Robyn Grady - The Billionaire's Bedside Manner / Her Innocence, His Conquest

“You’ve made a few mistakes in the past?” An insensitive question, perhaps, but he was determined to get to the bottom of this maze.

“Nothing monumental.”

“Until this.”

Screwing her eyes shut, she groaned. “I knew I could’ve said no to Emilio on the day of the wedding, but I couldn’t bear to think of everyone’s meltdown, particularly his. Or I could simply have packed up and stolen off in the middle of the night and moved on to the next town. But Emilio proved to me he wasn’t the kind to let go what he believed was his. He’d come after me and do all he could to bring me back.”

From what Mateo remembered of Emilio, he had to agree. Beneath the superficial charm lived a Neanderthal.

Moving to a garden crowded with spiky Pandanus palms, Mateo swept his foot to move stray white pebbles back into their proper bed.

“What makes you so sure he won’t come here?”

“I’m not sure. I mailed him a package from the airport. The letter explained how I wished he’d listened and I wasn’t coming back. I put his ring in, as well. Hopefully that will be enough.”

Mateo grunted. “He’s thick but not entirely stupid.” When she glanced over, curious, he explained. “The summer before I left Italy, a twelve-year-old Emilio tried to call me out. Can’t recall the reason now but certainly nothing to warrant a fistfight. When Emilio and a couple of friends cut me off in an alley, I defended myself. Emilio didn’t bother me after that.”

Surrounded by memories, Mateo absently brushed more pebbles into the garden bed. How different his life would have been if he’d stayed in Casa Buona. What if no one had come for him all those years ago in France? What would have become of him then? If Mama hadn’t offered her help to this woman—if what she said was true—what would have happened to Bailey?

“I’m going to pay her back,” Bailey insisted. “If it takes five years—”

“Mama may not have five years.”

Her head went back as if she hadn’t considered Mama’s advanced age. But then one slender shoulder hitched up and she amended. “I’ll get a loan.”

A loan to pay a loan. “With no job?”

Sitting straighter, she crossed those long tanned legs. “I’m fixing that.”

“Looks like it,” he muttered, eyeing the pool sparkling with golden east coast sunshine. Linda was always on the verge of getting a job too.

Bailey’s jaw tightened. “Accepting Mama’s money wasn’t any moral highlight—”

“And yet you did accept.”

The frustration in her eyes hardened before the irritation evaporated into resignation. She slowly shook her head. “Someone like you … you could never understand what it’s like to feel powerless.”

Oh, but he did know. And he’d spent his entire adult life making certain he never felt powerless again. He’d done it through hard work, not lying around a pool. Although part of her plan had merit.

“Getting a loan is a good idea,” he said, “but not from an institution. There’s interest. If you get behind, there are fees.”

“Maybe I should throw some cash at a roulette wheel,” she groaned.

“I have a better idea. I’ll pay Mama the money you owe—”

“What?” She shook her head. “Absolutely not!”

“—and you can pay me back.”

“I don’t want to owe you anything.”

“So you’re not serious about paying her back as soon as possible?”

She eyed him as Little Red Riding Hood might eye the big bad wolf.

“What are the terms?” She finally asked.

“A signed agreement. Regular repayments.”

“Why would you do that for me?”

“Not for you. For my grandmother.” The amount Bailey owed wouldn’t make a dent in any of his accounts but he liked to think that, for once, Mama wouldn’t be left out of pocket by virtue of her soft heart.

Bailey pushed to her feet, paced around the back of the sun lounge, studied him and then, defiant, crossed her arms. A few more seconds wound out before she announced, “Well, then, I’d better get cracking.”

That floppy hat stuck on her head, she fished her jeans out of her knapsack and drove her legs through the denim pipes. When he realized he’d been staring while she wiggled and scooped her bottom into the seat of her jeans, he jerked his gaze away and heard her zip up. He’d already faced the fact Miss Ross wasn’t the kind of woman with whom he wished to become more involved than he already was.

In time, he looked back to see her heading for the pool gate, that knapsack swinging over a shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“To get a job. I’ll be back by five to sign that contract. And about those repayments …” She stopped at the gate and her glittering blue eyes meshed with his. “I want them as steep as possible.”

His eyebrows jumped. “To get the debt paid off in record time?”

“To get you out of my life ASAP.”

As she strode away, Mateo gave himself permission to drink in the sway of those slim hips and long hair. High on each thigh, his muscles hardened as his thoughts gave over to how those curves and silk might feel beneath his fingers, his lips….

Regardless of whether she took Mama’s money or not, she was attractive and fiery and … something more. Something he would dearly love to sample.

Whether it was good for him or not.

Bailey visited every employment agency she could find, unfortunately with little success. Although initially there seemed to be some prospects, they turned out to be either charity work or commission-based jobs, like knocking on doors.

Time and again she’d been asked about qualifications. No high school diploma. One year of an apprenticeship at a hair salon. She’d been a school crossing guard, helping kids cross streets for a while. Mainly she’d performed waitress work.

She’d been directed to a hospitality recruitment agency. Placements were available at exclusive establishments but she didn’t have the experience necessary to be put forward as a candidate. Many courses to enhance her skills, however, were available. But they cost money and Bailey didn’t have the time to spare. She needed to start earning. Needed to start paying back and showing Mateo Celeca she wasn’t a con artist but merely someone who’d needed a hand up.

As weary as she felt after a full day trekking around the city, she tried to keep her spirits high. Her mother had always said there was good in every situation. Bailey didn’t quite believe that; what was so good about having a stroke take a parent out at age thirty-five? But Bailey did believe in never giving up. Her mother would have wanted her to stay strong and believe in herself, even now when she’d never felt more alone.

In the busy city center, with traffic and pedestrians grinding by, she’d pulled out her bus timetable and had found a suitable link when a familiar voice drew her ear. Masculine. Tense. The tone sent simultaneous chills and familiar warmth racing over her skin. She hadn’t heard that voice in over a year. Back then it had told her not to come home begging.

Her heart beating high in her throat, Bailey looked carefully over her shoulder. Her father stood on the curb, phone pressed to his ear, announcing his displeasure over a jury verdict gone wrong.

In an instant, Bailey couldn’t draw enough breath. She had the bizarre urge to run—both toward her father and away from him. Never would she have simply waltzed up to his door and thrown out her arms, and yet now—with him available such a short distance away—she couldn’t help but relive those much earlier days … times when her dad had taken her horseback riding, or suffered answering inane questions from an eight-year-old while he worked on depositions. When she’d come down with tonsillitis he’d rushed her to the doctor. He’d even taken time off to nurse her back, complete with spoon-fed antibiotics.