with outrage. No one had ever been able to rile her as much as Matias Silva. Or challenge her. Or generally send her nervous system into frantic overdrive. He was right. They knew one another—whether she cared to admit it or not.
From the side-lines she had watched the way he had turned into a forbidding and coolly remote adolescent after he had won a scholarship to a boarding school in Winchester. All pretence of having any interest in his parents’ organic farm had been dumped. Ambition had become his constant companion.
It was little wonder that he was now wondering whether she had shown up on his doorstep out of the blue because she needed a hand-out. For Matias, money was the only thing that made any sense. He’d never had much growing up, and he’d made it his life’s work to compensate for the lack.
Was it any wonder that they rubbed one another up the wrong way when they were as different as chalk and cheese? She was argumentative. He was intransigent. She was uninterested in money. Money was all he cared about. She loved where she lived. He hadn’t been able to wait to escape from it. She admired his parents. He privately scorned them.
‘Well? Spit it out, Georgie. Do you need a loan?’
He looked her up and down, head inclined to one side, his dark eyes coolly speculative. She didn’t think there was a man alive who got on her nerves more.
‘Have you been living beyond your means?’ he murmured with exaggerated interest. ‘Nothing to be ashamed of. Oh, wait... I can see why you might be ashamed, bearing in mind your holier-than-thou outlook on life which you’ve spent the past ten years droning on about.’
Georgina gritted her teeth and balled her hands into fists. ‘I’m not here to ask you for money, Matias.’
‘Didn’t think you were.’ He moved off to begin their tour, pushing open doors without bothering to explain which room was used for what.
‘Why’s that?’ she asked.
All white. Minimalist. Big, expensive abstract art on the walls. A lot of chrome. The best money could buy. Again, no surprise there. Matias had gone to university a year early, studied Maths and Economics, and left with a job at an investment bank in his hand. Within five years he had made his first million and then he had started flying solo, buying up sick companies and turning them around. He’d invested in property on the side. By thirty he’d had an empire under his belt and more money than anyone could use in a lifetime. Every room she glimpsed bore witness to how rich he was.
No wonder Rose was intimidated by her billionaire only child.
‘He’s always been something of a genius,’ she’d once confided wistfully. ‘That’s why he’s never liked the simple life. It isn’t enough for him.’
‘Georgie,’ Matias was saying now, ‘it doesn’t take a genius, looking at you, to realise that you have no interest in anything that could possibly get someone into debt.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You’re not the typical picture of someone leading a raunchy life beyond her means. If you have a predilection for designer clothes, fast cars and jewellery then you’re doing a damn good job of keeping it under wraps. Besides...I remember you showing me your piggy bank when you a kid. You were very proud of the eight pounds sixty you’d managed to stockpile over six weeks. It would beggar belief that you’d go from parsimonious and proud saver to wildly extravagant spender. Now, do you want the tour to carry on upstairs?’
He looked at her and she wondered whether he realised just how offensive he could be.
‘Or have you relaxed sufficiently to tell me why you’re here? You may have had sandwiches on the train, but I’m hungry. I’ll get some food delivered. Let me know if you want to see the rest of the house and I’ll order when the tour is done.’
‘No—no need to go upstairs.’
She thought bedrooms and backed away from the thought fast. Despite loathing the man, it had always been way too easy to associate him with bedrooms—partly because he was so sexy, and partly because, even though time had moved on from that girlish infatuation, age had failed to completely extinguish the remnants of her crush. She still occasionally caught herself daydreaming about him. Fortunately she’d learnt how to avoid getting too embroiled in that kind of pointless fantasy.
‘Good.’ He headed back towards the kitchen, phoning for food on the way. ‘Where were you planning on spending the night?’
He looked at the battered khaki backpack which she had dumped on the ground in the kitchen.
‘B&B.’
Matias frowned. ‘That’s ridiculous,’ he said shortly. ‘Didn’t you consider staying here? Don’t you think I’m not appreciative for everything you do for my mother and have done over the years? A night in my house is the least I could offer in return.’
Georgina flushed. ‘I shouldn’t be the one doing stuff for your mother, though, should I?’ she muttered, fidgeting.
‘When it comes to that old chestnut—been there, done that. I’ve heard every variation of criticism from you over the years, so let’s drop the topic and move on.’
Matias felt a flash of guilt dart through him like quicksilver. He had no reason to feel guilty. None at all. He supported his mother financially, made sure she wanted for nothing. It took hard work to make the sort of money that he did, and without his money life would not be nearly so rosy for his mother. When things went wrong in her house he made sure to replace them with top-of-the-range equivalents. Over time, her kitchen had been so expensively kitted out that any professional chef would have been happy to ply his trade there. And as for the farm...
The organic farm she’d insisted on hanging on to brought in peanuts and she couldn’t have begun to handle it without his help. He made sure that everyone who worked there reported to him—just as he made sure that any headaches were sorted before they became full-blown.
And organic farming—as he had discovered years ago—was nothing but one long, grinding headache. Crops had a nasty habit of falling victim to the wrong type of insect. The chickens, which had made a brief and optimistic appearance for a year and a half, had fallen prey to foxes or else wandered off hither and thither to lay eggs that couldn’t be located and therefore never made it to the shelves at the local greengrocer.
Although, in fairness, it was better than the Reiki treatment, the donkey sanctuary, the creative workshops and the gem-selling crackpot ideas that had preceded the farm when he’d been a kid.
So guilt? No, he had nothing to feel guilty about. He and his mother might not be close, but how many relationships between children and their parents were trouble-free? He was a responsible and dutiful son, and if his mother thought that he came up short in the personal stakes then he could live with that.
He shook his head free of inconvenient introspection and surfaced to find Georgie apologising.
‘Sorry?’ His eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re sorry about criticising?’ He grinned. ‘Now I’m really getting worried. Since when have you ever made apologies for getting under my skin?’
He watched as she noticeably didn’t answer but instead devoted her attention to inspecting the rooms they had previously walked past.
Just
