A Year With the Millionaire Next Door Read online

  “You’re using your ‘I don’t believe you’ voice. You’re playing armchair psychiatrist, looking for things that aren’t there. I’m not romantically interested in Stella. We’re friends and that’s all.”

  “Fine. I’m not trying to read into anything. You’re allowed to have female friends.”

  “Thank you.”

  “However, if I were to offer an opinion...”

  Here we go. “Go ahead.” He sat down. Susan’s opinions could get long-winded. “What’s your opinion?” As if he didn’t know what she was about to say.

  “You can’t spend the rest of your life feeling guilty. What happened with Victoria wasn’t your fault.”

  “I didn’t help matters.” A more sensitive man, a more empathetic man, would have recognized Victoria’s troubles. But no, he’d been focused on conquest, and once he succeeded, he’d moved on. “I should have realized how unhappy she was.”

  “How? No one realized, Linus. Not even her family.”

  So everyone continued to tell him, but he had been Victoria’s lover. The role demanded an intimacy that he’d failed to achieve.

  What Susan and the rest of the world failed to realize was that his guilt ran far deeper than Victoria. For years, he’d treated women as objects to pursue, writing off their post-breakup insults as brokenhearted rants. They were the problem, he told himself. After all, he never pretended the relationships were anything but physical and casual.

  Ultimately, it didn’t matter if he was the direct or an indirect factor in her death. He was still a bloody ass.

  “One would think you’d be happy for me,” he said to her. “I’m in a platonic relationship with a woman.”

  “Break out the champagne. Hell hath frozen over.”

  “Damn straight.” He needed this friendship with Stella, if not to help her, then to help himself. To teach himself how to be a decent human being.

  “And, before you ask, the lady is not interested, either,” he added. At least, not when sober. “She’s one hundred percent about the job. Makes Thomas look rational.”

  Susan let out a whistle. Their brother tended to commit in the extreme, including managing the company. “Sounds hard-core for a pet sitter.”

  She wasn’t a pet sitter, but Linus didn’t feel like arguing the point. Besides, after their conversation last night, he wondered if Stella’s drive to succeed wasn’t powered by something deeper. All her talk about coming up short in comparison to her siblings. “Her family is very accomplished,” he said. “Her parents, her siblings all have successful careers. Lawyers, surgeons.”

  “And she feels like the family outlier. I understand.”

  Yes, she did, better than most. “But you carved your own space.”

  “Wasn’t easy, what with Mother always criticizing and living with you two Greek gods.” Linus laughed at her description. “Honestly, it wasn’t until I found Lewis and realized I was lovable on my own merits that I finally grew comfortable in my own skin.”

  Another reason why he placed such value in maintaining a platonic relationship with Stella. She needed someone to prove she mattered regardless of what she did for a living, and that could only happen if she trusted him. For once, the woman’s needs mattered more than his.

  Maybe he was evolving.

  He and his sister spent the afternoon cooing over Noel’s cuteness until the baby fell asleep. “I’m not sure who is more tired,” he told Thomas. “Smiling at a baby all day is a lot of work.”

  His brother just laughed and picked up the collection of toys and snacks left strewn around Linus’s living room. “He is deceptively charming, isn’t he? Must be the Collier in him.”

  “Which version? You, me or Dad?”

  “Right now, I’d say he’s leaning toward you. The other day, we were out for tea and some random woman gave him a treat simply because he smiled at her.”

  “Better watch it,” Linus said, “or he’ll be trying to steal kisses on the schoolyard before you realize it.”

  “Well, at this rate he won’t have to try too hard, will he? Another one of his uncle’s qualities it looks like he inherited.”

  Hopefully not, thought Linus.

  “Noticed you’re limping. Don’t tell me, you tripped over my boy?”

  “Nah. Rolled it while out for a run.” Briefly, while Thomas buckled Noel into his carrier, Linus relayed what happened with Toffee and how that had led to him going for a run with his new neighbor.

