The Wealthy Man's Waitress

To Bob and Simone.

I am indebted to you both for love, healing and

the great gift of your friendship.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

COMING NEXT MONTH

CHAPTER ONE

THERE was just a door between Emma Jane Robards and her current goal. Only it wasn’t just any old common or garden door. No: this one was sleek and forbidding, made out of the finest grained walnut, with a sign in perfectly formed gold lettering that seemed to haughtily announce the name of its occupant like a VIP at a banquet. Piers Redfield. Even the name seemed imbued with importance.

‘Don’t bother trying to arrange an appointment to see him,’ Lawrence had advised. ‘He employs an army of staff to keep out the riff-raff. No offence.’ He’d smiled apologetically and Emma’s stomach had churned a little queasily. What on earth was she letting herself in for, sneaking around trying to get into some corporate wizard’s protected enclave as if she was some kind of amateur spy or something? And why, oh, why had she allowed Lawrence to even persuade her to consider it?

Because he needed her help, Emma reminded herself with renewed determination, and that was why she was willing to risk being thrown out into the street by Security or—worse—being driven off in a police car. Doggedly tilting her chin to shake off her fear, she rapped her knuckles smartly against the imposing walnut, frankly stunned that she had managed to get as far as the great man’s door without being stopped. But today, for once, luck seemed to be on her side.

‘Come!’

Into the lion’s den… Her thoughts racing, Emma twisted the brass doorknob and swept into the inner sanctum so appropriately guarded by that imposing door, then came to a nervous standstill almost as soon as her feet crossed the threshold. She hadn’t expected the room to be quite so huge or awe-inspiring but, with its panoramic windows and endless sea of forest-green carpet, it was. And those beautiful paintings on the walls weren’t prints either. They had to be the real thing—even Emma’s untrained eye could see that. But more than her intimidating surroundings, or the pervading aura of wealth that hung like exclusive perfume on the air, what commanded her attention the most was the immaculately attired glowering male sitting behind a stylish desk so huge it wouldn’t have looked out of place accommodating a small dinner party. Piers Redfield himself.

‘Who the hell are you?’

Emma’s feet wanted to run, but sheer strength of will made them stay right where they were. Now she’d come this far, she wasn’t about to bolt like some frightened rabbit just because he was the head of a hugely successful corporation, a multimillionaire if Lawrence was to be believed, and she a mere waitress in her friend’s bistro. He had a lifestyle about a million miles away from her own and probably wouldn’t give her the time of day if their paths should ever cross in the normal course of events, but even so, Emma told herself, she had to seize the moment and not be scared. Though in the normal course of events their paths would never cross—probably not even in her wildest dreams. Lawrence hadn’t exaggerated. Piers Redfield looked as if he could put the fear of God into just about anyone.

‘Are you going to answer me or do I get Security to come and throw you out?’ His bellow bounced off the walls and Emma gripped the black leather briefcase she’d brought with her to help her look as if she was meant to be in the building and prayed hard that her bravado would hold out.

‘I’m Emma. I’m a friend of Lawrence.’

‘Lawrence?’ Dark blond brows came together over penetrating blue eyes the seductive hue of an azure sky over the French Riviera. Staring into them, even from this distance, Emma almost forgot the reason she’d come. Unlocking her hand from its death grip on the briefcase handle, she wondered if it was normal for a heart to beat so deafeningly loud, or for fear to grip her courage by the throat and strangle it into oblivion.

‘Your son.’

‘I know perfectly well he’s my son, but that still doesn’t explain your presence here. And, while we’re on the subject, how did you get past Reception and my assistant without being seen?’

‘They’re out front watching the Lord Mayor’s Show. And I suppose there aren’t many people here on a Saturday morning.’ When Emma had emerged from the tube station to find herself swept up in the crowd of people thronging the streets, she had prayed with all her might that the occupants of the office buildings lining the route would be distracted by the procession. She’d hardly been able to believe it when she’d found that to be the case. It was a miracle but she had been able to whip past the temporarily empty security desk downstairs as easily as a magician’s assistant. Now you see me, now you don’t.

