CHAPTER TWO

A FEW DAYS LATER, Stella found herself working outside, the penthouse terrace being nothing like her tiny balcony in New York. The wraparound exterior had been designed with both sunrise and sunset views in mind, depending upon your location. The sunrise seats were off the dining room, while sunset was a few feet from the master bedroom. Agnes—or someone—had designed the space to flow accordingly. A breakfast table and a chaise lounge led to an outdoor seating area, which in turn led to a cozy love seat from which to enjoy the day’s end. Like the apartment itself, the furnishings had a vintage elegance. Given her taste, Stella wondered why Dame Agnes had chosen such a contemporary apartment in the first place instead of one of the mansions a few streets over. Unless she liked being a study in opposites.

The lives of other people, their quirks and personal histories, had always intrigued Stella. When she was younger, before she focused on more practical subjects like finance and economics, she used to love to devour biographies of the important and famous, fascinated by the way their lives had played out against world history. Dame Agnes was precisely the type of person she found interesting.

On the chair beside her, Toffee stretched and rolled onto her back, a paw bent across her eyes. The cat had fought the leash and harness at first, but it appeared she was getting used to the idea. Beat being stuck inside or plunging to her death jumping off the terrace wall.

The thought of Toffee falling caused Stella to look next door. Her breakfast nook faced Linus Collier’s sunset side. Only a few feet separated their terraces. When Stella first noticed, she could see how an enterprising cat might be tempted to make the jump. The thought made her nauseous. She wondered if Toffee hadn’t seen a bird or something, and that was the reason she’d leaped. Linus had a trio of potted trees arranged in the corner. The plants partially obscured her view of what looked like more potted plants. He had a mile-high arboretum. For a cat, it would be temptation extraordinaire.

To Stella, the unexpected garden proved people were multifaceted.

She hadn’t seen her neighbor since the day he brought Toffee home. Not that she was disappointed. She’d expected as much. People had lives. Jobs. Linus Collier probably had a very rich social life.

“What do you think he does for a living?” she asked Toffee. “Professor? Investment banker?” Both seemed too stodgy. “Member of the royal family?” He did give off an old-money kind of vibe. Plus, she could see him playing an old-money sport like polo.

“I know, I know,” she said to Toffee’s uninterested face. “Speculating about the neighbor isn’t going to get my work done.”

She turned her attention to the file in front of her. It contained a listing of the various properties and items of value that made up Agnes’s—that was, Toffee’s—estate. Her task over the next few days was to account for every piece of memorabilia and jewelry listed. Hardly high-level finance, but part of the job. Judging from the thickness of the file, there was a lot of memorabilia and jewelry.

She opened the first page and shook her head. Turned out Dame Agnes had included not only photos but background information. The top page read, “Sterling silver salt dishes from India, given by the Sultan of Brunei in 1959. We had dinner in his suite, and I complained that the curry was bland.” The anecdote continued for several paragraphs.

“Oh, my,” she said to Toffee. “This is going to be fun.”

Before she could read any farther, however, the alarm on her cell phone rang, letting her know it was midmorning in the States, the time when her father usually took a quick coffee break.

Kevin Russo answered on the second ring. “Hey, Dad,” Stella greeted.

“Stella? Is that you? What are you calling for?”

His questions always sounded like she’d made a mistake. Stella did her best to not let the tone get to her. It was just his way, she always told herself. He didn’t mean to sound accusatory. “You weren’t home when I called the other night. I thought I’d call back to say hi.”

“You’re going to have to speak up. Wherever you are has horrible service.”

“Hold on.” She gave Toffee a quick glance before walking over to the front railing. “Is this better?” she asked, raising her voice a little.

“A little. Where are you?”

“On my terrace. Getting a little fresh air. It’s a gorgeous day.”

“Sounds nice,” her father replied. “We got a delivery of oranges this afternoon. Whole place smells like Florida. You arrived in London okay, then?”

“Yeah. I’m all settled in.”

“Well, that’s good.” Her father didn’t hide the fact he disapproved of her taking a leave of absence, or “running off to Europe,” as he put it. The Russos had left Europe so they could make something of themselves, he reminded her. Stella would lose career momentum. “You don’t see your brother or sister needing a break from their stress, do you?” he’d said.

Back in the present, he remained awkwardly silent on the other end of the line.

“I started work this morning,” Stella said. She started explaining about Dame Agnes’s descriptions.

“Doesn’t sound like finance,” her father said.

“Can’t manage an estate until I know what’s included.”

“I don’t know. Sounds more like they’re taking advantage of you. First making you watch that foolish cat, and now counting spoons or some nonsense?”