  “Can’t say I blame her,” Thomas said, regarding Stella’s stress about her meeting with Teddy. “Although next time you want to calm someone down, I’d take it easier. You’re lucky you didn’t break your bloody leg. You must really like this woman.”

  “We’re friends. Nothing more,” Linus replied. “Neither of us is interested in anything more.”

  “Well, friends are nice, too.” Thomas looked like he was about to say something more, but thankfully he changed his mind. Linus was not in the mood to have a second conversation about his friendship with Stella. Honestly, was it so difficult to believe he had a platonic relationship with her? How much of a playboy had he been for both his siblings to jump straight to the same conclusion?

  A few moments passed in silence, Thomas chewing his lip as he finished his last-minute gathering. “You know you can talk to me if you need to,” he said once his arms were full. “About anything. Lord knows you were there for me when Rosalind and I had our problems.”

  “Because you and Rosalind were meant to be together. Anyone with two heads could see how much you loved one another. Trust me, this isn’t the same thing. Not by a long shot.”

  Thomas wasn’t like their sister, thank goodness, and didn’t press. Inside, Linus let out a grateful sigh of relief. He wasn’t in the mood to explain things again.

  Seriously, how many times could he explain that he was not romantically interested in Stella?

  Even if he had dreamed of her kiss all evening long.

  Having declined Thomas’s invitation for dinner, Linus poured himself a glass of stout and limped back to the garden. Not that he didn’t love his family, but he wasn’t in the mood to play fifth wheel.

  The air had grown thicker over the past few hours. Looking up, he saw the beginnings of dark clouds. Rain was coming. Usually, he liked the fresh, musky smell that permeated the air just before a storm. It was the smell of anticipation.

  Tonight, the scent left him with a hollow feeling. If he didn’t know better, he’d say it felt like loneliness. Felt lonely.

  More likely, he was simply unsettled after all the talk about Victoria. And Stella.

  He wondered what his neighbor was up to. Was she, like him, planning on a night of paperwork and television?

  There was only one way to tell. Setting down his drink, he limped over to his favorite rock. Stella’s garden was empty. The terrace doors and windows were locked tight. Crickets chirped in the emptiness. How they made it to the top of his building, he hadn’t a clue, but their noise could be heard along with the steady hum of an air-conditioning unit. He imagined Stella sitting at her dining room table, carefully balancing a plate of whatever Mrs. Churchill made so she didn’t spill on the paperwork spread before her. Occasionally talking to Toffee who, no doubt, wanted whatever was on the plate.

  Last night’s conversation bothered him in ways he couldn’t describe. The way she talked about not measuring up, as though life were a competition for a prize. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman. How was it that he could see her laudability within five minutes of meeting her, yet she couldn’t?

  Why did it matter to him?

  Because you like her.

  Of course he did. They were friends, and friends cared about one another. Granted, his feelings were a bit intense for someone he’d just met, but he blamed the intensity on his issues. Bottom line was that two years from now, he
didn’t want to hear that sweet, tightly wound Stella had had another breakdown. Or worse. The girl needed to know her worth, and he, as a friend, needed to help her unwind and believe in herself.

  An idea started to form.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  STELLA WAS FLUMMOXED. She’d spent the last week gathering and organizing the items on Dame Agnes’s inventory list, and, by her count, at least a dozen items were missing. Things like a silver cigarette lighter. A pair of garnet earrings. A topaz brooch. All small to midsize, and all things that Dame Agnes could have given away. Or that could have been removed from the house unnoticed.

  For fun, she searched the online auction houses for Agnes Moreland memorabilia, but the only items were Playbills and autographed photos.

  “I don’t suppose you know,” she asked Toffee.

  If she did, the cat wasn’t talking.

  Tired of staring at pages with no answers, Stella tossed her pen on the table. “How about I get my apron and give you a brushing, Toff?”

