Page 39 of Millionaire Under the Mistletoe

Adrian stopped laughing. “Miranda—”

His eyes were full of turbulence, and her heart sank. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry to have to add this to everything, sis.”

Oh, no. What had her talk of honor provoked? “What? What’s happened now?”

Adrian flinched.

She tried to temper her impatience. “Callum will be here any minute. Tell me.”

“The panel beater who fixed the car—”

“What did he do wrong?” That was the last thing they needed. Had the car been shoddily repaired. Or worse?

“Nothing—he fixed it. The car’s been back at work for days—otherwise it would’ve been missed.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“He’s threatening to tell my supervisor I borrowed the car without permission unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless I pay him more money.”

She stared at her brother aghast. “This man’s blackmailing you?”

“He says if I pay him, he’ll stay quiet.”

“You’re actually considering paying this lowlife hush money?”

Adrian shrugged. “I don’t exactly have a choice.”

“And where exactly—” she said with emphasis “—is the money going to come from? Please tell me you’re not going to rob a bank—that would hardly be honorable.”

He recoiled at her sarcasm, then shot her a quick look. “I thought—”

Miranda shook her head and said grimly, “No, you can unthink that idea right now. I’m not giving you the money. Not even as a loan. If you pay him once, it will never end.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Adrian had gone pale beneath his freckles.

“Report him to the police. But first come clean to Callum about what you did—it’s hardly as bad as extortion.”

Adrian looked horrified. “I can’t.”

“You must.” At the glimpse of ghostly gray in her peripheral vision she added flatly, “He’s here. Why don’t you talk to him now?”

The sight of Callum’s Daimler pulling up at the curb caused Adrian to blanch further. “Please, sis, I’m begging you—don’t tell him.”

“He should know.”

His eyes darted around. “Not now. Not yet. I need time to think about what I’m going to say—and I really should be going to work.”

His eyes pleaded with her.

After a moment, Miranda caved in. “Okay, but you must tell him—otherwise you’ll leave me no choice but to do it myself.”

She shuddered at the thought of it.

“As soon as you get back,” he promised, giving her a sick smile. “I don’t want to spend Christmas in jail while you try to arrange bail.”

“It won’t come to that.” At least she hoped not. But she still shivered as Callum got out of the car and came round to greet her.

Her brother acknowledged Callum with none of his usual confidence and quickly sidled away, saying, “Drive carefully, and have a merry Christmas both of you.”

Despite the fact that there had been heavy snows a few days earlier, the roads were clear and they were making good time.

Callum glanced over at the woman beside him.

Apart from a few monosyllabic answers, Miranda hadn’t spoken much in the past three hours. After trying to engage her in conversation a couple of times, he’d shrugged and flooded the car with music, negating the need for conversation.

Right now she was scribbling in a notebook, a frown of concentration wrinkling her brow.

“Don’t worry, everything will go like clockwork.”

“I’m not worried.” But the way she gnawed the end of her pencil refuted the statement. And so did the closed, withdrawn expression that had been etched on her face since he’d collected her earlier.

“Try to relax, my family won’t bite.”

“If you say so.”

Callum fell silent.

She must be nervous. That would explain her behavior. They’d spoken several times over the past few days. At first she’d made panicked calls to him about logistics, but each time they’d spoken, she’d sounded more and more like the Miranda he knew. Smart. Confident. Totally together. After consultation with his brothers, and with his parents’ housekeeper, he’d approved all the menus she’d produced—and given her carte blanche to buy whatever she needed.

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