too? she asked herself. Non-involvement. This ridiculous one-sided sexual attraction is best ignored, not fuelled by wearing sexy dresses and thinking sexy thoughts.

The coffee-coloured number, Abby decided sensibly, would stay safely behind.

But when she got back to her room, Miss Blanchford had finished packing for her, and the lace dress was already under several layers of clothes. With the old lady’s intuitive grey eyes upon her, she was not about to wrench the offending garment from the depths of the case, though she staunchly vowed not to wear the darned thing. She didn’t trust herself in it.

Just do what you’ve been paid to do, Abby, love, came the voice of reason as she snapped the case shut. Nothing more. Nothing less.

If she did that, and minded her own business, then the only real danger Abby could see was that she might say or do something which would lose her her one remaining job—which would be disastrous for her present depressing financial balance of fifty-five whole dollars in her bank account, plus approximately thirty dollars in her purse.

Well, you’ll just have to make sure you don’t say or do anything stupid, came her stern self-advice. Stay cool, calm and collected. Don’t resort to too much sarcasm, however provoked. And don’t, for pity’s sake, start drooling over the man—even if he stands before you stark naked in all his masculine glory.

Abby’s stomach clenched down hard at this last thought. Of course, she had no real idea how Ethan Grant would look naked. Maybe he was all pale and flabby underneath his clothes. Maybe his broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, flat-stomached shape was all an illusion, created by the superbly tailored suits he always wore.

And maybe pigs might fly, Abby decided ruefully. Ethan worked too damned hard to be flabby. As for being pale... the man had a naturally olive skin, his colouring as dark as a gypsy.

No, he would look gorgeous naked. Of that she was sure. Gorgeous and sexy and all man.

‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ Miss Blanchford asked Abby as she swung the tan leather suitcase off the bed.

‘Have I? What?’

‘This,’ the old lady said, and produced from her lap the most beautiful perfume dispenser Abby had ever seen. It was made of rose cut glass, and had a pink satin puffer with a silver tassel hanging from it.

‘Oh, Miss Blanchford!’ Abby exclaimed, tears pricking her eyes as the old lady pressed it into her hand.

‘It’s full of Chanel No. 5. A man-friend gave it to me a couple of years back, but the exotic scent didn’t seem to suit an old spinster like me. However, I think on you, my dear, it might just turn a few gentlemen’s heads.’

Abby was both touched and tortured by the gift. For she knew that there was only one man’s head she would want to turn this weekend. Yet his was the last one she could afford to!

CHAPTER FIVE

THE taxi driver let Abby off outside the tall building which housed Ethan’s rooms, dumping her case on the pavement before speeding off into the heavy city traffic. The fare had come to twenty-two dollars, which left her precisely eight dollars and a few cents in her purse.

Abby sighed, then glanced at her watch. Only ten past one. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she picked up her suitcase and forged through the revolving glass doors into the foyer. Her stomach still began to churn as she made her way across the coolly tiled floor and over to the bank of lifts. She dropped the heavy suitcase, hitched her matching tan leather carry-all further up her shoulder, and pressed the ‘up’ button.

The doors opened immediately on an empty lift. Abby picked up her case and was about to step inside when something halted her.

It was a voice in her head.

Don’t go, it said. Run!

Run? But how could she? She’d been paid—up front and in advance. Ethan knew her address. And she was almost broke. There was nowhere to run to.

The rather irrational fear subsided as Abby rode the lift up to the second floor. Really, what on earth was there to be afraid of, other than her own silly sexual feelings for the man?

It wasn’t as though Ethan lusted after her. It was a one-way thing, and easily hidden. Lord, she’d hidden it for nearly six months, hadn’t she? She would simply go on doing more of the same for the next few days.

Of course, she couldn’t help being a bit nervous about the coming weekend away itself. It had been some years since Abby had mixed socially with the type of people who would be at this conference. Still, she had been well brought up, with all the advantages excessive wealth could provide, and she didn’t think that she would embarrass herself or Ethan.

Her education had been excellent, with the right grammar, manners and etiquette being ground into her from the earliest days. Not even four years in prison had tarnished that style and elegance which seemed unconsciously to cling to girls of her background and upbringing, though she’d certainly learnt to stand up for herself, and to speak bluntly when necessary—not always in the most ladylike language.

She could well understand Ethan’s ambivalence where her character was concerned. Most of the time she was the polished, refined creature her many nannies and teachers had created, but occasionally the tough survivor she’d had to become in prison would emerge, bringing out a feral cat-like creature, who could snap and snarl with the best of them.

Abby took some comfort from this new ‘survivor’ aspect of her personality. She could always rely upon it to protect her—emotionally as well as physically. It called a spade a spade and made her see things as they really were, shielding her from that other idealistic and romantic fool who had once resided within herself—the one who’d fallen madly and blindly in love with a handsome creep like Dillon; the one who’d always steadfastly believed that she had to be in love with a man to enjoy sex with him.