“I told you before, Dad, that foolish cat is my client. Watching her is part of the job. Did Mom tell you I’m living in a penthouse?”

“She told me,” her father replied. “Sounds fancy.”

“It is. I’ve got a housekeeper, too.” Mrs. Churchill, who had worked for Dame Agnes, was in the house dusting.

“That’s all great, but I doubt Mitchum, Baker is going to care much about your living arrangements. They’re going to want you to have done more than pet sit for a year. If you want to catch up with your colleagues.”

Stella closed her eyes. It’s just his way. She wanted to tell him that Mitchum, Baker only cared that she did not freak out on their time. What she did on her leave was her business. But she didn’t. For all his harshness, Kevin Russo wanted the best for his children. Wanted them to have success in a way that he hadn’t. It wasn’t his fault that Stella couldn’t keep up with her siblings.

Nor was it his fault he couldn’t understand Stella’s decision, since she didn’t completely understand it herself. All she knew was that her parents’ option—that she spend a few weeks in Boston and then head back to work—made her struggle to breathe. It was like the very words Boston, New York and Mitchum, Baker squeezed the air from her lungs. The job posting in London was the first idea that didn’t make her feel like she was having a heart attack.

“I’m résumé stacking,” she told her father. Her voice sounded more defensive than she wanted. “When I return, I’ll be one of the few risk-assessment managers with international estate-management experience. In today’s job market, it’s all about being unique.”

“If you say so.”

For a second, she might as well have been in Boston, with her father eyeballing her with his trademark doubt. Or was it her trademark doubt? He never looked at Camilla or Joseph with anything less than beaming pride. But then, she’d always been the less-than child. The one in the background. The one who wasn’t quite as smart or as talented or as lauded as Camilla and Joe.

Pushing her hair back from her face, she changed the subject. “What’s going on back home? Anything interesting?”

“Your brother won his case the other day. They’re starting to talk about making him a partner. He’d be the youngest in firm history.”

No surprise there. She leaned back against the wall and looked toward the apartment. Toffee was awake and had jumped on the breakfast table. Her little pink nose was sniffing the glass surface.

“And I haven’t had a chance to talk with your sister yet. You know what it’s like being a resident. Well, you can imagine.”

Yes, thought Stella, she could. She could also imagine her sister sailing through the experience. Camilla was unflappable.

“She said she may present her latest study at a conference in Spain. I was telling Marjorie Bowman the other day that when Camilla’s done with school, I’m going to have her work on my brain. See if she can make me smarter.”

It was an old joke, one she’d heard before. Her father told either it or a variation to just about everyone he ran into. Camilla would make him smarter. Joseph would get him out of trouble. And Stella would count his money. At least that was the joke before London. He probably didn’t say anything about her now.

When she returned, though... She would kick ass when she returned and show him—show the world, that is—that she was a force to be reckoned with at Mitchum, Baker.

She forced a smile into her voice. “I’m sure Mrs....”

“Oh, for crying out loud. Don’t stack them like that. You trying to bruise every orange in the crate? I’ve got to go,” her father said. “I’m sorry, Stella, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“All right,” Stella said. “Love you.”

Her father had already disconnected the call.

Stella set the phone on the ledge and let out a frustrated scream.

Linus loved his terrace. Over the last couple of years, he’d turned the balcony into a mini potted garden. His own high-rise nature retreat. If he was going to be alone with his thoughts, he might as well do so surrounded by flamingo trees and Australian bottlebrush.

This afternoon, having decided to work at home, he was lingering over a second cup of tea—one of the benefits of being part owner of the company. He had his bare legs stretched out in the sun while he caught up on Parliament’s latest drama.

“Arrrgh!”

The cry cut through the city noise, making him start and nearly spill tea on his robe. There could only be one source at this altitude. Forgetting Parliament, he headed toward the western end of the terrace, where he spied his neighbor. She was only partially visible through the foliage, but it looked like she was pushing against the wall, her arms stiff and her hands wrapped around the metal guardrail. Unlike the other day, she was dressed for business in a purple sleeveless dress and, he hoped, high heels. Her hair wasn’t pulled back today, either. It hung like a dark brown curtain in front of her cheeks.

In the old days of last year, he would have gone on an all-out charm offensive, hoping—planning, actually—to establish more than a neighborly friendship. After all, she had everything he liked in a woman: great legs and two X chromosomes. When it came to women, he didn’t believe in being discriminatory.

“So long as they sleep with you, right?” his last ex-girlfriend had said.

She’d chosen to storm off before he could answer. Otherwise, he might have told her it was the challenge, not the sex, that mattered.

