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Edwards.There was something about that name that rang a dull bell somewhere—
His thoughts screeched to a halt when he saw at least twenty cars on his driveway waiting to drop their passengers off outsidehisfront door. Passengers dressed ready for a party. A party that he was apparently hosting but had not yet been invited to.
Henri.
Mateo was going to kill him. Violently. And publicly.
Having parked his car in the garage which, thankfully, was free of guests, he made his way through his house, calling Henri on his mobile. Keeping his head down, Mateo passed uniformed waiters with silver platters of food or champagne, marvelling at his friend’s organisational skills, whilst simultaneously worrying at how easy it was to arrange a party at someone else’s house without their permission.
‘Explain yourself,’ he demanded when Henri answered the phone as he nodded a greeting to a couple who recognised him.
Someone stopped him to shake his hand, the face a blur through Mateo’s frustration. All he’d wanted was some peace and quiet.
‘It was my New Year’s resolution to ignore your wishes,’ the Frenchman replied with absolutely no shame.
‘Excuse me? That was months ago.’
‘I know. It’s been a great source of pain that you’ve not noticed me ignoring your wishes all this time, but I’m glad it’s now out in the open.’
Mateo came down the hallway and peered into the living area to see Henri, in a tuxedo, surrounded by several people dressed as if this were The Ritz, phone pressed to his ear, grinning back at him.
‘I didn’t want this,’ Mateo said through gritted teeth.
‘I appreciate that you hate your birthday, but I’m bored and wanted a party,’ Henri pouted. ‘Besides, you work too hard. It’s time you let off a little steam.’
Mateo groaned down the phone.
‘Go get changed. You look like you’ve had to work for a living today.’
‘Yes,darling,’ Mateo replied sarcastically to Henri’s mock snobbery, spinning on his heel and turning towards the staircase that would take him to his private suite, narrowly avoiding a waitress carrying a silver tray with empty glasses.
‘And wear something nice!’ Henri called out before Mateo could hang up.
Today had clearly been sent to test him. But at least now the surprises would be done with.
Evie watched the red lights of the taxi disappear into the night before looking back to the sprawling estate before her. Men in full tuxedos and women in sequins and diamonds passed her, barely sparing her a glance as they all eagerly made their way towards the open doors of the brightly lit home.
Evie wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with wealth. Carol and Alan had certainly had enough money to have her schooled from home the moment they’d realised her potential. And no one could argue that anyone who owned a townhouse in Mayfair could be anything short of incredibly wealthy. But this? It just...it just didn’t fit with Professor Marin. But itdidseem to fit with the arrogance she had seen of Mateo Marin.
The article had speculated about the life of the wealthy billionaire bachelor. It had covered the charities and foundations that Mateo had sponsored or founded, and barely skimmed the surface of the investment company he’d started with the help of his mother’s family connections. The journalist seemed impressed rather than disparaging of Mateo’s easy acknowledgement of the help he’d received as a young entrepreneur, and had lauded the fact the billionaire gave back more than he’d been given, not only to his mother’s family, but also to other young business-minded people. It seemed that while Mateo traded heavily in the practical, he also dedicated much of his time and focus to clean energy and newly emerging technologies. In short, the journalist—in Evie’s opinion—had clearly been swayed by charm and a good PR team, because nothing she’d seen, or heard, had proved a word of that article to be true.
She came to a stop. She’d hoped to speak to him about his father’s notebook in private and throw herself on his mercy. But as she took in the party guests she knew that even at her most socially inept she would have realised now was most definitely not the time to approach him.
She was about to leave when someone shouted at her in Spanish.
‘What are you doing? Don’t just stand there. You’re late, so we’ll dock your pay, but we still need the help.’
Her knee-jerk reaction was to apologise, to try to explain in Spanish that he was mistaken. He was dressed in a white shirt and black trousers. Almost identically, Evie realised, to how she was dressed. But...wasn’t this an opportunity to at least see if the notebook was still there? And Mateo Marinhadleft her waiting all day. And thatwasafter ignoring all her attempts to reach him otherwise. Did a man who had ignored his father for the last three years of his life evendeserveto have his father’s notebook? A familiar heat crept up her spine as she remembered how hurt the professor had been, even as he’d never once spoken badly of his son.
The man was staring at her now as if she was stupid.
Perhaps fate had intervened and given her an opportunity.
‘Pues?’
‘Sí, señor,’she replied, quickly rushing to follow him as he stalked towards the back of the house.
I’m sorry, Professor, but it’s the only way I can see to get what we need.
