Page 32 of Hidden Heir With His Housekeeper

Again, Bea was forced to nod.

‘So, this explains his temper, yes?’

‘Tantrum, more like,’ she murmured, but Marta’s observation had forced her to face one uncomfortable fact. She really should have contacted Mason months ago.

‘He is very rich and powerful according to Fabrizio,’ Marta murmured, her lips quirking. ‘And very hot. But if you do not wish to go with him, I will tell him you are sick. And cover for you with Fabrizio until he is gone.’

Bea blinked, then wanted to hug Marta for being such a loyal friend.

If only she could take her friend up on the generous offer to cover for her so she could flee. But where would she go? She had established a life here. And she had the baby to think about too. Also, with Mason in his current master of the universe mood, she would be putting Marta’s job at risk as well as her own if the other maid tried to defy their Very Important Guest. And Marta didn’t deserve to be put in the middle of her drama with Mason just because she’d had the bad judgement to befriend her.

Bea was forced to shake her head. ‘It’s okay.’

Mason was right about one thing, at least. They did need to talk.

Strictly speaking, this was a conversation she should have had the guts to have months ago. And avoiding it any longer would not make it any easier.

‘Grazie, Marta.’ She gave her friend a hug of thanks. ‘I need to go with him and get this over with...’ Although she had the feeling that this conversation was unlikely to be the end of anything. ‘But if you could keep the fact I’m spending the afternoon with Mr Foxx quiet, I’d appreciate it.’

The hotel had a rule about fraternising with guests. But somehow the thought of breaking it felt like the least of her worries. That said, it was just more proof of how little consideration Mason had given to her situation by basically ordering her to spend the afternoon with him.

But, frankly, what did she expect from a man who wore his arrogance like a badge of honour and clearly still thought she was beneath his contempt?

Marta nodded, but then her lips quirked. ‘Make sure you wear your best dress.’ She glanced at the bathroom door, behind which they could hear the shower running. ‘A man like this deserves to be kept waiting. So he will know—just because you are a maid you are no pushover.’

Beatrice nodded. But as she took the back stairs she had the awful feeling that Marta was wrong. Bea the pushover was still lurking inside her, just waiting to reappear in a crisis.

A good forty minutes later, Bea headed back through the hotel grounds to the forecourt. After considerable debate, she had donned a light summer dress with sunflowers on it, which was too tight around her breasts and the bump, but otherwise flattered her figure.

Mason’s tall frame dwarfed the expensive sports car as he leant against it. He’d folded his arms over his broad chest in an impatient stance which highlighted the tattoo circling his biceps. His eyes were shaded by a pair of aviator sunglasses which had probably cost more than her monthly salary—but she could still feel his scowl.

‘You’re late,’ he remarked.

She dug her teeth into her tongue to control the knee-jerk apology for her tardiness which almost popped out of her mouth. Mason sneered at politeness, she already knew that. And, anyway, she didn’t have anything to apologise for—give or take the odd secret pregnancy.

‘I don’t take orders from you,’ she replied, pleased when he stiffened and drew himself up to his full height.

If he thought he could still intimidate her, she would be sunk. So she would just have to fake a confidence she didn’t feel. Until she did feel it.Easy.

His brows flattened. But as he yanked open the passenger door she could see she’d surprised him with her ballsy response. Good.

Welcome back, Bea the badass.

‘Get in,’ he said.

She glared at him for two long seconds to make it clear she would get into the car when she was good and ready, then folded herself into the passenger seat.

He slammed the door with enough force to make the car shake.

Strike two to Bea the badass.

For once, she didn’t care about inciting a man’s temper. The thought was surprisingly liberating as she watched him climb into the driver’s seat without a word, the dark frown radiating his disapproval.

Unfortunately, as the car fishtailed out of the hotel forecourt, spraying gravel onto the lawn, and he accelerated down the short driveway and onto the coast road, her newfound confidence disappeared into the rear-view mirror as she was forced to grab the expensive leather seat in a death grip.

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘PLEASESLOWDOWN.’

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