A Year With the Millionaire Next Door Page 2

Someday maybe he’d again believe he did, too.

  He continued to stare at the ceiling, but in his mind he saw his nightstand and the cream-colored envelope tucked inside. The letter had been neatly written, the lines painstakingly straight, each cursive loop the same height and width. Perfect penmanship to deliver a harsh truth.

  It wasn’t the first swipe at his behavior. Just the first one to hit home. The first one to make him truly understand the consequences of being Linus Collier, playboy.

  Better to live like a monk until he learned to be someone else.

  He lay on his bed until nature called too loudly to be ignored. Struggling to his feet, he made his way to the bathroom, barely registering the way the sun filtered through the terrace plants to cast shadows on the floor.

  Until he heard the meow, that is. Forgetting all about nature, he looked out the terrace door and then down.

  A large white cat with mismatched eyes looked back.

  Stella stared at the stacks of cans in the pantry. Thirty of them, organized in groups of two by flavor. Chicken. Chicken and liver. Chicken and salmon. Chicken and tuna. Flavors were to rotate daily with no flavor repeating two days in a row. Apparently Etonia Toffee Pudding didn’t like repetition. She did like chicken, though, because she was also to receive one chicken tender roasted fresh at midday. A note on the instruction file said that the housekeeper would take care of the cooking. The woman wouldn’t be returning from leave, however, until tomorrow.

  From down the hall, the grandfather clock chimed six times. Stella plucked a can at random and hoped it wasn’t a duplicate.

  “Dinnertime, kitty!” she called. Etonia Toffee Pudding was way too much of a mouthful.

  Odd, but she assumed the cat would come running as soon as she peeled back the lid. Wasn’t the sound supposed to be some kind of universal feline signal? Maybe British cats weren’t as needy as American cats. She set the bowl on the floor.

  Where was the cat? “Kitty?”

  She headed down the glass-lined corridor, back to the living room. The velvet sofa and matching chairs were empty. No one was hiding underneath, either. “Here, kitty, kitty,” Stella called. Where the dickens was she hiding?

  Just then, the doorbell rang, causing her to jump. Again. So help her, if that was Theodore Moreland, she was going to slam the door on his foot.

  It wasn’t Teddy. It was her neighbor, the handsome one with twinkling eyes. He smiled and lifted a furry white face up to the space in the door. “Lose something?” he asked.

  Stella stared at the animal in his arms. “Etonia?”

  “She prefers Toffee,” he replied.

  Whatever. What was he doing with her?

  “Found her meowing at my terrace door, asking to come in.”

  “But that’s impossible. You’re on the other side of the building.” Except the terraces wrapped around the corners and she’d been standing in the opening when Teddy knocked. Stella looked over her shoulder at the terrace door.

  “Dammit. I left the slider open when I went to let Mr. Moreland in. She must have run outside while we were talking.”

  “Smart cat. If only we could all escape from Teddy’s visit.”

  “I’d rather she did her escaping under a bed,” Stella said as she unlatched the door. “Come here, you naughty kitty.” The cat let out an indignant meow at being transferred, but she settled down once Stella cradled her. “Thank you for bringing her back. I would have had a heart attack when I discovered her missing. You and I are going to have a long talk about house rules, missy,” she said.

  “She doesn’t look too worried.”

  “Probably because she knows who’s the boss in this house. Come on inside. It’s time for her supper, and I don’t want to put her down while the door is open.”

  While her neighbor did as he was told, she set Etonia—or rather, Toffee—on the floor. The cat, having understood the word supper, immediately trotted toward the kitchen. “I wanted to...”

  The words caught in her throat. For the first time, she got an unobscured view of her neighbor. Originally, she’d pegged him has handsome, but now that she had a better view, she realized that description was inadequate. Linus Collier was capital-H handsome. Tall and slender, he was built to wear his custom-made suit. His sandy-brown hair was stylishly cut and he had sharp features that gave him an aristocratic air. All and all, he looked exceedingly sophisticated and very British—if that was a thing. Standing there wearing a training camp T-shirt and tattered sneakers, Stella felt extremely common.

