Weddings: the Brides: The Shy Bride / Bride in a Gilded Cage / The Bride's Awakening. Кейт Хьюит

thought he was going to kiss her when she let him out the front door, but he only squeezed her shoulder and told her again to get some rest.

      She shook her head at her own foolishness. Why would a man like Neo Stamos want to kiss her? Cass wasn’t in his league in any shape or form. And then there were her “issues.”

      She wasn’t housebound. She could buy food on her own without getting overly stressed as long as she went to the local grocer she’d been going to since she was a child. Although she did most of her other shopping online, she could go to familiar department stores, if she really needed to. She had overcome most of her anxiety related to recording at the studio, so long as the technicians and music producer did not change. And her manager didn’t bring anyone in to watch her record.

      Bob had stopped doing that after the last time she’d simply refused to play and gone home.

      But today proved that she wasn’t approaching normal, either. Her agoraphobia was mostly limited to performing, but the prospect of having strangers in her home, her sanctuary, always engendered deep anxiety in her. The barrage of media outside her home had brought back debilitating memories.

      She had no idea how long she would have remained in her en suite bathroom if Neo had not shown up. Certainly, knowing Bob was there earlier had only increased her stress levels, knowing as she did how he would want to capitalize on the situation.

      She really didn’t understand why Neo’s presence had made such a difference, but she was unutterably grateful it had.

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE following morning, Cass was working on a piece she planned to cut onto her next CD when the doorbell rang. She ignored it. There had been no media vans outside her home this morning and Neo had released a statement that should set most wagging tongues at rest. But that didn’t mean an enterprising reporter would not come back looking for a quote from “the recluse pianist.”

      Even after learning the truth, there would be some who insisted on believing the billionaire and Cass had some sort of relationship. After all, that made better news copy than the fact he was taking piano lessons.

      Besides, it wasn’t completely out of the norm for her to get the occasional door-to-door salesman, despite her No Solicitors sign right above the doorbell.

      She felt no compunction about ignoring visitors who paid no attention to her clearly stated wishes. And she definitely did not want to talk to a reporter, no matter how much her manager Bob, might wish otherwise. She was feeling a lot calmer today than she might have expected, but Neo’s company the night before had helped settle her in a way even her father had been unable to do after a performance.

      She’d felt safe when he was there and had trusted him to do his best to right the media mess.

      The doorbell rang again, but her friends and business acquaintances knew to call first, so she continued to pay it no heed.

      Then the phone rang.

      She sighed with frustration, but got up. This piece was never going to gel with this kind of interruption. She grabbed the phone and answered it. “Hello?”

      “Miss Baker?”

      “Yes.” What was Neo’s PA doing calling her? Oh, right. “You’re calling for the piano recommendation.”

      “Actually, no.”

      “No?” Disappointment filled her. “Does Mr. Stamos need to cancel his lesson for next week as well?” she asked.

      Had he decided to stop them all together? She wouldn’t blame him after yesterday.

      “No.”

      “Oh.” Maybe she should just wait until the other woman came to the point. Guessing games got annoying when they didn’t bear immediate fruit. And she didn’t like the answers her own brain was supplying so far.

      So, Cass waited in silence for the PA to do just that.

      The other woman cleared her throat. “Mr. Stamos asked me to schedule a locksmith to come out and fix the handle on your front door and add an additional lock to a set of French doors on your upper floor. The locksmith is there, but apparently your doorbell is not working properly.”

      “It’s working just fine.”

      “The locksmith rang it. Twice.”

      “I do not answer my door when I am not expecting company.” Cass did not make any further explanation. She’d learned a long time ago that trying to explain her idiosyncrasies only made matters worse.

      Particularly with people like the cold-fish personal assistant employed by Neo Stamos.

      “If you do not answer your door, the locksmith cannot fix the door handle problem.”

      “What problem is that exactly?” She hadn’t noticed any trouble with her door handle sticking, though she was willing to entertain the possibility Neo had spotted something she missed when he had been there.

      “Mr. Stamos left instructions for it to be replaced by a self-locking model.”

      “Mr. Stamos left instructions with you about my door?” she asked, stunned. “Without informing me?”

      She knew he didn’t like her practice of leaving the door on the latch when she was expecting company. It was part of her mental preparation for visitors—reminding herself she needed to be open to other people, at least in some limited capacity.

      He complained about it every week, but did he really expect her to replace the handle because of it? Surely he realized she wasn’t going to leave the door unlocked right now. Not with the paparazzi entirely too interested in her and Neo’s association.

      “I really can’t speak to whether or not he informed you. I only know my instructions.”

      “You expect me to allow a perfect stranger into my home to replace my door handle, on your boss’s say-so. When I did not request, much less authorize this upgrade?” She used the word for lack of something better, though Cass wasn’t convinced it was any such thing.

      The personal assistant’s silence said that was exactly what she expected.

      She’d thought Neo understood. At least a little. Apparently she’d been wrong. “No.”

      “No? But Mr. Stamos—”

      Cass felt no compunction in interrupting the officious woman. “Please call your locksmith and cancel the order. Right now.”

      “I can’t possibly. Mr. Stamos—”

      “Does not own this property. And, I, the owner,” she added, her anxiety creeping through, “have no intention of replacing my perfectly functioning door handle.”

      “Mr. Stamos will not be happy about this,” the PA warned ominously.

      “I’m sure Mr. Stamos has many other things of much more importance for him to concern himself with.”

      “No doubt, but he left instructions.”

      One thing that could be said for Neo, he engendered loyalty and commitment to follow through from his employees.

      “He should have run those instructions by me,” Cass said with little sympathy. She wasn’t one of Neo’s employees. And if he had done so, she could have assured him she wouldn’t be leaving the door unlocked for the foreseeable future.

      “Mr. Stamos is not in the habit of asking the opinions of others.”

      “Really? I never would have guessed,” Cass replied just a tad sarcastically. Then she winced at her own behavior. She knew Neo was just trying to make things better. He’d simply gone about it the wrong way. Because no matter how she might wish otherwise, he did not understand. “Cancel the locksmith.”

      An unmistakable huff of annoyance sounded