If anything, she tended to be too honest, too blunt. She knew her failing well, but some of her failings were also her strengths. She was fiercely independent and had never been a team player. She loved having the freedom to make her own decisions.
As a result, both her jobs suited her perfectly. She preferred to work alone and without interference. Almost an hour later, when Dior's brooding silence was fraying her nerves, her passport and her keys were handed over at a prearranged meeting point by an older man in a dark suit, whom Dior called Nolan.
Both men ignored her and talked for what felt like a very long time in Greek.
I hope you didn't leave my place in a mess,' Stella finally remarked, rather loudly. When she spoke, Nolan frowned in complete surprise, much as if a suitcase had suddenly opened its mouth and tried to chat. 'And I hope you locked up properly again.'
At that point, a strangled groan erupted from Stella. 'For Pete sake, how the heck did you get past the alarm system in the first place? And did you reset the—?'
'My security staff is not stupid,' Dior interposed crushingly, openly aggravated by her interruptions. "The premises will have been left in order.' Stella tilted her chin. 'It must be comforting to know that you have staff who can trespass as efficiently as burglars.'
Dior dealt her a thunderous glance from brilliant green eyes. 'It's rude to ignore people,' she told him stubbornly and spun away. But then you're just a cleaner, she reminded herself in exasperation. The lowest of the low hi any staff hierarchy.
Even worse, she was stuck with a guy used to being waited on hand and foot by servants. Behaving as if she was the invisible woman didn't tax Dior in the slightest.
He expected her to maintain a respectful silence unless first invited to speak. But she had never been that good at keeping her tongue between her teeth, she acknowledged ruefully.
Feeling cold now that she was no longer being kept warm by carting heavy bags around, not to mention the need to walk at about five times her natural speed, Stella took out the black coat, ripped off the sale label and put it on.
The hem hit the floor. If she pulled up the collar she would look like a small moving blanket. '
Here...' Dior Harlequin extended his mobile phone to her. Stella blinked in complete disconcertion. 'Your story checks out. Nolan confirms it. You may call the owner of the bookshop.' Stella punched out the number. As soon as he heard her voice, Watson asked anxiously if something had happened at the shop.
Reassuring him, but resentfully conscious of Dior listening to every word, she explained that she would be off work for a couple of days, and apologized for the lack of warning she was giving him. She said a close friend was ill. Ending the call with relief, she returned the phone to Dior Harlequin. He shot her a grim, measuring look.
'You're a very convincing liar.' Several hours later, Stella was appreciatively conceding that the interior of the Harlequin private jet was something else. Her eyes roved with a keen curiosity in every direction.