Miranda Lee - Rendezvous With Revenge

‘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.