six-car garage and thirty wooded acres. But then, Mike Furie was always surrounded by the jet set-the beautiful people. Wealth and fame seemed to be attracted to her boss. And a great many leeches and mooches. People who hung around because he was too busy and high-powered to notice they were eating all his food and drinking all his expensive wines and champagne. People who simply needed to be in the shadow of a man like Furie.
She could sympathize with them. She’d spent seven years in his shadow, and it could be most addictive. But unlike those who clung for the usual reasons, she simply wanted to be anywhere he was. She shook off the feeling she got at that thought. Totally pathetic. What a frigging simp she was. Now she was sounding even to herself like she desperately needed psychoanalysis. Any woman who would desperately cling to a man who didn’t even know she drew breath was one sick puppy. Oh. Right. He knew she existed. She was his highly paid gofer.
She glanced at her watch again and frowned. They should have arrived at the house a few minutes ago. She pushed the button to lower the glass, and George glanced into the rearview mirror and said quietly, “Mr. Furie ordered me to take you to Dior. Sorry, Miss Turner. He says you are supposed to be dressed for black tie when you arrive, and I don’t think he’ll take no for an answer.”
Knowing better than to argue pointlessly with George, Jill merely sighed and nodded. “Very well, George. I’ll humor him this time. Exactly what is the nature of the entertaining he’s doing tonight?”
The chauffeur smiled. “He doesn’t confide in me, Miss Turner. But his guest list reads like the Who’s Who of the high-society world. I do believe he is having some difficulty…dislodging…one rather tenacious lady.” George knew exactly what this was all about.
She nodded and sank back into the seat. O-kay. So running interference apparently meant that some high- society doll face had tried to fasten her claws in Furie’s hide, and needed to be shaken loose by a jealous lover. Not the first time she’d been hauled off the bench to run a fake-out pass at the twenty-yard line. Well, if the man intended to have her pretend to be his love interest again, she was going to make him pay through the nose, with the most expensive, most scandalously sexy ready-to-wear Dior had on its racks. And she might even have them toss in a couple of baubles from Tiffany’s as well. After all, a jealous fiancee was one hell of a lot more impressive than a jealous girlfriend-right?
It appeared that she was expected, for the moment she entered the lavish, lush showroom, she was personally greeted by Madame Francine and escorted to a private viewing room. From the obvious quality and expense of the gowns she was shown, she realized that he was giving her carte blanche to rig herself out in one-of-a-kind regalia, so she spared no expense and pampered herself outrageously. It would be his going-away gift to her, for seven years of hard work and dedication. To hell with a chintzy gold watch.
An hour later, decked out in Dior’s finest evening gown, and wearing matching necklace, bracelets and earrings that had just set her boss back a couple hundred thou,
“Can’t argue with the man, eh, George? Maybe next time, he’ll think twice before turning a pissed-off woman loose with his credit cards.”
The secluded, three-level house was ablaze with lights as a snow-filled dusk fell, and when George pulled into the underground garage to save her from entering the front door through the snow, she suddenly felt as if she had seriously overstepped the boundaries of her relationship with Michael Furie, clad in finery that had set him back well over three hundred fifty thousand dollars. But he deserved it, ignoring her wishes and insisting she take this damn trip. Besides, he could always return the jewelry, and probably even the gown. The Manolo Blahniks gold open-toed pumps with a dainty toe buckle crusted in faceted blue and white sapphires might not be able to be returned, but the rest? Yeah. He could get his money back.
An attendant offered her the crook of his arm as she stepped from the limo, and she graciously accepted, allowing the uniformed man to escort her into the entry foyer guests used when inclement weather prevented entrance through the wide double doors above. She noted the carpeted stairs had been covered with a red cloth, and smirked as she wondered who warranted the red-carpet treatment tonight.
As she reached the main level where a uniformed attendant was waiting to take her coat, she glanced about at the cathedral-ceilinged open area that served as a ballroom or a party room, and she smiled. “Hello, Cecile. How’s Eddie doing?”
The woman blinked at her questioningly before she recognized her, and dark eyes widened in amazement at the stunning vision the gown, fur and jewelry must be projecting. “Senorita Turner! My, you are truly a vision. You’ve been hiding your light under a bushel, I think.”
The housekeeper’s daughter, Cecile, came in to help out with parties, and to assist her mother in cleaning up after the holidays. Her husband Eddie had broken his hip and thigh in a car accident the last time Jill had been here, and Furie had given her more hours to help out with expenses because he couldn’t go back to work for a few months. Plus her boss had paid the medical bills.
Cecile petted the stunning fur wistfully and shook her head with a sigh. “He is much better. Senor Furie has given him a job working on his cars until he can go back full time when his casts are off. Oh, this is lovely!”
“And where is the great hero?” Jill asked with a grin, knowing that in Cecile’s estimation, that’s exactly what her boss was at the moment.
“He is on the top level. He wants to know the moment you have arrived. I will have Manuel let him know you are here-”
“It’s okay, Cecile, I’ll let him know. Don’t bother.” She straightened her shoulders and headed for the curved staircase that led up to the third level of the huge house. She noted the heads that turned to follow her, and bit the corner of her lip. The sapphire-blue silk gown with its overdress of gold netting was certainly an eye-catcher, especially with the back of the dress practically nonexistent. Draping seductively from a crossover halter neckline that left barely enough room for the exquisite diamond and sapphire choker to rest above the material, it fell away to her feet in a sultry, swirling fall that brushed over breasts and hips like a soft hand. The matching tennis bracelet and the long dangle earrings sparkled under the track lights that lit the staircase with a soft glow.
She had not had time for a hairdo, so she had simply swept the thick red-gold curls up into a high-set ponytail at her crown, and had wound another bit of sapphire silk around the band to conceal the elastic. It gave the impression that her neck was longer and left the gorgeous earrings plenty of space to sway and glitter breathtakingly.
She stepped up the final carpeted stair and paused, glancing around the smaller salon that opened up over the gallery at the head of the stairs, before narrowing to the corridor that led to the bedrooms at the back of the level. The bronze and smoked glass chandelier at the apex of the vaulted ceiling cast warm light over the area, and made her shimmery gold overdress and glittering jewels look even more amazing than they had in the showroom. She decided that not a soul would recognize her unless she introduced herself, so she gathered her courage and moved slowly toward the center of the gallery, looking about for Furie.
Heads turned to follow her progress, but no one called out her name. She was not a familiar face to the beautiful people. Only his employees knew her well enough to recognize her. Her anonymity was assured.
And then she saw him, standing uncomfortably in a tight group of people, with a stunningly beautiful supermodel type holding onto his arm like she had grown there, her laugh a high tinkle of feigned amusement that never quite reached those gorgeous amber-colored eyes. Jillian stood for a long moment, relishing the amount of discomfort he was experiencing, waiting for his eyes to swivel her way before she made her grand entrance.
A man turned to glance at her from a jovial conversation beside her, and gave her a keen once-over before sidling up to her and introducing himself. He didn’t have to. She knew his face from the magazine covers and the tabloids as Jerrod Lane, two-time Academy Award winning actor and heartthrob of millions of females the world over. She glanced at him with a cool smile and replied to his outrageous compliment with a simple “thank-you” before turning her gaze back to her boss.
