“Don’t look so shocked. What’s so incredible about hiring you?”
“Butbut” Damn, she must resemble a goldfish the way she was sputtering. “Why me?”
“Because I need a housekeeper and you need a job.”
He made it sound so logical, this—this outrageous proposition. She, Paige Kerrigan, a housekeeper? In her own house? How dare he! Blood thumped in her eardrums. “You’re just doing this to humiliate me,” she burst out.
“Now why would I want to do that?” His voice lowered, deceptively calm.
“Because you want to exact your revenge.”
“Hmm, revenge. So you think I have grounds for revenge?”
“Oh, don’t pretend,” she said. “Admit it. You want payback for what happened to you when we were teenagers. You’ve never forgotten, and you’ve been nursing this grudge ever since. And now you think you can get back at me by making me your drudge. Well, it won’t work. I may be down on my luck, but I still have my pride. Good-bye, Owen. I won’t trouble you a minute more.”
Head held high, she brushed past him and strode out of the kitchen. Unfortunately, with her eyes directed upward, she failed to register the rug on the floor, which caught at her stiletto heels and sent her tumbling onto all fours.
“Hell,” she muttered, gasping in pain and surprise. Gingerly she eased over onto her butt so she could massage her wrists, which had jarred against the terra-cotta tiles.
Frowning with concern, Owen crouched down beside her, his hands skimming lightly over her ankles. “Anything broken?”
“No.” Except for her dignity. “Just sore bones and ruined jeans.” Ruefully she glanced at the once-pristine denim, now smudged around the knees.
“You shouldn’t wear such high heels if you’re going to walk around with your nose stuck up like that.”
“I was not!” She blew out an exasperated sigh as conflicted sensations assailed her. Owen’s fingers on her ankles were disturbingly pleasurable, his touch warm and gentle. Unsettled, she shifted her feet, and his hands immediately withdrew.
“Here, let me help you up.” Before she could protest, he hitched his hands under her elbows and boosted her to her feet. He led her to a chair by the table.
“Thanks.” She sank into the seat.
“No worries. Take all the time you need.” He took the chair next to her. “Do you have a taxi booked already? I could call them to postpone until you’ve recovered.”
“Nono taxi.” She concentrated on her wrists so she wouldn’t have to meet Owen’s eyes. “I, er, called my mother this morning and left a message. She might call the house later on.”
“I see.” His eyes took on that penetrating glint she’d come to know too well. “Trying to get me kicked out? It won’t work. The rental agreement is sewn up tighter than a miser’s wallet.”
She chewed her lip. “I just want to know why they rented out the house without telling me.” Only when the words had tumbled out did she catch the childish neediness in her tone. She was used to her father not telling her anything—he’d always been distant and absent a lot of the time—but her mother was the opposite. At times, Crystal’s attention had almost been suffocating. “It’s not like them at all.”
“I’m sure they had their reasons.”
Could her parents be in financial difficulty? It seemed impossible. Her mother’s TV talk show had been on the air for years. Her father was a respected management consultant and had inherited a fortune, including this house, from his parents. They couldn’t be short of money; there had to be another explanation.
In the ensuing silence, her own predicament returned to the fore. Her parents weren’t around to help her. She had to rescue herself, and right now the only possible means of salvation was sitting right in front of her.
She swallowed hard to get rid of the bilious sting at the back of her throat. “I’m only looking for a temporary situation,” she said, keeping her tone offhand. “Just a month or so until I get myself organized and move back to Sydney.”
Owen’s eyebrows rose. “So you are interested in the housekeeper position?”
“I don’t see why not.” She gave a couldn’t-care-less shrug. “It suits us both.”
He didn’t say anything, just rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Well, now. What housekeeping experience do you have?”
She stared at him. “You’re interviewing me?”
“I need to figure out what your pay scale should be.”
She frowned. “You know I’ve never been a housekeeper, but how hard can it be? You buy groceries, fetch dry cleaning, organize cleaners, pay bills, answer the phone.”