‘Is that on today?’

Without waiting for Emma’s confirmation, Piers pushed back his chair and strode over to the window. The way he carried himself was compelling, Emma mused silently, and she couldn’t recall ever being fascinated by the way a man moved before. There was a strength and grace about him that put her in mind of an athlete. He probably worked hard to keep himself in prime physical condition. But right then she wished she wouldn’t notice such distracting things. There was a very good reason why she was here, and she wasn’t going to be put off by Piers Redfield’s intimidating good looks, or the fact that wealth and power were obviously second nature to the man. His whole personality radiated those very considerable attributes, and Emma had been amply forewarned by Lawrence that he was a tricky customer not averse to using his extremely potent assets to bend the will of even the most steadfast individual. Well, he wasn’t going to get the chance to bend her will. As far as Lawrence was concerned, Emma was a woman on a mission.

‘You won’t see much from there. You’re too high up.’ Her comment could just as soon have been meant metaphorically. His status certainly put him on a pedestal way above her.

‘So much for security. Now, what’s this all about? Did Lawrence send you? Who are you—one of his girlfriends?’

One of his girlfriends. The insult was a poisoned barb, clearly meant to sting. Beneath the fitted cerise jacket that she’d reluctantly donned for the occasion over a mid-length black skirt, Emma’s shoulders stiffened. ‘I like to think I mean a little bit more to him than that.’ As soon as the words were out she wished she could take them back. Now Piers’s lips—those perfectly moulded, sensuous-looking lips—were quirking, as if he’d got her measure, and that was the last thing she wanted him to have. The man was already weighed down with enough advantages.

‘He didn’t tell me he was seeing anyone special.’ He was leaning back against his desk, his eyes glimmering with suddenly interested speculation.

‘Why should he when you don’t even return his phone calls?’ The accusation was out before she could check it and once again Emma had cause to regret her impulsive nature. Especially when Piers threw back his head and laughed as though it was the best joke he’d heard in ages.

‘Poor hard-done-by Lawrence. Is that the tack you’re going to employ? OK, then, let’s cut to the chase. I take it you’ve come to petition me for some money on his behalf?’

‘No, of course not! I mean—I mean, I just wanted to talk to you about all the sacrifices he’s made lately to finance his new career. To—to demonstrate to you that he’s finally found the thing that inspires him most. He told me you always put him down. Won’t even give him a chance. Everybody deserves a chance, Mr Redfield. Didn’t somebody help you at the start of your famous career?’

Hard work, resilience and the ability to make tough decisions without wavering had taken him to the top, Piers mused passionately. Not a leg up from his father. Now, as he considered the rather arresting brunette in front of him, with her pouty coral lips, honey-brown eyes and the cute little beauty spot just above her left cheek, he could only think it typical that she’d been led to believe that he was the storybook hard-hearted father and Lawrence the poor, misunderstood, rejected son. If he’d been in the mood he could have illuminated her misconceptions with a few unpalatable facts about that poor, misunderstood, rejected son, but Piers didn’t see the point when her mind was so obviously already made up.

Glancing down at the Rolex encircling his tanned wrist, he briefly noted the time, then looked pointedly at the young woman in front of him.

‘You said sacrifices? What ‘‘sacrifices’’ has my son made lately to finance his new career that I should know about? And, by the way, you’ve got precisely three minutes before I have to go and chair a board meeting.’

‘Well…’ Clearing her throat, Emma wished she had a glass of water to hand. It wasn’t easy to articulate her concerns about Lawrence when her mouth felt as dry as sun-bleached bones. Only now it started to hit her how stupidly presumptuous she’d been in waltzing into the building and infiltrating this man’s protected enclave as if she had every right. He was Piers Redfield, for goodness’ sake! The role model for aspiring corporate geniuses everywhere, according to his son. Head of one of the premier management consultancies in the country, with a worldwide reputation to match. And not only was his business acumen admired by the great and the good, but he was also awesomely attractive, a fact that Emma hadn’t really been prepared for. The man had so much class it practically oozed from his pores, she reflected a little resentfully, reluctantly admiring the beautiful cut of his tasteful dark grey pinstripe suit.