  She coughed and started again. “I wanted to thank you for earlier. With Mr. Moreland.”

  “No need to thank me,” he said, waving a hand. “You looked to have the situation well under control.”

  She liked to think she did, too. However, confirmation was nice to hear. “Even so, I appreciated the gesture. It was very gallant.”

  His laugh was sharp. Self-deprecating. “You give me far too much credit. I was simply there for the entertainment value. Teddy’s been making himself at home up here for as long as I can remember. He visited Agnes pretty much every week.”

  “Really?” And yet Dame Agnes had cut him from the will. Since she’d taken the job, Stella had been trying to ascertain why someone would skip over a relative in favor of a pet.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Linus said. “Do not mistake frequency with quality.” Hands in his pockets, he strolled toward the glass wall. The late-afternoon sun caught the highlights in his hair, turning them golden. “Agnes left Teddy out of the will for good reason.”

  “Which was?”

  “She liked the cat better,” he said, turning and tossing a grin over his shoulder.

  Stella grinned and looked away. The man had to know how attractive he looked doing that. If he didn’t, then he was either clueless or his apartment lacked mirrors. “Did you know Dame Agnes well?”

  “Well enough. Her last few years she began inviting me over for dinner, and we developed a friendship. She once made me read Othello to her Desdemona. Said practicing lines kept her mind sharp.”

  And having a handsome dinner companion probably kept her spirits up.

  Just then, a sated Toffee came strolling down the hall. In a demonstration of superiority, she plopped herself down against Linus’s leg and began washing her paw, completely unconcerned with whether she was getting hair on his pants or not.

  “Do you think she knows she’s worth the cost of a Van Gogh?” Stella asked.

  “Oh, I’m fairly certain she thought herself priceless before Agnes passed. Isn’t that right, you little diva?” Bending on one knee, he buried his fingers in the fur at the back of Toffee’s head. The cat immediately began purring like a small engine. “Are you at loose ends now that Agnes is gone? Is that why you came hopping across to my balcony?”

  He looked up, and Stella saw softness in his gaze that hadn’t been there before. His eyes had become muted, shifting into a blue gray that reminded her of the sky right before the dawn. The change suggested there were layers to the man. That if you peeled back the charm and the good looks, you would discover something even better.

  Of course, she wasn’t looking to discover anything, but it was nice to think her neighbor seemed decent. She coughed away the thought, and said, “Nothing personal, but I’m planning on her escape being a onetime event. I prefer not to think of her taking that leap more than once.”

  “Can’t say that I blame you.” Giving the cat one last rub behind the ears, her neighbor stood up and tucked his hands back into his pockets. “Now that the fugitive has been returned to custody, I should let you get back to your unpacking. It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Russo. I hope...” The sentence drifted off, as if he thought better of whatever it was he intended to say. “I’m sure we’ll run into one another again.”

  Stella was sure they would, too. Hard to avoid whe
n they lived across the hall from one another. She walked him to the door, thanked him again for bringing home Toffee and said good-night. It wasn’t until she locked the door that she wondered about the sentence he didn’t finish.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A FEW DAYS LATER, Stella found herself working outside, the penthouse terrace being nothing like her tiny balcony in New York. The wraparound exterior had been designed with both sunrise and sunset views in mind, depending upon your location. The sunrise seats were off the dining room, while sunset was a few feet from the master bedroom. Agnes—or someone—had designed the space to flow accordingly. A breakfast table and a chaise lounge led to an outdoor seating area, which in turn led to a cozy love seat from which to enjoy the day’s end. Like the apartment itself, the furnishings had a vintage elegance. Given her taste, Stella wondered why Dame Agnes had chosen such a contemporary apartment in the first place instead of one of the mansions a few streets over. Unless she liked being a study in opposites.