“So you think it’s an easy job?”
“Maybe not, but I believe I’m capable enough.”
“Don’t speak too soon,” he said darkly. “You’ll have to cook me breakfast every day.”
“I—I’m not a chef.” She’d never been interested in cooking and never had the need to learn. “What kind of meals do you expect?”
“I want a properly cooked breakfast—freshly squeezed orange juice, poached eggs, toast, coffee, etcetera. Seven o’clock every day.”
Seven o’clock. Cripes, she was barely awake at that time of day. “Sure, no problem.”
“Sometimes I’ll also have guests over for dinner, but then you can organize meals from a local restaurant.”
The image of Owen Bellamy entertaining his friends in her home made her balk. But she merely nodded. “Will you be having any regular guests to stay? Female friends, perhaps?”
He shot her a barbed look. “I can take care of my female friends myself.”
I’m sure you can. How many “female friends” did Owen have? Plenty of women went for that brooding, taciturn, blue-collar vibe. Not her, though. No, she preferred someone more sophisticated. Like Seth? a sly voice hissed in her head. She sighed. Yes, her ex-husband had been all class.
“My sister will also be staying here some weekends,” Owen said.
She looked up in surprise. “Your sister?”
“You don’t remember Natasha?” His brows drew together in a sharp vee.
Paige scrambled through her memories and came up with a vague image of a chubby toddler. She couldn’t remember much more than that.
“She’s quite a lot younger than you, isn’t she?”
Owen nodded. “Natasha turned sixteen last month. She’s at a boarding school nearby, but now that I’ve relocated, she’ll be spending some time here, too.”
“Is that why you moved from Sydney? Because of your sister?”
“She’s one reason, but mainly it’s work. I’m overseeing a big new development here in Burronga, and I have a few projects farther north.” He leaned back in his chair and softly drummed his fingers on the wooden tabletop. “So d’you think you can handle being my housekeeper?”
The skepticism in his tone had her bristling. “Of course,” she retorted. “Do you think you can handle me being your housekeeper?”
He lifted a forefinger. “Let’s get one thing straight. The dynamics between us were very different fourteen years ago, but don’t go thinking that gives you any kind of special license with me. If I hire you, I expect the same respect I get from all my employees, got it?”
The unveiled warning made her shiver. She should have known better. Hadn’t she baited him once too often all those years ago and paid for it with the most blistering kiss she’d ever received? A kiss that had ripped her apart and triggered a thrilling, frightening frenzy she couldn’t control? No, don’t think about that. Don’t think about how Owen had made her feel during those tumultuous two weeks. That wasn’t her. For days he’d taken advantage of her weakness, and when the situation threatened to get out of hand, she’d been forced to end it in the bluntest way possible. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t.
“Paige? Earth to Paige.”
She forced away the memories and gave him a brisk nod. “Yes, I heard you, and I’m not asking for any special treatment.”
“The job pays fifteen dollars per hour, four to five hours per day, five days per week. If I need you to work on weekends, you get time and a half. That suit you?”
She stopped her jaw from dropping just in time. Was that the going pittance for housekeepers? But it was obvious Owen wasn’t kidding. Despite her effort to stifle her incredulity, he must have sensed it because he continued, “There are extras. You’ll have the use of a car and a mobile phone, and accommodation is included.” He paused before adding, “The caretaker’s cottage is available. You can have that.”
A choking noise bubbled out of her mouth. “The—the caretaker’s cottage?” she spluttered. She should have guessed he’d want to taunt her by putting her in his former home.
“Yeah, it’s behind the rhododendron walk, remember?” His penetrating gaze never left her face. “You must know it.”
“Of course.” She had only the faintest recollection of a small, whitewashed building huddled behind a thick hedge of rhododendrons. She’d never been interested in the caretaker’s cottage, but now it appeared that would be her home for the next few weeks. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”