  Brushing Toffee’s white coat was one of her daily duties. The first time, Stella found her skirt covered with white fur. Since then, she’d made a point of wearing a protective apron.

  As soon as she saw the brush, Toffee jumped on the sofa and flopped on her side. “You are so spoiled. In my next life, I’m coming back as a cat so someone will stroke my fur every afternoon.”

  Not that she’d tell Toffee, but the ritual was one of her favorite parts of the day. The slow, methodical strokes were like meditation. Her shoulder muscles would relax and she’d finish in a calmer mood. Maybe, when she went home, she’d get a cat, too. So engrossed was she in her task that when the doorbell rang, she didn’t hear it. Only when she heard Mrs. Churchill talking to someone did she realize there was a visitor.

  Please don’t let it be Teddy Moreland.

  It was Linus. “Hello, stranger,” he greeted. A grin broke across her face. He was dressed for work, in a gray suit similar to the one he’d worn when they first met, only instead of the glasses in his breast pocket, they were perched on the bridge of his nose. He gave off a very sexy professor vibe as a result.

  “Hello to you, too. I haven’t seen you all week.” She’d kept an ear out for noise every time she stepped outside, but his backyard had been quiet, and his house was dark whenever she looked over from her balcony.

  “Sorry for that. Been burning the midnight oil for a bit. Joint meeting with sales and marketing. How goes the battle?”

  “If you mean the daily quest to make Toffee’s life as easy as possible? Look for yourself.” She leaned against the back of the sofa so he could see the cat sprawled across her lap.

  “Looks to be going well. I’m sure she has complaints, though.”

  “She’s a cat. Of course, she has complaints. I see you’re still limping.”

  “Only at the end of the day,” he said as he took a seat across from her. Across from, not next to.

  “I guess that means you’re not here to see about a run.”

  “No. Actually I’m here for another reason. Would you stay, Mrs. Churchill? It involves you as well.”

  “Me?” The woman’s confused face matched Stella’s. “What do you need me for?”

  “I need a favor,” Linus replied. He looked back at Stella. “Have you seen any of London since you’ve arrived?”

  “Sure, I have.” The other morning she’d run a few errands and seen Piccadilly Circus.

  “I mean, really seen it? Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, the Eye... You do know what the London Eye is?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone’s heard of the Eye.” It was the big Ferris wheel thing on the other side of the Thames. “But I’m not here on vacation. Sightseeing isn’t part of the agenda.”

  “It is tonight,” he announced. “I refuse to let you spend a year in London without seeing everything our city has to offer.”

  He wanted to take her sightseeing? Memories of what happened the last time they went out together flashed before her eyes. “I don’t think... I have a lot of work to do.”

  “All work and no play makes Stella a very dull girl.”

  “Are you calling me dull?” The words came out louder than expected, startling Toffee off her lap. “I have a job to do. I’m still trying to sort out the inventory inaccuracies.”

  “Which will still be there in the morning.”

  “And what about Toffee?” She’d already explained why she didn’t treat the animal like a regular pet.

  “I don’t think Toffee would like sightseeing.” He responded to her glare with a smirk. “Toffee is precisely why I asked Mrs. Churchill to stay. Would you be willing to watch the cat for a few hours while I show Stella Tower Bridge?”

  Dear Lord, not only was he asking Mrs. Churchill to stay and cat sit, but he was making puppy-dog eyes. “Mrs. Churchill shouldn’t be expected to—”

  The housekeeper cut her off. “You know I could never say no to you.”

  Who could? Those eyes were impossible to resist, all big and steel blue.

  “I’d be glad to stay a few hours,” Mrs. Churchill continued. “It’ll do you some good to get out of the house, Ms. Russo.”

  With a sigh, Stella looked at the dining room table and the spreadsheets strewn across the surface. If she were serious about doing the job right, she’d stay home and begin grouping items into lots. That’s what Camilla or Joseph would do. They’d buckle down and focus on the task at hand.

