The Real Romero(43)

                ‘Which is what, exactly...?’ Milly looked at him cautiously as he prowled through the vast open space. His vast open space. She still found it hard to grapple with the reality that all of this belonged to him. That said, she had recognised a certain something the very first time she had met him: a certain air that spoke of power; a certain arrogant self-assurance that made a nonsense of him being someone as relatively unimportant as a ski instructor. Even a drop-dead, improbably gorgeous ski instructor.

                Another telling example of her stupid ability to trust even when she was staring evidence to the contrary in the face.

                ‘You’re broke, you’re out of work and you’ll probably return to London to find all your possessions tossed onto the pavement, awaiting your urgent collection.’

                ‘My landlord wouldn’t do that,’ Milly said coldly. ‘Tenants do have rights, you know.’

                ‘Not as many as a landlord whose primary right is the one to have his rent paid.’ He paused to stare down at her and Milly grudgingly gazed back up at him. ‘Here’s the deal. I employ you for a couple of weeks—three, max—to play the role of loved-up wife-to-be. We will stay with my mother in her house in the outskirts of Madrid, a beautiful city by the way, and we can break up over there. My mother will be saddened but she will recover. Normally, I wouldn’t go to this much trouble but, like I said, she’s been ill and she’s mentally not quite there yet. I don’t want to present her with a litany of low tricks and lies. She will be upset and confused, especially coming hard on the heels of wanting me to settle down. I will give her what she wants and, when she sees how impossible I am, she will understand why marriage is off the cards for me for the foreseeable future.

                ‘And here’s what you get out of this: a fat pay cheque, a five-star, all expenses paid holiday in Spain and, afterwards, I will ensure that you’re set up with a damn good job in one of the three restaurants I own in London, with full use of one of my company apartments for six months until you can find alternative accommodation to rent. Whatever you were earning in your last job... Put it this way, I’ll quadruple the package.’

                ‘And in return I lie to your mother.’

                ‘That’s not how I see it.’

                ‘Plus I lie to my grandmother as well, I suppose? Because what am I supposed to tell her when I don’t return to London? Plus I lie to my friends, as well? Thanks, Lucas, but no thanks...’





                                      CHAPTER SIX

                SO WHY WAS she now, a mere day and a half later, sitting in splendid luxury on a private plane heading to Salamanca on the outskirts of Madrid?

                Next to her, Lucas was absorbed in a bewildering array of figures on the computer screen blinking in front of him. The ‘this and that’ had kept billionaires busy and hard at it.

                Milly sighed. She knew why she was here; she was just too soft-natured. It was an emotional hazard that was close cousin to the ‘overly trusting’ side of her that had propelled her into naively believing that the billionaire with the private jet had been a ski instructor—which in turn had been the same side of her that had encouraged her to think that Robbie the cheat had been in love with her rather than mildly fond and willing to exploit.

                ‘You’re sighing. Tell me that you haven’t done a U-turn on your decision.’ Lucas snapped shut his computer and sprawled back in the oversized seat, which was just one of the many perks of having his own plane—no unwelcome strangers crowding his personal space and as much leg room as he needed. He was a big man.