All that was before the letter. His new neighbor didn’t realize it, but she was safe from his disreputable behavior.

Except here he was, watching her through the bushes like a voyeur. He stepped around the trees and into the open. “Are you trying to make the terrace wider?” he asked.

The question made her turn quickly. Her wide-eyed expression was made sensual by the parting of her lips. That the sensuality was unintentional made it that much more arousing. Linus willed himself to think dampening thoughts as he watched her recover. First straightening her back, then brushing the hair from her face.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, once she was finished. “I was reading the paper when I heard you scream. Is everything all right?”

“Oh, that.” He could practically hear the blush creeping into her cheeks. “Frustrating phone call.”

“I know how those go. Don’t tell me work is already getting to you?”

“Not work.”

Something else, then. He wondered what, but didn’t ask. If his neighbor wanted him to know more, she would have said. “How is your charge doing today? No more flying leaps, I noticed.” Leaning forward, he spied Toffee stretched out on a table. “Is that a harness?” he asked.

“We came to a compromise. She stays on the leash; I let her sleep outside while I work.”

“Impressive. I’m surprised your arms aren’t covered in cat scratches.”

“She’s surprisingly cooperative for a cat.”

“Agnes did take her everywhere,” Linus said. “She must have learned it was best not to put up a fight.”

He studied the space between their respective ends of the terrace. The distance was no more than a few feet. Why had he never noticed how close the two balconies were to one another? Most likely because he seldom sat on this side. If he wanted to see the sunset, he repositioned the double chaise near the living room; the seat was far better for relaxing with company.

“I take it this is where she made her escape,” he said, looking downward. Below he saw a small patch of green shrubbery.

“I still can’t believe she did,” Stella replied. “Something must have caught her attention in your garden. That’s quite a display you’ve got going.”

“Thank you. It’s my way of bringing nature to central London.”

“You mean other than the parks?” She pointed toward the Belgrave Square Garden grounds, which could be seen in the distance.

“Last time I checked, public parks frowned on you having tea in your pajamas. This way I can enjoy nature on my terms. Not to mention that I find the different foliage inspiring.”

“How so? Are you an artist?”

“I like to think there’s artistry involved, but my brother would disagree.”

She drew closer to her side of the wall. As she walked, Linus watched the way her hips rolled into her steps. Definitely high heels. Linus tightened the belt on his robe to keep his body from reacting.

“I’m a chemist,” he said. “I’m head of research and development for Colliers of London.”

“Oh, I’ve seen their products. They sell them at some of the high-end boutiques on Fifth Avenue. Sounds like a fun job.”

“It has its moments.” She hadn’t made the connection yet. “At the moment I’m working on a new idea—scented oils and candles based on our botanical products. What do you think of a lavender-heather combination?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never smelled heather.”

“It’s surprisingly floral. The problem is I can’t decide on a top note. I want something clean but not too overpowering. Mint would be my first instinct, but there’s also basil and...you’re smiling.” A tiny, amused smile. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I take the science of scents very seriously.”

“Don’t apologize. You love your job. That’s nice.”

“It’s just that there are so many possibilities and combinations, I have trouble not getting carried away. My brother and sister are forever giving me a hard time.”

“But isn’t that what a scientist is supposed to do? See all the possibilities?”

“Will you do me a favor and explain that to my brother the next time he tries to rein in my research budget?”

“Sure. What is it about siblings that they feel the need to...”

The words died on her tongue. Connection made.

Stella cringed. Talk about clueless. He wasn’t just the head of R & D. “Your family owns the company.”

“Guilty as charged,” he replied. “Although in fairness, Colliers is really my brother’s company. I’m more of what you would call an active shareholder.”

Six of one, half dozen of another. He still owned a stake in the company. Explained the penthouse, and the fact he was lounging about in his bathrobe on a weekday. “I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection,” she said.

“Why should you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because your last name is Collier.”

He laughed at her emphasis. “Personally, I’m glad you didn’t. It was nice to meet someone who didn’t know my history straight off. Meant we could get acquainted without pesky assumptions.”

“Why would I assume anything?” Other than his being rich, which was fairly obvious seeing as how he lived in a penthouse apartment.

“When you have a famous name, people gossip. You never know what people may have heard. You know, rumors, preconceived notions and the like.”

“I see.” She didn’t, not really, but the shadow that flickered across his face told her not to keep asking. She understood what it was like to be saddled with people’s expectations, and their disappointment when you failed to measure up. “For what it’s worth, the only assumption I had was that you could afford to live next door. Unless you’re squatting and about to get tossed out.”

