undergo a body search and it will be me calling the police.’
Lukas found he couldn’t meet her fierce glare. He swallowed hard in distaste at his own actions. He had taken this too far. He had no desire to burrow through her personal belongings. Or undertake anything as intrusive as a body search. That would be...sleazy and he was not that kind of man. ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he said gruffly.
She nodded but her lips were pressed tight.
One of the reasons he’d been able to lift his family company from the verge of bankruptcy to a business turning over in the multiples of millions was his ability to read people. Every instinct told him this young woman had been foolish but not dishonest.
‘I know Maids in Chelsea are scrupulous in the background checking of their employees,’ he said. ‘I assume the same was done for you.’
She rolled her eyes, just slightly, but he didn’t miss it. It was an action he found unwarranted—but perhaps he would have done the same if he were on the other side of the desk.
‘I can assure you I have no criminal record back in Australia,’ she said. ‘All I’m guilty of is an error of judgement. I know it was wrong of me and I reiterate my apology.’
‘You admit you have slept under my roof. No doubt you were planning to spend tonight here too?’
‘Yes. But it was only until—’
Lukas looked down at his tablet. ‘I’ve calculated how much three nights at a West End hotel of equivalent comfort would cost you.’ He named a figure that made her gasp. ‘You owe me.’
Ms Murphy paled and he could see a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. ‘But I can’t afford it. If I could pay that I would have gone to one of those hotels in the first place.’
He leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers under his chin. ‘That’s really not my concern,’ he said.
Lukas didn’t like threatening her. But she could be a solution to his problem. And once he’d made up his mind on a course of action, he didn’t stop until he’d got what he wanted.
‘I...I can’t,’ she said. ‘I just can’t pay that.’ Her lush, wide mouth trembled. ‘You’d best call the police.’
Bravado or bravery? Whatever it was, he admired her spirit.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘There’s no need for me to call the police. I have a way you can pay off your debt to me without money exchanging hands. Something not very arduous that you might even enjoy.’
* * *
Ashleigh was up and out of her chair so fast she tripped on her backpack and had to steady herself against the desk. She could hardly believe what she’d heard. Sexual favours to pay off a so-called fabricated debt? Clio had warned her there was a certain type of man who considered maids and waitresses to be fair game. Already she’d had to fend them off—especially towards the end of the night at a party when they’d had too much to drink. But this man! She was shocked—and disappointed. Lukas Christophedes had seemed better than that.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Never.’
He frowned, got up from his chair. The man was tall and powerfully built and she was glad there was a desk between them. ‘You say “no” before you’ve even heard my proposition?’ he asked, his frown deepening.
‘Sex is sex, no matter which variant you want me to trade with you.’ She glared at him then glanced at the open door, ready to bolt. ‘And the answer will always be no.’
He frowned. ‘You’ve got this wrong. I didn’t mean that at all.’ He wiped his hand across his forehead. ‘I would never suggest such a thing. My English...’
His lightly accented English was perfect. It wasn’t what he’d said but how he’d said it. Then she took in the bewilderment in his deep brown eyes and swallowed hard. Or could it be how she’d interpreted his words?
‘Maybe I...misunderstood?’ she asked hesitantly. Misunderstood big time, perhaps.
He came around the desk towards her. She took a step away, the back of her knees pressed against the edge of the chair. Just in case. After all, he was a stranger and she was alone with him in his house.
‘Whether I did not get my message across correctly or you misunderstood is beside the point,’ he said. ‘I am not asking you for sex. That is not how I do business.’
‘I...I’m glad to hear it.’ He must think her hopelessly naïve. ‘So...what is your proposition?’
‘I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend.’
Ashleigh felt as though all the air had been expelled from her lungs. ‘You what! How is that different from—’
He put up one large, well-shaped hand to halt her flow of words. ‘Completely above board, I assure you. Just for one evening. An important business dinner tomorrow. I’ve decided I need a date to...to deflect unwanted interest.’
‘And you want me to be a fake date?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Why? I can’t imagine a man like you would have a shortage of real dates. You’re wealthy, handsome. You’d just have to click your fingers for a multitude of women to come running.’
‘Perhaps not a multitude.’ He gave a wry, self-deprecating smile she found herself warming to. ‘Of course I know a few women in London.’ Ashleigh suspected that was a serious understatement. ‘But none whom I want to involve in this. No one I want to get the wrong impression.’
‘You mean the impression you’re serious about her.’
‘That is correct,’ he said. ‘This would be purely a business deal, with no continuing personal involvement. You are unknown in London and that suits me perfectly.’
Would being this man’s fake date be any worse than being hired as a waitress for an upscale private party? The idea intrigued her. He intrigued her. Wasn’t this why she’d come to London? To climb out of the deep rut she’d found herself in. To revel in freedom and independence. To be brave and take risks and open up to new experiences.
‘So tell me more about this “proposition”?’ she said.
Ashleigh stood by the chair close to her backpack, on the off chance she needed to pick it up and run. He paced up and down as he spoke.
‘I met this afternoon at The Shard with a potential business partner, someone I very much want to work with.’
Ashleigh loved the beautiful old buildings in London where history was alive on every corner. But she was fascinated by The Shard—London’s futuristic glass skyscraper. The first day she’d arrived, she’d stood at its base and craned her neck to gaze up at the incredible ninety-five-storey building, so tall its jagged top disappeared into the clouds. One rare free evening when they weren’t working, she and Sophie had gone up to the bar for a drink—just one as they were so expensive—and gawked at the incredible views of London old and new.
Of course The Shard would be just the place
