Daisy was relieved to hear this. It made her feel she could be of real value here, earning her salary.
‘In fact, I’d appreciate it—Ethan would, too—if you’d ensure that the men laying the slate around the pool today get the mix right,’ Charlie ran on as they strolled out to the back of the house where the work was going on. ‘Quite a lot of the slate will be charcoal-grey without the blue-green streaks in it. Sometimes they just reach for the next piece of slate in the pile and you end up with a square metre of all grey instead of splashes of colour here and there.’
‘Okay. I’ll keep an eye on that,’ Daisy promised, feeling better and better about the job.
They toured the whole site together with Charlie checking on progress, Daisy listening to how he wanted everything to be. ‘It seems a bit weird to me that all this is just for one person,’ she couldn’t help commenting as they returned to the house.
‘Actually Ethan was planning to get married when he bought the place,’ Charlie tossed off casually. ‘Changed his mind, thank God!’
She shot him a quizzical look. ‘You didn’t like the woman?’
He grimaced. ‘A bit too much into being the lady of the manor for my liking. But I’m glad Ethan decided to keep the manor anyway. It’s going to be fantastic when it’s all finished.’
‘It certainly is,’ she agreed, terribly tempted to pump more out of Charlie about the woman, but that was none of her business and it should remain none of her business.
Nevertheless, the phrase—lady of the manor—conjured up someone stunningly beautiful with all the airs and graces learnt from an exclusive finishing school where manners were polished and deportment and elocution were perfected. No doubt she had been trained to be the wife of a billionaire, knowing how to hostess every social event and look the part with elegant ease. Ethan Cartwright would naturally choose to marry a woman like that. She wondered what had happened to change his mind about the one he had chosen.
The lighting people arrived soon after the architect had left. As she watched the chandelier being carefully lowered onto the canvas laid out on the floor, it was impossible not to feel a pang of regret at its removal even though it wouldn’t suit the lifestyle Ethan planned for himself. Perhaps the lady of the manor had wanted to keep the grandeur of the old house and they’d clashed on that point, realising they’d envisaged different futures together.
Whatever…it was none of her business.
She had a job to do and she would do it to the best of her ability.
Ethan was frustrated. Almost three weeks had passed and he was getting nowhere with Daisy Donahue. What he needed was a good block of time with her—enough time to get past the business of the day and onto more promising ground.
She was gone when he arrived home after work, always leaving him a note on what had been accomplished during the day, informing him of any snags to the flow of progress and how and when they would be corrected. Each morning she arrived all fresh and perky at eight o’clock, provoking an instant rush of sexual excitement, but no matter how long he delayed his departure, she would not be diverted from talk about the job. It was as though she was obsessed with it, not the least bit interested in him as a man, quickly brushing past every attempt he made at a more personal connection.
Nevertheless, the interest was there. He felt it in the tense way she deliberately kept a physical distance between them. He saw it in an occasional flash of her eyes before her gaze quickly slid away from his. He actually sensed her inward battle to suppress it whenever she was in his company.
It was obvious that she needed to feel secure in the position of his on-site project manager, continually affirming that her salary was being earned. Having a regular income was a big issue with her and she was probably determined not to risk losing it by indulging an attraction that could rock her boat.
I don’t gamble.
Somehow that steely will had to be broken.
Or at least bent.
His way.
Daisy always rang the doorbell when she arrived at the Hunters Hill mansion each morning. Although she had a set of house keys and could have let herself in, the solid common sense of keeping everything formal between her and Ethan Cartwright stopped her from taking any kind of familiar freedom on his territory when he was at home.
He’d greeted her at the door one morning wearing only a short black silk wrap-around robe. Even though he had been decently covered, the deep V of bared chest with the sprinkle of black, curly hair and the powerful muscularity of his long legs had messed with her head for the rest of the day. No way did she want to catch him by surprise in any state of undress. The man oozed masculine sexuality. The more she saw of him, the more he rattled all her female hormones.