computer.
It only took her a few seconds to bring up Jack Cassidy’s file and to print out his address and phone number.
Lisa picked up her fax-phone, punched in the number, than sank back into her office chair as she waited for her client to answer.
Several rings went by before a deep, gruff voice snapped, ‘Yep?’
‘Mr Cassidy?’ she said in her best business voice. ‘Mr Jack Cassidy?’
‘Yeah, that’s me. And who might you be?’
‘My name is Lisa, Mr Cassidy. Lisa Chapman. I’m from—’
‘Stop right there, sweetheart. Look, I know you’re probably only doing your job but I’ve had a gutful of telemarketers ringing me at all hours of the day and night. This is my private and personal number and I keep it for private and personal calls. If I want something, I go out and buy it. From a shop. I don’t even buy over the internet. I also never answer stupid bloody surveys. Do I make myself clear?’
Clear as crystal, Lisa thought with a mixture of empathy and frustration. She too hated people trying to sell things to her over the phone and had recently started being less than polite when telemarketers called her in the evenings.
But he could have had the decency to wait till he found out if she was one of those.
Lisa opened her mouth to clarify her identity when she heard the unmistakable click of the call being terminated.
Her head jerked back to stare down at her handset. He’d hung up on her! The hide of him!
After slamming her own phone back down, Lisa sat there for a full minute with her hands clenched over the arm-rests of the chair and her teeth gritted together. Never in all her life had anyone hung up on her. Never ever!
Don’t take it personally, her brain argued.
But it was difficult not to. Men were supposed to be polite to women, no matter what. And he’d been rude. Very rude.
What to do? No point in trying his number again. He’d probably hang up on her before she got two words out. And if he did that, she’d blow a gasket.
She glared at his printed-out file. It showed no email number. Clearly, he was a privacy freak. Or he just didn’t like computers. Or the internet. Maybe he wrote in longhand.
He did have a fax number, she noted. She could send him a fax, explaining the situation. But something inside Lisa rebelled against giving Jack Cassidy that courtesy.
No, she would just show up on his doorstep in the morning and have great pleasure watching him cringe with embarrassment, once she explained who she was.
Chapter Two
LISA’S stomach tightened as she drove across Terrigal Bridge and turned left at the small roundabout.
Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea not to fax Jack Cassidy last night. Embarrassing the man no longer held such appeal this morning. She was the one who was going to end up being embarrassed.
Lisa scooped in a deep, lung-filling breath as she drove up the hill, then let it out slowly, relaxing her stomach muscles and reassuring herself that there was nothing for her to be embarrassed about. Or to feel nervous about. She was being silly. This was just another cleaning job. One she’d never have to repeat, thank goodness.
Feeling marginally better, Lisa glanced around as she drove down the hill which led to Terrigal Beach. She hadn’t been out this way for ages. When she took Cory to the beach these days, they usually went to Wamberal, or Shelly’s Beach. Terrigal’s cove-like shape meant it rarely had a big surf, which was great for tourists and families, but not relished by nine-year-old thrill-seekers.
But my, it was beautiful, especially when the sun was shining. Although it was still only springtime, the beach had a fair share of people in the water, and even more stretched out on the golden sand.
Lisa could see why wealthy Sydneysiders bought beach-houses here. And penthouse apartments. Especially ones whose balconies faced north, with an unimpeded view of the sparkling blue sea and the long stretch of coastline.
Jack Cassidy’s place would have all that, Lisa realised by the time she turned into the driveway of the pale blue, cement-rendered apartment block. Despite the building only being three storeys high, its position was second to none.
Lisa’s nervous tension had returned with a vengeance by the time she walked round to the front entrance and pressed the button marked ‘Penthouse’ on the security panel.
‘Come on up, Gail,’ Jack Cassidy’s deep male voice growled through the intercom.
Lisa opened her mouth to explain once again who she was when the intercom clicked off and the front door began to buzz.
Giving vent to a groan of sheer frustration, Lisa pushed her way in, the door automatically closing and locking behind her.
She just stood there for a long moment, trying to calm her thudding heart. What was it about this man which rattled her so? She was normally very cool when it came to dealing with difficult clients and situations. Cool and composed.
Time for some coolness and composure right now, Lisa, she lectured herself as she practised some more deep breathing, taking in her surroundings at the same time.
The foyer was cool and spacious, with a marble-tiled floor and lots of windows. Despite the amount of glass, you couldn’t hear the traffic or the sea from inside, which meant the windows had to be double-glazed. A no-expense-spared building, Lisa conceded as she bypassed the lift at the back of the foyer to take the stairs, walking briskly up the grey-carpeted steps to the top floor.
No large foyer up there. Possibly the architect hadn’t wanted to waste valuable floor space, although the landing was large enough to have a hall stand and wall mirror set beside the one and only door, perhaps put there for people to check their appearance before knocking.
Before she could do little more than give her face a cursory glance, the door was wrenched open by a very tall, very tanned, very fit-looking man in dark blue jeans and a chest-hugging white T-shirt.
Jack Cassidy, Lisa presumed, her neck craning a little as she looked up into his face.
He wasn’t handsome. Not the way Greg had been handsome. But he was attractive, despite the three-day growth on his chin and the hard, almost cold grey eyes which swept over her from head to toe.
‘You’re not Gail,’ were his first words, delivered with his now familiar lack of charm.
Lisa bristled inside, but maintained what she hoped was a professional expression.
‘You’re absolutely correct,’ came her crisp reply. ‘I’m Lisa Chapman from Clean-in-a-Day. Gail sprained her ankle yesterday and won’t be able to do your place today. I did try to explain this to you last night on the phone, but you hung up on me.’
He didn’t look embarrassed at all. He just shrugged. ‘Sorry. You should have said who you were up front.’
If apologies had been an Olympic event, his would not have even qualified for a semi-final.
‘You didn’t exactly give me much opportunity,’ she said with a tight little smile. ‘But not to worry. I’m here now and I’ll be doing your place today.’
‘You have to be kidding me.’
Lisa gritted her teeth. ‘Not at all.’
His eyes flicked over her again, this time with a coolly sceptical expression. ‘You’re going to clean in that get-up?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ came Lisa’s tart reply.
She had never subscribed to the theory that a cleaner had to look like a chimney sweep. Today she was wearing white stretch Capri pants, white trainers and a chocolate-brown singlet top which showed off her nicely toned