well-packaged story, but from his first, Scarpini had sent chills up Ella’s spine. As days wound into weeks and Roslyn’s condition and faculties deterio-rated more, Scarpini’s visits continued and his ulterior motives became clear.
Ella had overheard Scarpini talking to her mother about his difficult life growing up without a father, without money. Although Vance Jacob couldn’t make recompense now, Roslyn could change her will and divide the estate between Ella and himself. That, Scarpini had said, would’ve made her husband happy. After all those years of unwitting abandonment, it was the right thing to do.
Ella had been disgusted at his prodding. Her mother had been so ill, so confused. And there had been no proof Scarpini was who he claimed to be. If she’d had a few thousand to spare, she’d have hired an investigator.
The second time Ella had heard him pushing Roslyn, she’d told him to get out. Roslyn had died the day after, sooner than doctors had anticipated. Scarpini had attended the funeral and had even played the sorrowful, supportive brother. Later, however, he’d arrived on Ella’s doorstep demanding she divide the estate. When Ella had reminded him she’d just buried her mother, he’d exploded. He needed money to pay off pressing gambling debts.
As she’d shut the door in his face, he’d shouted she would regret it.
The next day, the police had arrived. Scarpini had alleged Ella had murdered Roslyn with a morphine overdose to head off the change she had been about to make to her will. It had been an hour of horror Ella would never forget, but, of course, no charges were laid. The following day her front window was smashed and a condolence card left on the mantel. Scarpini had phoned—either she agreed to his suggestion, or he would get nasty. He’d said he intended to haunt her until he got what he deserved.
Quaking all over, she’d immediately called the police, who couldn’t do much about Scarpini’s threats. She could petition for a restraining order, the officer ex-plained, but perhaps it would be better to wait and see if Scarpini would cool down and disappear. If he physi-cally harmed her, she should get in touch straight away, the officer had advised.
Ella hadn’t slept that night. She’d given up her job to care for her mother and, after medical expenses, there was no cash to speak of. The house, as well as an investment property, needed to be sold before the estate could be settled. That would take several weeks, if not months.
By dawn Ella had made two decisions. One, she needed a job to survive until the estate came through. Two, she didn’t intend to wait around for Scarpini’s next sadistic game. She’d bought a prepaid phone, or-ganized a post office box for correspondence from the will’s executor—the husband of a longtime friend of her mother’s—and dyed her hair a different shade for good measure. Then she’d applied for the house-keeper’s position at the Barkley mansion.
It had been a bold move, particularly without refer-ences, but she certainly knew how to cook and clean and do laundry. When she had secured the job, she’d settled and kept very much to herself.
She’d heard nothing from her harasser since. She hoped the police were right and Scarpini had slid back beneath the rock from which he’d crawled. Now with the house and investment property sold and all of her inheritance in hand—just over a million dollars—the time was finally right to take a deep breath, emerge from her cocoon and start afresh.
And what a way to mark the occasion…asked to dinner by the thoroughly enthralling, undeniably dreamy Tristan James Barkley.
Tingling with anticipation, she gazed into the mirror and clipped on her rhinestone eardrops.
She’d lived through a nightmare. How wonderful if dreams could come true…
A knock on her bedroom door made Ella jump.
Tristan’s familiar, deep voice reached her from beyond the timber frame. “The reservation’s at eight. We need to leave soon.”
Swallowing against the knot of nerves stuck in her throat, she called back, “Be right there.”
She grabbed her clutch bag then took one last look at her cocktail-length white dress and matching sling-backs. Socialite material? Not even close. But, as Mr. Barkley had said, this wasn’t a date. It was a thank-you from employer to employee…infatuated with her boss though that employee may be.
“Ella?”
She blew out an anxious breath. Here goes.
When she entered the kitchen—the room adjoining her own—Tristan’s expression opened in surprise then appreciation, and delicious warmth washed from Ella’s perfumed crown all the way to her polishtipped toes.
One corner of Tristan’s perfectly sculpted mouth hooked upward as his hands slipped deep into his trouser pockets. “Sorry. I’m still not used to seeing you out of uniform.”
Crossing to join him, she fought the urge to smooth the jacket that adorned the magnificent ledge of his shoulders. In an open-neck collared shirt and impec-cably tailored trousers, he was tall and muscular and held himself as a powerful man would—with a casual air of authority and an easy yet mesmerizing gaze. She’d always felt so safe here in his house. So appreciated.
As a housekeeper, at least.
She pushed the silly pang aside and straightened her spine. “I’ll be back in my uniform tomorrow.”
He withdrew his hands from his pockets and moved to join her. “But you really don’t like your uniform, do you, Ella?”
No use fibbing. “Not especially.”
“My parents’ house staff wore uniforms, so I’ve always provided them, too. But if you’d rather wear regular clothes these last three weeks, I don’t know a reason you shouldn’t.”
Ella’s heartbeat fluttered.
Wear above-the-knee hems? Pretty colors? Fem-inine heels that echoed as they clicked upon these imported marble tiles?
She shook her head. “It wouldn’t feel right.” Wouldn’t feel…appropriate.
“It’s up to you, but don’t think I’ll object.” The lines bracketing his mouth deepened more. “Really, it’s not a big deal.”
Maybe not to him.
Absurd, but tonight, more than ever, she couldn’t help but compare herself to the glamorous sorts with whom Tristan had been pictured in glossy magazines. Eleanor Jacob was an ordinary woman who was destined for an ordinary life. She’d best remember that.
Still, this weekend her relationship with her boss had changed, if only slightly. Soon their association would end and it was likely they wouldn’t see each other again. In fact…
She let out a breath.
Heck, maybe he was right. Doing away with her uniform wasn’t such a big deal.
She smiled. “If you’re sure.”
She couldn’t quite read the look in his dark, all-knowing eyes before he moved away to check the back door. “I’m sure.”
As he rattled the handle, she let him know, “I locked it earlier.”
He worked
