Intimate with CEO

nue. "He called me a parasite," he said softly, so as not to disturb Lillian. "And what was your response to that comment?" Westcliff asked. "I couldn't think of anything to say." Westcliff's coffee-

itted. It had originally belonged to a seventeenth-century chateau and had a chaise longue perfect for napping or reading. Curled up with one of her books in a corner of the chaise longue, Daisy felt as if she were hiding from the rest of the world. Oh, if only she could stay here at Stony Cross and live with her sister forever! But she knew she would never be happy like that. She wanted her own life, her own husband, her own children. For the first time in her memory, she and her mother had become allies, united in their desire to avoid a marriage to the odious Matthew Swift. "That bastard!" Mercedes had exclaimed. "I have no doubt he put that damned idea into your father's head! I always suspected he-" "Suspected what?" Daisy had asked, but her mother had only pressed her lips together into a harsh line. After examining the guest list, Mercedes had informed Daisy that a number of suitable gentlemen would be staying at the mansion. "Though not all of them are direct heirs to titles, they are from noble families," Mercedes had said. "And you never know... Misfortunes do happen: fatal illnesses or serious accidents. Several members of the family might die at once, and then her husband would become a nobleman! Mercedes had looked more closely at the list, seeming to hope that a calamity would befall Daisy's future relatives. She was impatient for Evie and St. Vincent to arrive. She missed Evie terribly, especially since Annabelle was busy with her baby and Lillian moved too slowly to keep up with her on the walks she enjoyed. On the third day after her arrival in Hampshire, Daisy went for a walk alone in the afternoon. She took a path she had taken on many previous visits. She wore a pale blue muslin dress with a floral print, sturdy walking boots, and a straw hat tied with ribbons. As she strode along a road that passed through meadows filled with yellow celandine and red sundews, Daisy considered her problem. Why was it so hard for her to find a husband? It wasn't that she didn't want to fall in love with someone. In fact, she liked the idea so much that it seemed terribly unfair that she hadn't found the right person yet. She had tried, but there was always something wrong. If a gentleman was the right age, he was either passive or pompous. If he was kind and interesting, he was either old enough to be her grandfather or had some disturbing problem, like smelling bad or sp