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Marriage Material
Ally Blake
Lawyer Romy Bridgeport is used to demanding clients–but millionaire Sebastian Fox wins hands down! All he's ever wanted is a happy marriage and kids–so he's asked Romy to make him into marriage material! Does such a project require all Romy's legal training? Er, no–yet as a valued client, Romy has to take him on…Only, when her work is done, Romy can think of only one suitable wife: herself!



“How is the project going?”
She leapt as though he had jolted her with a fire poker. “Sorry?”
“Our little project? The plan to mold me into model marriage material?”
She blinked. “It’s not going exactly to plan,” she admitted.
It was enough to make him think of switching tack and grabbing her into his arms and kissing those nerves from her face, but she clammed up and turned back to watch the uninspiring freeway walls as they whipped past. “Well, just think of the next two days as an opportunity to get it back onto track.”
She slowly turned to face him. “Really?”
Yeah, really? Is that what he really wanted? For her to be telling him how to become a perfect partner—and then for him have to turn it on for someone else?
Ally Blake worked in retail, danced on television and acted in friends’ short films until the writing bug could no longer be ignored. And as her mother had read romance novels ever since Ally was a baby, the aspiration to write romance had been almost bred into her. Ally married her gorgeous husband, Mark, in Las Vegas (no Elvis in sight, thank you very much), and they live in beautiful Melbourne, Australia. Her husband cooks, he cleans and he’s the love of her life. How’s that for a hero?
Books by Ally Blake
HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®
3782—THE WEDDING WISH

Marriage Material
Ally Blake



www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Mum who gave me my love of books, and Dad who couldn’t wait to see what I would become.

CONTENTS
PROLOGUE (#u5be1e3f9-ee3e-5f14-9e97-3a74ebb553b8)
CHAPTER ONE (#ue24a3bb7-1312-5cc3-8b50-30be7fc18a5d)
CHAPTER TWO (#u36188a34-08ec-5b4b-af9e-2e74a4f7fc00)
CHAPTER THREE (#ucaa0d155-6ba1-5322-a8ce-97e04ed0793b)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uce9eb545-9ead-5012-a026-4789095dd3f5)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

PROLOGUE
‘DELILAH! Don’t you look just beautiful?’ Sebastian raved to his favourite girl and earned a dimple-bright grin for his efforts.
Delilah had dressed herself in a dazzling ensemble of a rainbow-striped T-shirt, denim overalls, a pink frilly apron and yellow galoshes. Her curly blonde hair was decorated with a colourful assortment of ribbons and bobbles. Yet somehow on a four-year-old it worked.
She launched herself into his waiting arms and Sebastian whooped as though his niece had knocked the wind out of him. ‘You may be beautiful but you are seriously heavy. Did you eat bricks for lunch?’
‘No.’
‘Elephants?’
‘No!’
‘Chocolate cake?’
She pulled back and her big brown eyes grew round with surprise. ‘How could you tell?’ she asked, her voice a sweet lisping whisper.
Sebastian squeezed her around the middle, tickling as he went. ‘Yep, there it is, a chocolate-cake-shaped wedge.’
Delilah squirmed as she erupted into a fit of giggles.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?’ Delilah’s mum, Melinda, chastised her younger brother, but her voice was warmed by gentle undertones.
Sebastian grimaced as he looked at his watch. ‘There’s no way I’m going to make it in time as it is, so another ten minutes can’t hurt.’
Melinda’s raised eyebrows showed how much she disagreed.
‘Are you taking me to afternoon kindergarten, Unca Seb?’ Delilah asked.
Sebastian looked to his sister for confirmation. She said nothing, just shoved her watch beneath his nose.
‘I know, I know.’ But Sebastian’s priorities meant this particular appointment could wait. ‘Would you like me to?’
‘Do you have the big car?’
The big car was Sebastian’s Jeep, plastic flap windows, roll bar, and abrasions streaking the once shiny black paint-work from much serious four-wheel driving. For some reason Delilah preferred this to his sleek sports car, which her older brothers favoured. She was going to be a spitfire, this one, no glamour puss, and Sebastian could not wait to see how she would turn out.
