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‘Cocktails at eight, Ms Mackenzie. Do not be late. I don’t appreciate tardiness,’ he instructed brusquely.
With that, he left her. And as she watched him stride across the balcony Tara suddenly felt as if she’d gone six rounds with a heavyweight.
She picked up her book, conscious that her heart-rate was elevated. One thing was for sure—she was going to earn her money here.
As she settled back in her lounger a stray thought flickered. I should have asked for danger money—I think I’m going to need it.
But whether that would protect her from Marc Derenz’s unyieldingly flinty manner, or from his much more devastating impact on her, she did not care to examine...
CHAPTER FOUR
MARC WAS IN his office, staring moodily at his computer screen, paying the display no attention. He kept a fully kitted-out office in all his properties, so that he could keep constant tabs on his business affairs.
It had been his habit to do so ever since his vast inheritance had landed on his too-young shoulders. If he hadn’t kept a tight grip on everything, shown everyone he was capable of running the bank, he’d have been sidelined by his own board. Doing so had made him appear hard-nosed, even arrogant sometimes, he was aware, but imposing his will on men a generation older than him had been essential. Even now, over a decade on, the habit of command was ingrained in him, whoever he was dealing with.
Including women who were being paid handsomely to do a very simple job, and yet who seemed to find it impossible not to simply take on board his very clear instructions without constantly answering him back!
His mouth tightened. This nonsense with Hans’s wife was causing him quite enough grief as it was. To have Tara Mackenzie constantly interrupting him, gainsaying him, answering him back, was just intolerable!
He gave a sigh of exasperation. She had better adopt a more gracious and compliant attitude once the Neubergers arrived, or she would never convince the wretched Celine that they were an item.
Why can’t she just be like other women are with me? he demanded of himself in exasperation. All his life women had been eager to please him. So why was this one so damn un-eager? With her stunning looks, she could have made him far better disposed towards her.
Maybe I should win her over...
Whatever her self-righteous protestations, she had, he knew with his every well-honed male instinct, reacted just the way he’d intended when he’d kissed that tender spot inside her wrist that evening of the fashion show... It had had exactly the effect on her he’d wanted. Started to melt her...
So maybe I should do more of that, not less...
The thought played in his mind. It was tempting...oh, so tempting...to turn that obstreperous antagonism towards him to something much more...co-operative...
It would be a challenge, certainly—he had no doubt of that. But maybe he would welcome such a challenge. It would be an intriguing novelty, after all. So different from being besieged by over-eager females...
He thrust the thought from him, steeling his jaw. No, that would not be a good idea! Did he really have to run through all the reasons why Tara Mackenzie, whatever her allure, was out of bounds to him?
No, he did not. He pulled his keyboard decisively towards him. All he had to do was get through this coming week, using the woman he was paying an exorbitant amount of money, to keep the wretched Celine off his case.
Tara Mackenzie was here to do a job, and then leave. That was all.
All.
Decision reaffirmed, he went back to his work.
* * *
Tara cast a professionally critical eye over her reflection. And professional was the word she had to keep uppermost in her mind. This, she reminded herself sternly, was just as much a job as striding down a catwalk. And Marc Derenz was simply her employer. She frowned momentarily. Thankfully only for a week or so.
For a week I can put up with his overbearing manner!
And, of course, for the ten thousand pounds he was paying her.
She nodded at her reflection, that showed her in a knee-length royal blue cocktail dress, from a very exclusive luxury label, her make-up immaculate, hair in a French pleat, and one of the pieces of top-brand costume jewellery she’d found in the suitcases around her neck. Yes, she looked the part—the latest woman in Marc Derenz’s life. Couture-dressed and expensive.
So—time to go onstage. One of the maids had told her she was being waited for downstairs, so she made her way to the head of the Hollywood-style staircase. From the top she could see a white-jacketed staff member opening the huge front doors and stepping aside to let Marc Derenz’s guests enter, just as Marc himself issued forth from another ground-floor room.
And stopped dead.
Immediately Tara could see why. This was not the Neubergers arriving—this was Frau Neuberger toute seule.