  The lives of other people, their quirks and personal histories, had always intrigued Stella. When she was younger, before she focused on more practical subjects like finance and economics, she used to love to devour biographies of the important and famous, fascinated by the way their lives had played out against world history. Dame Agnes was precisely the type of person she found interesting.

  On the chair beside her, Toffee stretched and rolled onto her back, a paw bent across her eyes. The cat had fought the leash and harness at first, but it appeared she was getting used to the idea. Beat being stuck inside or plunging to her death jumping off the terrace wall.

  The thought of Toffee falling caused Stella to look next door. Her breakfast nook faced Linus Collier’s sunset side. Only a few feet separated their terraces. When Stella first noticed, she could see how an enterprising cat might be tempted to make the jump. The thought made her nauseous. She wondered if Toffee hadn’t seen a bird or something, and that was the reason she’d leaped. Linus had a trio of potted trees arranged in the corner. The plants partially obscured her view of what looked like more potted plants. He had a mile-high arboretum. For a cat, it would be temptation extraordinaire.

  To Stella, the unexpected garden proved people were multifaceted.

  She hadn’t seen her neighbor since the day he brought Toffee home. Not that she was disappointed. She’d expected as much. People had lives. Jobs. Linus Collier probably had a very rich social life.

  “What do you think he does for a living?” she asked Toffee. “Professor? Investment banker?” Both seemed too stodgy. “Member of the royal family?” He did give off an old-money kind of vibe. Plus, she could see him playing an old-money sport like polo.

  “I know, I know,” she said to Toffee’s uninterested face. “Speculating about the neighbor isn’t going to get my work done.”

  She turned her attention to the file in front of her. It contained a listing of the various properties and items of value that made up Agnes’s—that was, Toffee’s—estate. Her task over the next few days was to account for every piece of memorabilia and jewelry listed. Hardly high-level finance, but part of the job. Judging from the thickness of the file, there was a lot of memorabilia and jewelry.

  She opened the first page and shook her head. Turned out Dame Agnes had included not only photos but background information. The top page read, “Sterling silver salt dishes from India, given by the Sultan of Brunei in 1959. We had dinner in his suite, and I complained that the curry was bland.” The anecdote continued for several paragraphs.

  “Oh, my,” she said to Toffee. “This is going to be fun.”

  Before she could read any farther, however, the alarm on her cell phone rang, letting her know it was midmorning in the States, the time when her father usually took a quick coffee break.

  Kevin Russo answered on the second ring. “Hey, Dad,” Stella greeted.

  “Stella? Is that you? What are you calling for?”

  His questions always sounded like she’d made a mistake. Stella did her best to not let the tone get to her. It was just his way, she always told herself. He didn’t mean to sound accusatory. “You weren’t home when I called the other night. I thought I’d call back to say hi.”

  “You’re going to have to speak up. Wherever you are has horrible service.”

  “Hold on.” She gave Toffee a quick glance before walking over to the front railing. “Is this better?” she asked, raising her voice a little.

  “A little. Where are you?”

  “On my terrace. Getting a little fresh air. It’s a gorgeous day.”

  “Sounds nice,” her father replied. “We got a delivery of oranges this afternoon. Whole place smells like Florida. You arrived in London okay, then?”

  “Yeah. I’m all settled in.”

  “Well, that’s good.” Her father didn’t hide the fact he disapproved of her taking a leave of absence, or “running off to Europe,” as he put it. The Russos had left Europe so they could make something of themselves, he reminded her. Stella would lose career momentum. “You don’t see your brother or sister needing a break from their stress, do you?” he’d said.

  Back in the present, he remained awkwardly silent on the other end of the line.

  “I started work this morning,” Stella said. She started explaining about Dame Agnes’s descriptions.

  “Doesn’t sound like finance,” her father said.

