CHAPTER ONE
‘DARLING, can you save me?’
Daisy Donohue froze. Lynda Twiggley’s distinctive drawl was unmistakeable. It pierced the general buzz of conversation from the celebrity crowd and shot a bolt of alarm down Daisy’s spine. If there was any saving to be done, as Lynda’s PA, she had to do it, fast and effectively, or be lashed by her employer’s sharp tongue for dereliction of duty.
She snapped into action, swinging around to find the source of the problem. The VIP marquee seemed packed with tall people. A bevy of Australia’s top models had been flown in to add glamour to the event, which certainly wasn’t known as the Magic Millions for nothing. Everyone here was either loaded with or associated with big money and they expected everything to be perfect for them. Especially her employer.
Being only of average height, and wearing sensible low-heeled shoes for all the toing and froing her work demanded today, Daisy stretched up on tiptoe, trying to spot the spray of royal-blue feathers that sprouted from Lynda’s much-prized and hideously expensive Neil Grigg hat. A few tell-tale blue arrowheads placed her target near the open bar where there shouldn’t be a problem. She had already checked there were ample cases of French champagne and every other choice of drink available. Had there been some spillage on Lynda’s blue silk designer outfit?
Bad, bad, bad, Daisy thought in a burst of panic, quickly elbowing her way through the millionaire melee, wondering how she was going to fix some unfixable stain. Her hammering heart was intensely relieved when she arrived on the scene and found her employer working hard at currying the favour of a man. But not just any man. As recognition hit, her heart started hammering all over again for a multitude of reasons.
This was the man reputed to have saved the richest people in Australia from suffering any nasty fall-out from the current global financial crisis—Ethan Cartwright, the whiz-kid financier who had foreseen the crash and diverted all the big cash to enterprises that would always return a profit, even in a recession.
Daisy stopped dead behind Lynda’s shoulder and stared at him, a riot of emotions hitting her hard—anger, resentment, a wild hostility at the terrible injustice of the rich getting richer while the poor got poorer, especially her parents who were trapped in a debt they could no longer service. This man, above all others, represented that miserable situation.
She’d read about him, seen photographs of him, but what made her inner turmoil more savage was how stunningly handsome he really was in the flesh. The thick, wavy, black hair, twinkling green eyes, a strong male face that didn’t have one unpleasing feature capping a tall, perfectly proportioned physique which carried the perfectly tailored suit he wore with distinction…it was so wickedly unfair! The man had absolutely everything! She doubly resented the fact that he had a sexual impact on her. And no doubt on every woman who was subjected to his power-packed presence.
It was highly disconcerting when he suddenly shifted his attention from Lynda Twiggley to shoot a quizzical look over her shoulder straight at Daisy. Had he felt her hostile stare? The sexy black eyebrows with their late kick upwards—just like Brad Pitt’s—lifted with a kind of bemused puzzlement, and the startling green eyes bored into hers, searching for answers that pride forbade her to ever tell him.
Vexed by his distraction, Lynda swung around to deal with an unwelcome intrusion. With the recognition that no finesse was needed on a mere employee, her steely blue eyes savaged Daisy with displeasure. ‘What do you want, Dee-Dee?’ she snapped.
‘Nothing, Ms Twiggley,’ Daisy replied with as much aplomb as she could muster, given the squeamish spotlight of two sets of eyes demanding explanations. ‘I thought I heard you calling for assistance.’
Lynda clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘Not right now. And stop hovering. I’m sure you have more useful things to do.’
‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry for interrupting. Please excuse me.’
Daisy had already begun her retreat when Ethan Cartwright intervened. ‘Wait!’ he commanded, stepping forward, one arm outstretched in appeal. He smiled, his perfectly sculpted mouth breaking open to show a row of perfect white teeth, making Daisy instantly determined that he wouldn’t get a bite out of her, regardless of how charming he set out to be. ‘We haven’t met,’ he said in a voice as rich as the rest of him. ‘I would have remembered a Dee-Dee. It’s such an unusual name. Be so kind as to introduce us, Lynda.’
‘They’re her initials, not her name,’ Lynda said with a tinkling laugh that had Daisy’s spine crawling with dislike for her employer and her endlessly patronising manner. If she didn’t need this job and the pay packet that went with it, she would have walked out on day one when Lynda had stated she couldn’t have a PA called Daisy because she associated that name with a lowly cow. Dee-Dee sounded far more upmarket.
‘This is my PA, Ethan,’ Lynda continued in a dismissive tone. ‘No one you need to know.’
The snobbish remark apparently did not sit well with him. ‘On the contrary, should I do business with you, your PA may be my first point of contact,’ he countered, a hard glint in the green eyes.
‘Oh, very well then,’ Lynda conceded, realising he was going to persist and if she wanted him to butter her bread she had to toe his line. ‘Ethan Cartwright, Daisy Donohue.’
‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Cartwright,’ Daisy rattled out, wanting only to escape back into the crowd.
He viewed her curiously, offering his hand as though sensing her desire to bolt and purposely delaying her. ‘Probably more of a pleasure for me to meet you, Daisy Donahue,’ he said, amusement dancing in his eyes.
Oh, sure! What fun! Big man condescending to the little brown cow, Daisy thought viciously as she took his hand to complete the polite formality. The flesh contact tingled hotly and his grip felt aggressively strong, pressing a dominant will that she fiercely rebelled against when he held onto her hand longer than polite formality required.
‘Please excuse me, Mr Cartwright. I don’t have time to dally. I’m needed elsewhere,’ she said firmly, tearing her gaze from the devilishly attractive green eyes and giving a subservient nod to Lynda Twiggley whose bad temper was probably already simmering at having an important conversation interrupted.
Apparently Ethan Cartwright had enough sensitivity to realise he might be causing her trouble and backed off, releasing her hand, though still smiling at her as though she pleased him, though why she would seemed totally perverse of him when the marquee was full of gorgeous women who would undoubtedly love his attention. She had brown hair, brown eyes and was wearing brown, conscious of keeping herself as insignificant as possible, not blotting one bit of the limelight her boss liked.