Sophie Weston - The Millionaire Affair

‘You sound very cold-hearted.’

‘That’s me,’ said Nikolai cheerfully. ‘Hot blood. Cold heart. Makes for a peaceful life.’

‘SO FIRE me!’

Lisa Romaine tilted her pointed chin to a challenging angle. She leaned insolently against the wall, looked her boss straight in the eye and waited.

Behind his desk, Sam Voss shifted irritably. ‘Can’t I give my Head of Bond Trading a hint?’

‘Hint!’

He tried a winning smile. ‘Now, Lisa, don’t overreact. Why don’t you sit down and we can talk?’

Predictably, she did not move. Her green eyes narrowed to slits.

‘Not about my private life,’ she said dangerously.

‘When you work for Napier Kraus, merchant bank to the new industrialists, you don’t have a private life.’

Lisa looked ironic. ‘You might not,’ she said. ‘I do.’

Sam shook his head. ‘I thought you wanted to get on.’

‘Sure,’ said Lisa evenly. ‘That’s why I work hard and deliver the goods. I’m not going to turn myself inside out trying to be a clone of the managing director.’

‘That’s enough.’ Sam’s voice hardened. ‘You’re on the management team now. If you want to stay there, act like it.’

‘At work, of course. But I’m not going to change my whole lifestyle. And turn my back on my friends.’

‘Look, kid—’

‘I’m twenty-two,’ flashed Lisa, suddenly losing her cool. ‘Don’t patronise me.’

‘Then stop digging your heels in. You’re a clever girl and you deserve your chance. Don’t blow it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean the Personnel Committee aren’t sure about you,’ he told her brutally.

‘Why? With my score—’

‘Oh, they like your results,’ he allowed. ‘You’re up there on the shortlist for Trader of the Year. Of course they like your results. They’re just not sure about a woman bossing a lot of punchy guys.’

Lisa gave a scornful shrug, not answering.

‘And, frankly, they’re not sure about your image either,’ said Sam, goaded.

‘What’s wrong with my image?’

He waved a hand. ‘You’re a good-looking kid. Sorry—woman. Get yourself a decent haircut and couple of designer suits and you could be in there mixing it with the MBA dollies. God knows, you’re bright enough. So why go out of your way to look like a punk?’

Lisa looked down her nose. Sam lost no chance to put her down, but on the issue of her appearance she was quite confident. The glass wall behind his desk reflected an image back at her which no one but Sam had any problems with: natural blonde hair, gamine features, long legs in spite of her moderate height and a figure to die for. It had taken all her considerable personality to stop her new staff from wolf-whistling at her every time she left her desk. ‘I don’t look like a punk,’ she said calmly.

Sam was alone in Napier Kraus in his lack of appreciation of Lisa’s black-clad legs. Even the Financial Controller had been known to give them a passing beam. Now Sam glared at her short skirt.

‘One day soon you’re going to find yourself hosting one of our corporate entertainments. How are the clients going to feel being taken to the races by a woman with earrings like a modern art gallery?’

Lisa put her hand to one of the offending ornaments.

‘You’re not serious!’

‘The top brass already know you live in a place that’s one up from a student squat. The chauffeurs talk, you know.’

Lisa was outraged. Her eyes were usually a green flecked with the gold of a woodland summer. Now they were green ice. ‘You’re a snob.’

‘No. I just know the score.’ He was torn between affection and exasperation. ‘Face it, Lisa. We’ve got a parent company with some very definite ideas about how it wants its management to live. You don’t qualify on any count.’

Lisa folded her arms across her chest and glared. ‘And to qualify I’ve got to pretend to be something I’m not?’

‘Up to you,’ said Sam, losing patience. ‘Now get out of here and make us some money.’

It was the end of a bad week. With Far Eastern markets in freefall, Lisa had had to be at her desk earlier than ever, staying well after New York had closed for transatlantic strategy discussions, and she hadn’t got home until after ten.

As a result, she’d missed her turn to clean the shared kitchen. But what had really offended her housemates was her failure to make it to Anna’s twenty-first on Wednesday evening.

‘Too grand to remember something like a birthday party now,’ Alec Palmer had sneered.

Of all the people she shared the house with, Alec was the one who knew most about her job. He had even worked at Napier Kraus briefly himself. When he’d first moved into the house they had got on well. But since her promotion he had sniped constantly.

In a way, she could understand it. He was older and, unlike Lisa, who had left school at sixteen, he had a university degree. It was natural that he would feel competitive. But there was an edge of spite in his remarks these days that Lisa found hard to bear.

Maybe I should do what Sam wants and move out, thought Lisa. She hated the idea of giving in to what she thought of as snobbery. But if Alec was going to pick at her all the time, she would be better off living somewhere else.

So her heart sank when she went into the kitchen that night and found Alec was the only one home. He was standing at the stove, stirring onions into a Bolognese sauce.

‘The others have gone clubbing,’ he said, his back to her. ‘They said they were going to try to get into the Equinox Club. You could always catch them up.’

Lisa tossed her briefcase onto a kitchen chair.

‘Frankly, I can do with a quiet night. It’s been a pig of a week.’

‘The burdens of responsibility,’ said Alec, with an edge to his voice.

Lisa tensed. But he waved his spatula at the pan of boiling pasta.

‘Want some spaghetti?’

Lisa seized the olive branch gratefully. ‘That would be great. Just let me change.’

She went and had a quick shower, then pulled on jeans and a sloppy shirt and went back to the kitchen.

Alec had set the table and opened a bottle of red wine. Lisa sank onto a pine chair. She took the glass he offered her and raised it to him in a silent toast.

‘This is a real treat. Thanks, Alec.’

‘Pleasure.’

He dished up and put the plate in front of her. She grated some parmesan onto the meat sauce and began to eat hungrily.

At first it was easy. They talked about the food, plans for the weekend, families. Even work, carefully. But then Lisa asked idly, ‘Is Equinox part of the on-going birthday celebrations?’ and Alec blew up.

‘You’ve got no right to sneer.’

‘I wasn’t—’

‘A six-figure salary doesn’t make you better than the rest of us.’

Lisa sighed. As far as her housemates were concerned she was an East End kid made good: irrepressible, hardworking, quick on the draw. None of them knew the hours of work it had cost her, or the loneliness. And not one of them even suspected the private burden of the responsibilities she carried.

‘I’m too tired for this, Alec.’

He gave a bitter laugh. ‘Too tired,’ he mimicked savagely. ‘A big job is all-consuming, isn’t it? I suppose I should be grateful that you had the time to eat my food tonight.’

Lisa winced. But she said indignantly, ‘Garbage.’

He stood up and came round the table, looking down at her broodingly. ‘When did you last have time for me?’

‘Alec—’

He seemed not to hear. He searched her face.

‘You don’t even see it, do you?’

His own face twisted. For a horrible moment, Lisa thought he was going to cry. She winced away from his too revealing expression, but it was too late. He had seen her distaste. He grabbed her up from her chair.