‘Of course I have the big car. I knew I was coming to see you.’
‘Then you can take me!’
Sebastian gathered her up and Melinda handed him Delilah’s Barbie lunchbox and matching backpack.
‘Bye, Ma!’
‘Bye, munchkin.’ Melinda gave Delilah a big smooch on the cheek.
‘Bye, sis!’ Sebastian stuck out his cheek for the same and received a fierce pinch instead.
He bundled his niece across the yard, through the frosty Melbourne winter air, and into his ‘big car’. He snapped and tightened Delilah’s seat belt and could not help but smile when he saw her feet only just reached the edge of the front seat.
She must have sensed his attention as she turned to him, her blonde curls bouncing about her ears, and cast him her sweetest smile.
His heart clenched. Once he dropped her off, the car would be empty, just like his spacious home, where for years numerous spare bedrooms had awaited the cheeky spirit and raucous giggles of children.
He gunned the engine, pumping the accelerator more than necessary but the noise helped obliterate the nagging sense of loneliness that had been creeping up on him all morning.
He glanced at the clock in the dashboard. He was fifteen minutes late already. He drove out onto the tree-lined suburban street. What did fifteen minutes matter when no matter what he did that day, by the time he got back home, it would be to a big, empty house once more?

CHAPTER ONE
FURIOUSLY caressing her favourite calming crystal, a smooth, misshapen ball of blue lace agate, Romy was able to keep her mounting impatience in check.
He’s late, Romy thought, sending a calm, no-worries smile to the three others who sat with her around the modern kidney-shaped conference table. Make that very late.
They were all awaiting the arrival of Sebastian Fox, an ex-golf pro turned professional tomcat, a serial fiancé who nevertheless had walked the aisle to marriage but once, lasted six months at that, and, if all went according to Romy’s plan, the soon-to-be ex-husband of her client.
Rather than do the impolite thing and release her frustration by screaming obscenities at the top of her lungs, Romy stood and walked to the doorway.
‘Since we might be here a while yet,’ Romy said, her voice the model of composure, ‘who wants a cuppa?’
Gloria, Romy’s legal assistant, dressed in her customary head-to-toe basic black, requested plain coffee, black also.
Janet, Romy’s client, was irritable and very good at it. Even the ambient sound of waves lapping at a far-away beach pulsing from hidden speakers could not surmount the incessant tattoo of her long, painted fingernails rapping on the smooth Formica tabletop. She ordered a tall espresso, extra-strong, and Romy wondered whether the tabletop would survive her attentions once that level of caffeine hit her system.
Sebastian Fox’s lawyer, Alan Campbell, who sat alone on the concave side of the table, seemed hypnotised by the drumming of Janet’s fingernails. Apparently caffeine upset his stomach ulcer so he settled on a glass of water with which to take some Alka-Seltzer.
All three seemed on the verge of spontaneous combustion, such were their palpable jitters. Romy wondered it she ought to have offered each a nice cold cup of Prozac instead, or decaf in the least.
With her much-rubbed calming stone in hand, Romy wandered through the ultra-modern open-plan suite of legal offices of the boutique Archer Law Firm, in which she had worked the last five years, feeding off the optimistic energy the place exuded.
She waved hello to several clients who were not there for legal advice but for the numerous in-house programmes to help them get back on their feet post-divorce, such as cooking classes, single-parent counselling and even a new divorcee-dating scheme Romy had been instrumental in setting up.
With the usual spring in her step she made a beeline for the complimentary self-contained coffee hut by the lift.
‘Good morning, Hank.’ On tiptoe, Romy leaned over the counter to give the lovely elderly guy who ran the mobile café a kiss on the cheek.
‘Well, it is now, Ms Bridgeport. Gloria did not come around for your usual this morning. I was worried you had called in sick.’
‘Not at all. Healthy as could be. Vitamins every day are the trick.’
She put in her order and was content to keep half an ear on Hank as he happily chatted away about his favourite Australian Rules football team’s mid-season winning streak.