“No squatting. At least not yet.” It cheered Stella to see the light return to his eyes. Without their sparkle, his eyes—all of him, actually—lacked vitality. Like how a passing cloud marred a sunny day. She didn’t know Linus Collier well, but he struck her as a man with a lot of life inside him.

Huh. Looked like she had made a few other assumptions.

“Speaking of jobs,” he was saying, “we got sidetracked from our discussion. How is your job going? Beyond keeping Toffee in line.”

“Haven’t done a lot yet,” she said. “At the moment, I’m conducting an inventory of the estate. Cross-checking items listed in the records, then listing what’s appropriate for donation or auction, what should be saved for historical preservation, etc.”

“A challenge, considering everything Agnes did in her career. Every once in a while, when I visited, she would trot out a photograph of her and some icon. Made me think she had boxes and boxes of memorabilia hidden away in one of the upstairs rooms.”

“Based on the file Toffee is currently sleeping on, I think you may be right. I’m also going to be double-checking all the financial investments. Toffee has a very diversified portfolio. Between investments and properties...”

“Did you say properties, with an S?”

Sounded strange, Stella had to admit, especially when discussing a cat. “She owns two. This apartment and a country cottage in Berkshire.”

“Really? Our family had a place in Berkshire. We had to sell it when my father died.”

“I’m sorry.” The apology was a reflex, born out of a lifetime of etiquette lessons. Whenever someone mentioned death, you offered regrets.

Linus waved her off. “No need. None of us wanted to take the property on. Now that you mention it, though, Agnes often talked about going to the country. Your job will be to manage everything?”

“Yes and no. There’s actually a team. My job is to take care of the day-to-day management, make recommendations regarding investments and, of course, make sure the heir is comfortable.” When said like that, the job didn’t sound all that awesome. “It’s more challenging than it sounds.”

“I’m sure it is,” Linus replied. He leaned against the railing, causing the front of his paisley robe to gape. “May I ask you a personal question?” he asked.

“What?” She was busy trying not to stare at the freshly revealed patch of chest hair.

“What makes a person from America come all the way to London to take care of a cat’s estate? Don’t get me wrong—it’s lovely to have you—but don’t they have estates in your country?”

“They do.” How did she explain her running across the ocean in a way that didn’t make her sound unstable or weak? “But this job sounded interesting. I’ve never worked for a cat before or on an estate with such renown. And since I was looking to get away from New York for the next year—”

“Get away?”

Bad choice of words. “Travel bug. I never got my semester abroad, so I decided to come to London for the next twelve months.”

“Your plan for seeing Europe. Smart.”

“Oh, I won’t be traveling. I’ll be too busy working to see anything outside London proper. Except the summer house.”

He was looking at her, confused. “I thought you said you had the travel bug.”

“I meant to see London, not the rest of Europe. I figured I’d come, spend a year seeing the city, gain some invaluable experience in British finance and then head back to New York.”

She could tell Linus didn’t quite buy the story, despite it being true, minus the part about wanting to see London. Whatever. She wasn’t about to explain. She didn’t have time, even if she wanted to. A quick look at her phone said as much.

“Sorry to run on you,” she said, “but I better get Toffee inside and brushed. Teddy Moreland wasn’t kidding about contacting the law firm. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes to provide me with some ‘historical perspective’ regarding my job.”

“Lucky you. If he drones on too much, close your eyes and think of England.”

Stella snorted. “I think that phrase is supposed to mean something else, but thank you for the advice. I’m planning to detox with a nice long run this afternoon.”

“I had a feeling you were a runner. Your legs,” he added. “You have runner’s calves.”

“Oh. Thank you.” She guessed. Compliment or not, the idea Linus had checked out her legs closely enough to notice made her warm from the inside out. “I was going to pace out a route this afternoon when I was finished work.”

“I usually go around 4:00 p.m. myself. There’s a very nice route around the gardens in the park.”

“Is there? I’ll check it out.”

“I tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t we head out together when you’re done with your meeting and I’ll show you.”

“You... You want to go running together?”

“Why not? I’m going to run anyway. Unless you’re one of those antisocial runners who only cares about besting her time. Are you?”

“Not usually.” Running was something she did for health and vanity purposes only. Keeping track of times would only depress her, as they would invariably be less than her runner siblings.

“Then why not join me? I’ll show you the best route, so you’ll have the lay of the land for when you go the next time. Consider it a runner’s courtesy.”

“Sure,” Stella replied. Why not, indeed? Wasn’t as though the man was asking her on a date. Back home she joined male running friends all the time. Running with Linus would be no different.

Well, almost no different. Back home, when the guys invited her to run, she didn’t get butterflies in her stomach.