  “Can’t manage an estate until I know what’s included.”

  “I don’t know. Sounds more like they’re taking advantage of you. First making you watch that foolish cat, and now counting spoons or some nonsense?”

  “I told you before, Dad, that foolish cat is my client. Watching her is part of the job. Did Mom tell you I’m living in a penthouse?”

  “She told me,” her father replied. “Sounds fancy.”

  “It is. I’ve got a housekeeper, too.” Mrs. Churchill, who had worked for Dame Agnes, was in the house dusting.

  “That’s all great, but I doubt Mitchum, Baker is going to care much about your living arrangements. They’re going to want you to have done more than pet sit for a year. If you want to catch up with your colleagues.”

  Stella closed her eyes. It’s just his way. She wanted to tell him that Mitchum, Baker only cared that she did not freak out on their time. What she did on her leave was her business. But she didn’t. For all his harshness, Kevin Russo wanted the best for his children. Wanted them to have success in a way that he hadn’t. It wasn’t his fault that Stella couldn’t keep up with her siblings.

  Nor was it his fault he couldn’t understand Stella’s decision, since she didn’t completely understand it herself. All she knew was that her parents’ option—that she spend a few weeks in Boston and then head back to work—made her struggle to breathe. It was like the very words Boston, New York and Mitchum, Baker squeezed the air from her lungs. The job posting in London was the first idea that didn’t make her feel like she was having a heart attack.

  “I’m résumé stacking,” she told her father. Her voice sounded more defensive than she wanted. “When I return, I’ll be one of the few risk-assessment managers with international estate-management experience. In today’s job market, it’s all about being unique.”

  “If you say so.”

  For a second, she might as well have been in Boston, with her father eyeballing her with his trademark doubt. Or was it her trademark doubt? He never looked at Camilla or Joseph with anything less than beaming pride. But then, she’d always been the less-than child. The one in the background. The one who wasn’t quite as smart or as talented or as lauded as Camilla and Joe.

  Pushing her hair back from her face, she changed the subject. “What’s going on back home? Anything interesting?”

  “Your brother won his case the other day. They’re starting to talk about making him a partner. He’d be the youngest in firm history.”
>
  No surprise there. She leaned back against the wall and looked toward the apartment. Toffee was awake and had jumped on the breakfast table. Her little pink nose was sniffing the glass surface.

  “And I haven’t had a chance to talk with your sister yet. You know what it’s like being a resident. Well, you can imagine.”

  Yes, thought Stella, she could. She could also imagine her sister sailing through the experience. Camilla was unflappable.

  “She said she may present her latest study at a conference in Spain. I was telling Marjorie Bowman the other day that when Camilla’s done with school, I’m going to have her work on my brain. See if she can make me smarter.”

  It was an old joke, one she’d heard before. Her father told either it or a variation to just about everyone he ran into. Camilla would make him smarter. Joseph would get him out of trouble. And Stella would count his money. At least that was the joke before London. He probably didn’t say anything about her now.

  When she returned, though... She would kick ass when she returned and show him—show the world, that is—that she was a force to be reckoned with at Mitchum, Baker.

  She forced a smile into her voice. “I’m sure Mrs....”

  “Oh, for crying out loud. Don’t stack them like that. You trying to bruise every orange in the crate? I’ve got to go,” her father said. “I’m sorry, Stella, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “All right,” Stella said. “Love you.”

  Her father had already disconnected the call.

  Stella set the phone on the ledge and let out a frustrated scream.

  Linus loved his terrace. Over the last couple of years, he’d turned the balcony into a mini potted garden. His own high-rise nature retreat. If he was going to be alone with his thoughts, he might as well do so surrounded by flamingo trees and Australian bottlebrush.

  This afternoon, having decided to work at home, he was lingering over a second cup of tea—one of the benefits of being part owner of the company. He had his bare legs stretched out in the sun while he caught up on Parliament’s latest drama.