To combat her left foot’s growing desire to tap out her frustrations on the blond wood floor, Romy rolled her stone around in her palm, soaking up every bit of positive energy she could. The blue lace agate was supposed to bestow clarity and would concentrate her self-expression, which she would need when the opposing client showed up, if he ever showed up.
The lift door pinged and Romy nonchalantly turned to see who had arrived. As though rubbing her crystal had raised a genie, Sebastian Fox had arrived dead on queue. And, like any respectable genie, he had brought forth a man who looked little like the grainy pictures Romy had in her legal dossier and more like he had stepped straight out of GQ magazine.
Well, at least he’s finally here, she rationalised.
Romy’s rational gaze raked over dark chestnut hair. Smooth, clear skin. A square face. Enviable sooty lashes that framed seductive grey-green eyes. His inviting mouth that appeared on the verge of a secret smile forced her spare hand to rest on her stomach to calm the wayward butterflies cavorting within. The reaction he invoked in her was instant, primal and unstoppable and all her conscientious crystal-rubbing went to waste in a heartbeat.
She had known men like him before. Men with strong tall frames, with broad shoulders, slim hips and muscular thighs, encased in cashmere and cargoes that highlighted every centimetre of glorious man flesh. But she had been there, done that, and burnt the T-shirt.
Romy continued to spin on her high heels as his eyes locked on to the quirky aqua desk at the end of the room where two cute guys and one cute girl sat below a big plastic downward-pointing arrow suspended from the ceiling above. As he passed Romy went to say something, to call out, to introduce herself, to yell at him for his serious lateness, but for a woman who made her living talking, she simply could not find the words.
Sure, she had known men on the high end of the hunk scale, but she had not known a stranger to smell that good! She caught the drifting scent of soap and cinnamon and felt an insistent physical tug like a dog on a lead, and was in very real fear that she was watching after him with her tongue hanging out.
Though it took her a few diverted moments to recall why she so detested him, she finally managed. The man who was leaning over the desk, causing both the girl and the guys at Reception to go goo-goo-eyed, was no less than a physical affront to her whole belief system.
He was practically a professional groom-to-be, having been engaged to three women in seven years with very little time to himself in between. Janet had been the third, and she wondered momentarily what she had done differently that afforded her a wedding band to match the killer diamond on her left hand. But whatever it was in the end it still had not lasted.
And Romy was an anomaly in the field of divorce law. She was an advocate for marriage. She went to the nth degree to free her clients from bad marriages for the express purpose of giving them the opportunity to find true marital happiness elsewhere.
‘Are you all right, Ms Bridgeport?’ Hank asked, luring her attention back to the coffee hut.
‘Sure, fine. And you?’ She deserved the bemused blink Hank shot back.
‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Your order is ready. I’ve added a plateful of Melting Moments.’
‘Thanks, Hank.’
‘You knock ’em dead, Ms Bridgeport.’
‘With pleasure, Hank.’
Romy gathered the tray and turned around but Sebastian was gone. Into the conference room already, she assumed.
As she walked around the assortment of modern couches and avant-garde coffee-tables in the reception area, then through winding halls to the conference room, she hung on tight to her aversion to the man and to the tray heavy with scorching hot drinks and to the stone, which she now feared she would have to swallow to possess any real calming energy.
Two wrong turns sent Sebastian to a crèche and then to some sort of cooking class. If not for the smattering of suited men and women with yellow legal pads under their arms he would not have believed he was in a law firm. But even so, the promising impression of the place was fast overcome by more pressing matters. He knocked on the open door of the conference room and entered.
Alan stood and rushed over to him. ‘About bloody time, mate.’
‘Sorry. Events conspired to keep me anywhere but here.’
Alan laughed. ‘Sure they did.’
A tap-tap-tap on a tabletop caught Sebastian’s attention.
‘I recognise that sound,’ he said as he spun to face the source. It was Janet. And he also recognised what the tap-tap-tap meant. He walked around the table, took her hands, drew her to her feet and kissed her on the cheek.
‘You’re late,’ she said.
‘I got caught up with Delilah,’ he told her. ‘ Had to take her to afternoon kindergarten.’ It was almost the truth.
