Page 5 of The Heiress Masquerade (Dollar Princess #2)
Harrison could only stare as the woman stalked down the laneway, her stride filled with a confidence and energy he’d not encountered in an Englishwoman before. He didn’t know what to make of her, and for a man who prided himself on knowing what motivated a person within the first few minutes of meeting them, not knowing what drove this woman was annoying the hell out of him.
What woman didn’t thank someone for rescuing them? Even going so far as to berate him for doing so, constantly asserting she didn’t need rescuing in the first place? She was either so confident in her abilities that she truly hadn’t needed help, or she was one step removed from reality and had deluded herself into thinking she could handle the situation. He got the sense it could be either or perhaps both with her.
He hadn’t even asked her name. Not that he wanted or even needed to know it, given he had no time or interest in pursuing such a snappish female, who clearly had a chip on her shoulder against men and would be trouble with a capital T . He’d only had to look at that glint of determination and sass in those ridiculously blue eyes of hers to know that.
But the problem was he suddenly found himself craving trouble. Her snow-white porcelain skin and rich sable-black hair had been breathtaking, and he’d felt an instant tug of lust in his belly, which had quickly turned into annoyance and exasperation when she’d opened that mouth of hers and started scolding him without justification.
How could a woman so beautiful be so disagreeable? Honestly, there’d been a point there he’d felt like kissing her just to shut her up. Well, that and the fact her lips had been ridiculously full and luscious.
Fuck. The fact he’d been so attracted to the most infuriating, troublesome, frustrating slip of a female he’d ever come across, when he should be focused on the Wilheimer deal, was not a good sign. It was probably just as well he’d never see her again. The last thing he needed was a distraction of any sort. This deal was the most important deal of his life and he couldn’t let anything, especially not that disagreeable, bothersome harpy, get in the way of it. Even if he was undeniably attracted to her.
Blowing out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, he turned to the back entrance of the building behind him and let himself inside. It was time to get back to work and return his attention onto what mattered. Making an empire for himself, and not letting anything or anyone get in the way. A step he was now closer to achieving, given he’d successfully gotten Mr. Carter to call in Wilheimer’s loans. Which begged the question: why had Wilheimer pulled the pin on the deal in the first place?
It didn’t make sense, and for Harrison, who’d raised himself out of poverty through logic and reasoning, a decision that didn’t make sense was a puzzle that needed solving. But first he had to work out the best tactics for the meeting on Monday.
Once again, he bypassed the elevators and instead climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor, then headed to his office in the upper east corner of the building. An office that was more like a home to him than his hotel suite given he spent the majority of his waking and sometimes sleeping hours there.
Striding through the outer doors into the first room of his sanctum, where Mrs. Holbrook usually sat along with two other undersecretaries, he noticed Mrs. Holbrook’s second in charge, Miss Mitchell, sitting at her desk, a telephone receiver up against her left ear, while her right hand furiously scribbled notes about whatever was being discussed on the other end. The second junior secretary, Miss Cantor, was juggling a pile of folders in her arms, an annoyed expression on her slightly pinched face.
She froze midway to her desk as she caught sight of Harrison. “Mr. Stone,” she exclaimed, her voice purring as a sickly sweet smile spread over her rouged lips, and she stumbled slightly toward him.
Harrison stifled a sigh. He’d noticed of late Miss Cantor often trying to attract his attention in the office. It was as unwanted as it was inappropriate and tedious.
“Oh dear,” Miss Cantor cried, making a show of stumbling some more.
“Here, let me assist.” He strode over and took the files from her outstretched hands, then walked them over to her desk, the woman following on his heels, the scent of her rose perfume cloyingly sweet.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Stone,” she gushed, batting her eyelashes at him as he dumped the files onto the mahogany surface of the desk.
He merely nodded before heading over to Miss Mitchell, who had just replaced the telephone onto its metal box, her eyes anxiously following his trajectory over toward her.
“Messages?”
She nodded and quickly grabbed a bundle of papers before handing them to him, her eyes blinking rapidly as she did so behind the thick lenses of her spectacles. The woman had always been quiet and timid, and perpetually nervous around him, but she was nearly as efficient as Mrs. Holbrook when it came to dictating and organizing his paperwork, which was all that mattered to Harrison.
He took the messages. “Do you know if Mr. Hartley’s back yet?”
Miss Mitchell opened her mouth and then closed it, before finally opening it again. “I’m not certain. Would you like me to check?” She pushed the black rims of her glasses up her nose, a nervous gesture, given it was usually Mrs. Holbrook he spoke to directly rather than her.
“Yes, and get Mr. Stanton, too.” Harrison would need Robert’s head for numbers to strategize for the Monday meeting with Wilheimer.
“Mr. Stanton told me he’d gone to get a late lunch next door,” Miss Cantor chimed in, her voice slightly breathless in a manner he suspected was attempting to be sultry but instead only sounded winded. “I can get him for you if you’d like, Mr. Stone? I could fetch both of them for you given I’m much quicker and more agile than Miss Mitchell.”
Miss Cantor glanced sideways at Miss Mitchell, her gaze filled with disdain as she looked upon the other woman, whose outfit of a serviceable brown skirt and jacket was at clear odds with Miss Cantor’s stylish green dress.
“Miss Mitchell is more than capable of fetching Mr. Hartley for me,” he said, knowing the woman was referring to Miss Mitchell’s rounder figure and not being kind about it. “While you, Miss Cantor, seeing as you’re so agile, can go and find Stanton, and neither one of you come back without them.”
Both ladies hastily nodded and made a quick retreat out the door.
Honestly, he had little time for women and their games. Especially women who preyed on the insecurities of others while trying to flirt with him when knowing full well he didn’t fraternize with his employees outside of work, ever. It was one of his golden rules he never broke, as much as some of his female employees tried to throw themselves in his path.
Walking over to the door to his office, Harrison quickly flicked through the messages Miss Mitchell had given him. Thankfully, none required his urgent attention, though there was one from Thomas mentioning his niece’s arrival.
Harrison sat down at his desk and quickly scanned over the note. It was brief and to the point, much like the man himself, and it clearly requested Harrison keep his niece safe while she was in London. A simple enough task, given she’d now be ensconced at Mrs. Holbrook’s residence, settling in.
“And in through here is Mr. Stone’s offices,” Ben’s voice echoed down through the antechamber of Harrison’s office. “Though I’m not sure where his secretaries are…”
“Off looking for you and Robert,” Harrison said, raising his voice enough so Ben could hear him in the other room.
“Oh good, you’re back.” Ben’s enthusiastic voice grew louder the closer he got to Harrison’s office. “I have someone to introduce to you.”
Harrison leaned back in his chair and glanced over to the door, resigned to the interruption.
“And here he is, the leader of our London operations, Mr. Harrison Stone,” Ben said, walking into his office and waving his arm in Harrison’s direction as a woman followed behind him. “Harrison, let me introduce you to Miss Yvette Jenkins.”
Harrison bolted upright, every cell of his body going rigid. It was the maddening woman from the alley. “Bloody hell, you’re Thomas’s niece?”
How could this woman standing there, staring defiantly at him, be Thomas’s niece? Thomas’s supposedly agreeable niece, who didn’t seem to be in the least bit agreeable at all?