‘He sold his car and his motorbike to raise some capital, and they were both his pride and joy, but it’s still not enough for him to start up in Cornwall. He’ll also need to pay rent on a place as well as buy food. It’s going to take a while before the business takes off, but you mark my words, Mr Redfield, it will! Have you any idea how talented your son is?’

‘I know exactly what kind of talents my son is endowed with, Miss…?’

‘Robards.’

‘Miss Robards. But somehow I don’t think they’re the same ones that you’re so keen to endorse. And, for what it’s worth, setting up a pottery in an already overcrowded market in the middle of St Ives is not my idea of a viable venture. If you want my opinion, and I’m sure you don’t…’ The piercing blue eyes frosted over as they swept over her flushed features, causing Emma to bite apprehensively down on her lip. ‘…it’s just another excuse for Lawrence to swan around abdicating all responsibility for his own welfare at my expense. I’ve given him money more times than I care to mention to finance any number of madcap schemes, and he squandered his mother’s legacy in less than a year. I’m afraid as far as I’m concerned he’s more than had his quota of help from me. Shame you had a wasted journey, Miss Robards.’ And with that Piers walked around his desk and picked up the phone.

Emma could hardly believe he was dismissing her so easily, so coldly, and without consideration. It was his son she’d come to talk about, not some stranger who wasn’t anything to do with him! She’d never had a man cry in her arms before, but last night Lawrence had. He’d broken down and poured out all his heartbreak—his lonely, unloved childhood, the death of his poor unhappy mother, driven to numerous affairs during her marriage to Piers because of his addiction to work and making money, and his father’s coldness to him whenever he asked for his help. No wonder he hadn’t got into university, he’d told her with wounded eyes. No wonder he’d drifted ever since. He was a lost soul and Emma was only too glad to help him in whatever way she could. She might have started out as just the girl who occupied the flat downstairs, but they’d quickly become friends and she’d often fed him when he’d run out of money for food and his cupboards were bare. The least his cold, imperious father could do was hear her out on his behalf!

‘Mr Redfield.’ Piers glanced up in surprise as Emma crossed the room to the edge of his desk and laid her hand across his where it rested on the receiver. Her skin was exquisitely soft, like the dewy petals of a rose, and he had to curb his surprise at the effect it had on him. A sensual little charge of electricity ran up his arm at her touch and created a nicely warm heat haze in his groin. Time seemed to stand still as all Piers’s senses were drowned in the sheer eroticism of the moment. Then, giving himself a mental shake, he moved his gaze to her face and was gratified to see her blush, amused when she quickly withdrew her hand as if he might have something contagious. Was she for real? That becoming colour flooding her cheeks certainly couldn’t be faked. He might not admire Lawrence for much, but he could certainly admire his taste in this particular woman. She was too young, of course—twenty-three or -four at most—but she had gumption: that much was clear, or else she wouldn’t have risked arriving unannounced in his office to plead her case for his good-for-nothing son. And the way that cerise jacket fitted across that sexy little black stretch top of hers… Well, those delicious curves could keep a man distracted better than the latest Ferrari out of the showroom. Piers withdrew his hand to his trouser pocket, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathed in deeply to contain his sudden lust.

‘Was there something else, Miss Robards?’

‘Don’t give up on your son. He already feels rejected by you. He needs your help, not your condemnation. He told me to tell you he absolutely promises that this will be the very last time he asks for your help. Can’t you just meet up with him for half an hour and hear him out?’

‘And what’s in it for you, Miss Robards?’

‘What do you mean?’ Her softly defined brows drew together as she frowned, and her perfume seemed to envelop Piers enticingly as she blushed again. He absorbed the sensation for a long moment as he watched her, registering its impact deep in his belly, deciding he liked the effect it had on him far too much.

‘I mean, how does it benefit you if I help Lawrence? Are you looking for an easy life down in the West Country as well?’