‘You and those kids. You spent more time with them than with me. You know that’s why we are here today, don’t you?’
He knew it to be true and it saddened him it had turned out that way. ‘What can I say? I think I’ve proven I’m not husband material.’
He said it with a wry smile but the reality of the situation was no laughing matter. That empty feeling he had experienced dropping Delilah off at kindergarten had only grown as the day progressed.
Janet sighed in resignation. She laid a talon-tipped hand on his cheek. ‘That’s rubbish, darlin’. You’re just not the husband for me.’
That brought on a smile. Despite the misunderstanding that had led him to believe she was the one for him, she was a good woman and more perceptive than she would have preferred to let on. But it was true, she was not the woman for him, no matter how, for their very different reasons, they had both tried to believe otherwise.
Janet lightly slapped his face before sitting down beside an intense young woman in head-to-toe black.
Sebastian had heard on the grapevine that Janet’s lawyer was a ball-breaker, a man-hater, and this one certainly looked to fit that bill. With her dark clothing, her short dark hair waxed into sharp elfin spikes, and her large eyes lathered in lashings of mascara she was almost frightening. Almost.
The haughty letters he had received through Alan from the office of one Ms Bridgeport had conjured up images of a stuffy old spinster, grey-streaked hair raked back into a bun, navy suit buttoned up to the throat. But the angry-looking pixie before him looked as though she could out-haughty even the dowdiest spinster.
‘Sebastian,’ Alan said as though reading his mind, ‘this is Gloria, Ms Bridgeport’s assistant.’
Well, maybe he would be right yet. Since they were the only ones in the room, the grey-haired spinster was probably in her office, putting in her hourly phone call to her cats, and would be with them soon, smelling of mothballs and secretly imbibed rum. He smiled at the thought.
Romy reached the doorway and saw Sebastian’s secret smile was now not so secret any more, and she was flummoxed afresh. She would have had to have lived in a cage not to have seen that smile shine from her TV screen numerous times over the last several years. Whether he had been holding up a golfing trophy or acting as spokesman for a children’s charity, that free and easy grin had been enough for her channel-flicking finger to pause over the remote every time.
Romy watched in silence as Gloria found herself on the receiving end of such a smile.
‘Gloria,’ Sebastian said and his voice was deep and tempting and complemented all the other delectable bits of him. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
But Gloria, bless her little heart, radiated resplendent disapproval. What a trooper. She gave Sebastian’s hand a perfunctory shake before letting go and wringing her hands together, erasing any sign of their contact. Romy had to stifle a laugh.
Alan caught Romy’s eye and she knew the time had come to meet the enemy. Gloria spied her at the same time and hurried to hand out the order of drinks.
‘Romy Bridgeport,’ Alan said, ‘this is my client, Sebastian Fox.’
She squared her shoulders, smoothed out her dress, and battened down the hatches. He is nothing but a heartless cad, she reminded herself, and you are going to take him down!
And as the man in question turned to face her a pair of three-foot-high twin boys bundled into the room, screaming, ‘Womy! Womy!’ in falsetto unison.
They leapt at her legs, clinging tight like limpets. Romy’s smoothed-out dress rode high up her thighs as her legs split shoulder-width apart in order for her to just about keep her balance. It was hardly the stern and intimidating impression she had been hoping to strike!
Whatever Sebastian had been expecting it had not been her. She was no grey-haired spinster, she was no angry pixie, and she was like no lawyer he had ever seen.
Romy Bridgeport was tall and slender as a reed in a form-hugging sea-blue dress that at that moment was hiked halfway up her cover-girl thighs. A matching jacket that looked as though it would considerably cover the slip of a garment was currently not earning its keep as it hung casually over the back of her chair.
But what hit him most was her mane of glowing auburn hair. It was long, lush and healthy and cut with a flirty fringe. With her china-blue eyes and lithe grace she looked more like a mermaid than a lawyer.
And while she laughed and bashfully enjoyed every second of the young boys’ company, Alan yawned, Gloria was hot on the phone, probably calling for their minders, and Janet was all but crouched on her chair as though the room had been overrun by mice. No surprise there. Not any more. Sebastian had too late discovered Janet was not a kid person on the day she had inadvertently admitted that previously unavowed truth in the same way one would say one was not a cat person.