  She turned back to Linus. There was something anxious beneath his plaintive expression, as though he needed her to say yes. Her imagination, she decided, although her stomach fluttered anyway.

  This was her first time in London. And honestly, she doubted even her driven siblings would be able to resist Linus Collier’s plaintive expression.

  “All right,” she said. “Let me get my walking shoes.”

  “It’s at least two hundred years old. There’s a note in the paperwork saying the count sent it to her with a marriage proposal after watching her onstage. I mean, who does that?”

  “Very rich men with very little common sense,” Linus replied.

  They were on their way to dinner on the South Bank of the Thames. Linus had promised her a dinner with a view that he said would take her breath away.

  On the way, Linus asked about her day, which he probably regretted, because she’d been chatting his ear off ever since. She couldn’t help it. Dame Agnes Moreland had been an amazing woman. Every item she inventoried had a spectacular origin story. More than once, Stella had stopped what she was doing to investigate a source online. That’s how she learned the backstory behind the bracelet Count Domenici gave Agnes.

  “What’s more,” she continued, “she kept these things in her jewelry box like they were something she bought at a local jeweler. Clearly the woman didn’t worry about theft.”

  “You mean the woman whose cat is wearing a diamond collar? Definitely not.”

  She matched his grin. “I know Peter was talking about selling the pieces, but I’m hoping he’ll reconsider.”

  “In favor of what?”

  “A collection of some sort, maybe?” She didn’t know. “I just think it would be a shame to sell them off at auction when people might enjoy learning about Dame Agnes’s life. You know she left diaries, too?” Stella had lost another few hours to reading them in the name of research. “What?”

  Linus was studying her with an odd expression. She couldn’t tell if it was amusement or appreciation. There was definitely a sparkle in his eyes. “Your expression,” he said. “It’s obvious how much you’re enjoying yourself.”

  “I’ve always been fascinated by artifacts and antiques,” she said. “There’s something almost magical about holding a piece of someone’s history in the palm of your hand.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t go into the field, then.
”

  “Business was more practical.” And a fascination didn’t make a career. At least not one of note. The world is full of baristas who majored in history, her father liked to say. “Anyway, I sent a long email to Peter this morning with my suggestion and letting him know I’ve made notes on the pieces. Hopefully, he’ll consider it. If not, the expanded backstories might drive up prices.”

  “If you believe that strongly, why not offer to stay and curate the collection yourself?”

  She liked how he thought she was capable enough to do the job. “First of all, I’m not an experienced curator, and besides, I already have a plan, remember? I’m heading back to New York.” Didn’t matter how much she enjoyed her current task. She had things to prove.

  The London Eye came into view. The giant wheel, with its oval passenger pods was already lit for evening. A pale pink circle in the blue sky.

  “Best way to see as much of London as possible in one shot,” Linus said.

  Stella looked up at the top car, hovering over four hundred feet above the city. Small wonder there was a long line waiting to board. Her stomach rumbled in protest at having to wait.

  “I know you suggested dinner and a ride, but do you suppose we could do dinner first?” she asked. “I’m starving.”

  A sparkle appeared in his twilight-colored eyes. “Or we could dine and ride. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  “Fine with me.” A hot dog and a soft drink while standing in line worked for her.

  To her surprise, however, Linus took her elbow and, bypassing the crowd, walked straight to the entrance.

  “Right on time, Mr. Collier,” the woman at the ticket wicket replied when he introduced himself. “Your car will be arriving any moment.”

  Stella looked at him through her fallen bangs. “You reserved a car?”

  “I did more than that,” he replied.

  Since the wheel moved slowly, there was no need to wait until it stopped moving to board. Passengers could walk on and off the cars with ease. As they strolled down the ramp, Stella noticed the car approaching contained a table set for two. It had a white tablecloth and a pair of artificial candles—real ones being too much of a fire hazard. There were two plates, two large goblets and an ice bucket positioned on the floor nearby.