He thought… He thought she was pulling some kind of scam to get hold of his money! Emma blanched at the very idea. There wasn’t a dishonest bone in her body, and she’d always gone out of her way to help others less fortunate than herself. And this man…this…this arrogant despot was suggesting that the only reason she was helping Lawrence was to somehow secure herself an easy life in Cornwall! Her hand itched to slap that conceited smirk right off his too handsome face, but she’d already risked enough trouble without being hauled off for assault as well. Instead she curled it into a fist by her side and told herself to take a deep breath before retaliating.

‘I should have known to expect such a low blow from a man such as you,’ she said passionately. ‘For your information, Mr Redfield, I only came here because Lawrence asked me and I happen to believe in what he wants to do. Personally I’m totally unimpressed by your wealth and wouldn’t ask you for a penny if my life depended on it, but Lawrence is a different matter. We’re not all cut out to run multimillion-pound corporations, you know. Some of us are struggling with deeper issues that sometimes make it hard for us to find our feet.’

What deeper issues was she struggling with? Piers mused fleetingly before dismissing the thought as irrelevant.

‘Are you sleeping with him?’

‘What?’ Emma stared at him as if he’d just accused her of embezzling all the corporation’s funds.

‘Let me make it clearer.’ Folding his arms across an impressively wide chest clad in an expensive suit with no doubt impeccable credentials, Piers let his gaze linger for a moment on the fulsome shape of her breasts, lovingly outlined by the black clingy top beneath her jacket. The coming board meeting really wasn’t the most pressing thing on his mind right now. ‘Are you having sex with my son?’

‘How dare you? That’s none of your damn business!’ Emma was hardly going to tell him that Lawrence had tried to lure her into bed several times since they’d met but, although she was attracted to him, she wasn’t ready to make that particular leap of faith just yet. For now she was just happy to think of him as a very good friend.

Besides…he had enough girls parading in and out of his flat, as far as she could see. Like father, like son? According to Lawrence, Piers’s love of beautiful women had earned him a reputation as a bit of a playboy. Very aware of that fact, Emma wished her heart wouldn’t beat so wildly when he narrowed his penetrating gaze at her as if he was imagining what she looked like without her clothes.

‘You must be. Why else would you be championing his cause? Don’t be so gullible, Miss Robards. He’s only using you, you know. And you wouldn’t be the first misguided fool to fall for his dubious charm either.’ Sighing, Piers rubbed at his forehead as if a headache had started and Emma was the cause. Then, before she could retaliate, he smiled a slow, knowing little smile that caused a shocking wave of heat to pulsate throughout Emma’s body as if she’d suddenly been locked inside a steam room. ‘Are you my reward for meeting my son’s demands?’

‘What?’ For a crazy instant, Emma told herself she’d imagined the innuendo in his question. She simply couldn’t believe that a rich, powerful individual like Piers Redfield would deign to make a pass at an ordinary girl like her. But then as reality set in, so did anger. Waves of it. ‘I can’t believe you’re insinuating such a foul thing! Lawrence told me your opinion of him was low, but how low I didn’t begin to guess. How dare you suggest for even a second that your own son would do such a thing? And even worse—that I…that I would comply with it!’

Piers’s glance was unflinchingly direct. ‘Then you clearly do not know Lawrence as well as you think you do, Miss Robards. As I said before, he’s probably only using you. The sooner you realise it, the better.’

‘He’s not using me!’ she insisted. ‘We’re good friends. I’d trust Lawrence with my life!’

‘Oh, really?’ Piers’s tone was deliberately scathing. ‘Then don’t put such a cheap price on it, is my advice to you.’

Emma’s slender shoulders sagged dejectedly. It had been a complete waste of time coming to see him. He clearly had no intention and, more to the point, no interest whatsoever in helping his only son. She only hoped he wouldn’t have cause to regret it if Lawrence went and did something rash. Was Piers aware that his offspring suffered with chronic depression? Well, now wasn’t the time to illuminate him. He looked eager for her to be gone so he could go and chair his obviously far more important board meeting, and frankly Emma didn’t feel like subjugating herself to any more far too intimate questions about her love life…or lack of it.

