Secrets of the Rich & Famous. Charlotte Phillips

then get your things together in the morning and be on your way. I’ll get my PA to smooth things over with the agency. No need to worry. I’m sure they’ll find you something else quickly.’

      He spoke with the air of someone conferring a great favour. To add to the effect he gave her a lopsided winning smile that creased the corners of his eyes and made her traitorous belly perform a backflip. She wrapped her arms defensively across her body. Just because it worked on the rest of the female population—didn’t mean she’d let it work on her.

      He made a move towards the door, his back already turned. No need to wait for her response, of course, because what he said always went. How kind of him to let her stay the rest of the night. A whole extra four hours. The bitter taste of contempt flooded her mouth, quickly followed by sheer panic. How could she complete her article if she got kicked out? She had to stay in this flat.

      ‘I don’t think you understand,’ she called after him, working hard to stop desperation creeping into her voice. ‘I have a contract. You have to give me a month’s notice to move out.’

      He paused at the door. She waited. He turned back to face her, a frown touching his eyebrows. There was only one thing for it—she was simply going to have to brazen the situation out.

      ‘This house-sitting thing—it’s not completely one-sided, you know,’ she said. ‘I’m still paying rent. I’m here until New Years. I’ve even put up the Christmas tree. You can’t just barge in and throw me out because the mood takes you. I don’t care who you are.’

      She saw coldness slip into the green eyes, and a slight inclination of his head acknowledged that she’d recognised him. Good. Then he’d know she wasn’t about to be starstruck into doing what he wanted. This was her big break, and not even his dazzling looks and reputation could stand in the way of her dreams.

      ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Of course I’ll compensate you for any inconvenience, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

      He thought she was after his cash? She shook her head at him in disgust. ‘I don’t want your money.’

      Why was she even surprised? She knew the type of man he was. She’d known that type her whole life. And not one cell in her body would submit to his insulting assumption that he could simply swan through life buying whatever and whoever he chose, throwing money at anything that stood in his way. As if a man like him could ever understand her desperate need to prove herself on her own terms.

      She sat down obstinately on the bed.

      He looked down at her for a moment.

      ‘We’ll talk about this in the kitchen,’ he said.

      Alex Hammond glanced through the house-sitting contract which he’d found in full view on the kitchen table. It seemed she had a point. Two minutes later she walked in, barefooted, tying a dressing gown around her. It was short, and he couldn’t help but notice the long, long legs and the dishevelled bed-hair that made her look as if she’d been doing something other than sleeping. He felt a spark of heat deep in his abdomen. A couple of weeks earlier and the surprise discovery of a scantily dressed woman in his apartment would probably have led to him trying to talk her back into the bedroom and giving her the one-night stand of her life. That wasn’t an option now. As of this week, he needed to be a changed man.

      That resolution would be a whole lot easier to stick to without those legs under the same roof as him.

      She didn’t sit down. Instead she lingered in the doorway watching him, leaning against the jamb.

      ‘I don’t want your money,’ she reiterated. ‘Not everyone can be bought, you know.’

      He shrugged.

      ‘In my experience they can,’ he said. ‘It’s just a matter of finding the right price. Tell me yours and we can skip all this tedium, sort the whole thing out, and you can get on your way. Everyone can do with a bit of extra cash at this time of year.’

      She shook her head stubbornly.

      ‘I’m staying put. You’re welcome to serve me notice, if you like. In fact, let’s assume that’s what you’ve just done, shall we? So I’ve got a month before I need to move out and at the end of that time I’ll go. No arguments.’

      He had to admire her persistence.

      ‘I’ve had a look at the contract …’ he glanced down at her name on the top sheet of paper ‘… er … Jennifer, and I can’t see what the problem is. I’ll make sure the agency finds you somewhere else to stay that’s just as good as this, and I’m prepared to offer you generous compensation for the misunderstanding. What’s not to like?’

      ‘Somewhere else isn’t good enough,’ she said. ‘It has to be here.’

      A lightbulb flickered on in his mind at the desperation clearly audible in her voice. Was that it? She was some kind of obsessive fan? Oh, great. Just what he needed.

      He tried to speak kindly. ‘Listen, Jennifer, I know there’s a strong fan base for my work, and I’m grateful for that, but you have to understand I like to keep my work life and my private life separate.’

      More like have to, from now on.

      He saw her eyes widen, and her lip curled a little. It occurred to him that for a fan she didn’t seem particularly keen on him.

      ‘This isn’t about you!’ she snapped. ‘It’s about the address.’

      She wasn’t making any sense. He felt suddenly very tired. Not surprising after the few days he’d had and the night flight in from the States.

      ‘What’s so significant about this address if it isn’t the fact that I live here?’

      She dropped her eyes from his, fiddled with the belt on her dressing gown.

      ‘It’s an important part of my cover story,’ she said. ‘I can’t change it now. There’s too much riding on it. And I only have limited time and means.’

      Her cryptic explanations were beginning to irritate him.

      ‘What the hell are you talking about? Cover story?’

      ‘I’m a journalist.’

      The words fell like rocks into his tired mind. He’d just flown thousands of miles to get out of the scrutiny of the press pack only to find that one of them had moved in with him. He fought to keep a neutral expression on his face, to hear her out, when what he really wanted to do was frogmarch her out of the apartment and lock the deadbolt behind her.

      ‘What kind of journalist?’

      ‘I’m working on an article that involves me inventing a different identity,’ she said. ‘The house-sitting is a cheap way of getting myself an address in the right …’ she pursed her lips ‘… social bracket. I’m working to a tight budget.’

      He tried again.

      ‘What paper do you work for?’

      The blue eyes cut away from his.

      ‘I’m freelance,’ she said.

      So she worked anywhere and everywhere she could. Terrific. It was time to wrap this up—immediately.

      ‘Get your stuff right now and leave,’ he said. ‘I don’t give a damn about any contract. My lawyers will take it from here.’

      She tilted her chin up and looked down at him, as if another bargaining tool had suddenly occurred to her. ‘Mr Hammond, you must know that with a couple of phone calls to the right people I could have paparazzi outside this flat before the sun comes up,’ she said.

      He saw steely determination in the blue eyes and braced himself against the surge of rage. These press people—thinking they could manipulate any situation.

      ‘Are you threatening me, Miss Brown?’

      She shook her