‘Whether I’m sleeping with Lawrence or not is neither here nor there,’ she said shakily, brown eyes hurt and disappointed. ‘All I came here for was to ask you to talk to him, to maybe give him some help…not just financial help, either. He gets very low sometimes and I worry about him. He’s not strong like you.’ She flushed when Piers’s glance became even more piercing.

He was well aware that his son had a deeply melancholic side. But part of Piers still wrestled with the fact that even when things were good for Lawrence, he still managed to muck things up big time. He’d been a greedy and demanding boy who’d only ever thought of himself, and had replicated those less than admirable qualities as an adult, acting as if the world—or at least his father—owed him a living. Piers couldn’t even remember how many interviews and meetings he’d set up with friends and clients in business to help Lawrence get his foot in the door. But time and time again he either hadn’t shown up for the interview or, if he’d taken the job, had got bored within a week or two and found some pathetic excuse as to why it wasn’t exactly what he was looking for. Piers didn’t think Lawrence would know what it was he was looking for if it came up behind him and sunk its teeth into his backside. What on earth Emma Robards found remotely appealing about him, apart from his looks, his father could only wonder. Unless, of course, she was hoping that some of Piers’s own wealth might trickle down to him.

‘Lawrence will survive, mark my words. He’s too selfish to do anything that might deprive the world of his presence, so please stop worrying on that score.’

‘And that’s all you’ve got to say on the subject?’ An ache started between Emma’s shoulder blades where anger and disappointment turned her spine into a steel rod instead of cartilage and bone, and she couldn’t help but wish that her interview with Lawrence’s harsh, uncaring father had not concluded with such a discouraging outcome. Poor Lawrence would be devastated. He’d told Emma before she left that Piers was his last and final hope. The banks just didn’t want to know. He had debts outstanding on two big loans already and even his father’s illustrious name had not been enough to persuade them to extend him more largesse.

Abruptly bringing the interview to an end, Piers strode to the door and pointedly held it open. Her cheeks burning with embarrassment, Emma walked towards him, her brown eyes desperately trying to conceal the fact that she was close to tears. She hated letting anybody down…especially a friend. When she’d agreed to do as Lawrence asked, she’d taken on the task with such high hopes, even knowing that his father’s reputation was formidable. But she could get along with most people, she told herself, and at the end of the day Piers Redfield was only human, wasn’t he? And Lawrence was his son…his only son.

‘Don’t take it personally, Miss Robards. It’s certainly no failing on your part. You’re not responsible for fixing Lawrence’s life, and neither am I. He’s an adult. He’s made his choices and I’m afraid he’ll just have to learn to live with them.’

There was not the slightest flicker of regret in those coldly crystalline eyes, Emma noticed indignantly. Not even the smallest notion that another human being might dare question his judgement—his particular choices. Number one being the apparently total abandonment of his only son in his time of need.

‘I don’t suppose there’s anything I can say that would change your mind?’ As she raised her hopeful gaze to his, Piers could do nothing about the flash of heat that suddenly throbbed through him. It was not dissimilar to the drenching, languid heat that assailed his body when he was lying out on his terrace in Marbella, but it didn’t make him think longingly of margaritas by the pool. No, it conjured up longings of a very different kind. She had the most bewitching eyes, Piers realised—beautifully framed by the most lavish dark lashes the colour of warm melted caramel.

‘That kind of question could get you into all kinds of trouble, Miss Robards,’ he drawled softly.

Reacting as though he’d just slapped her face, Emma stood rigid with shock as she stared into his eyes, suddenly consumed by a sea of such blazing sensuality that every inch of flesh on her body felt as if it was bathed in warm, silken honey. Her nipples grew almost painfully tight beneath her shirt and she had to bite back a gasp.

‘I—I…’ She tried to speak but to her humiliation couldn’t get the words past her throat.

‘Take my card.’ His voice lowered to a more sensual cadence, Piers retrieved a business card from his inside jacket pocket. He pressed it into her hand, briefly and devastatingly curling his fingers around hers. ‘Why don’t you give me a ring some time?’