‘Hey, kiddos,’ Romy said, her voice breathy, ‘how did you find me? Where is Samantha?’
‘Womy, wead a stowy!’ one of them demanded as only three-year-olds could.
She shot an apologetic look that encompassed the whole group, her blue eyes glittering in a mixture of delight and mortification. ‘Romy is busy right now. She is reading these fine people a story for the next little while.’
‘What stowy?’ the other cherub asked.
And without missing a beat she said, ‘It’s a story where Rapunzel takes on the mean troll…and wins.’
Sebastian had to fight back a laugh.
‘But we don’t want Rapunzel to win.’
Hey! Boys after his own heart!
‘I figured as much,’ Romy said. ‘So how about you guys head back to Samantha’s room and I will come over later and tell you the story of when the mean troll and his even meaner cousin, the ogre, ate Rapunzel? OK?’
The boys stopped squirming and through some sort of telepathic twin communication they let go and ran off as fast as they had appeared, their excited squeals echoing down the hall.
‘My apologies,’ she said to the group, ‘they belong to one of the partners and have taken quite a fancy to my more gory tales.’
‘I don’t blame them,’ Sebastian admitted. ‘The troll and the ogre. Sounds too good to miss.’
But when her derisive china-blue gaze clashed with his, the smile fast disappeared. An adorable blush lit her pale cheeks as she straightened her dress, and tidied her now magnificently messy hair.
He reached out to shake her hand across the table, enjoying the way the fabric of her almost dress clung to her thighs as, after a distinct pause, she bent towards him. Her hand was cool and soft and felt small in his own. ‘Ms Bridgeport. So glad to finally meet you face to face.’
‘I’m just glad you could finally find the time, Mr Fox.’ Her pleasant voice held a strong thrust of steel beneath the airy sound.
‘Sebastian, please,’ he offered.
She gave him a slight nod, though did not return the offer to use her own first name.
Her face was a mask of disinterested civility, but he didn’t buy it for a second. Though she was trying so hard to appear serene and in control she was bristling with kinetic energy. Most lawyers he had come across were stale and tired to say the least but she was so dynamic it was infectious. He could barely stand still himself. And compared with the lassitude that had threatened to overwhelm him only moments before, it was a blessing.
‘Romy, was it?’ he said, not giving up. ‘Interesting name. I bet there is a great story behind that one.’
She bit into a biscuit rather than on to his line and he caught sight of a row of very short and faintly ragged fingernails. Hmm. So she was a nail-biter and not so much the tough cookie as she behaved.
‘There are more important things to discuss today than my name, Mr Fox,’ Romy said. ‘Go ahead, take a seat so we can focus our energies where they belong.’
Fair enough. He did as he was told and slumped back into his seat, his expression all seriousness to show her he was ready to deal with the task at hand. But she had also taken a seat and her attention had left him without a second thought. She was running a hand through her hair until it settled in a lustrous ripple down her back, and, casually crossing one long leg over the other, she showcased an expanse of one lovely, creamy thigh.
Whoa.
Romy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She was surprised to find that her opposition seemed to be almost enjoying himself! And Romy hated surprises. They were never positive. Ever. If you knew what was coming you could cope, no matter how big a deal. But the not knowing was a killer.
No, she determined. There would be no surprises. It would all be fine. She was ready. She’d spent every minute of her adult life making sure she would be ready for any situation, so she was not in the least bit nervous. Well, not much anyway.
‘Mr Campbell, Mr Fox, let’s get this over and done with, shall we? Then we can all get on with more pleasant pursuits.’
Sebastian turned a leisurely glance her way and the pleasant pursuits that filled her head sent her heart thumping against her ribs as her adrenalin kicked in full force.
Bad. Bad Romy!
She grabbed her calming stone and put it to better use as a paperweight. Energy flow and inner beauty could wait. By cornering her, the tomcat had released a hellcat who would very soon be wiping that all too free and easy smile from his face.
‘Mr Fox,’ she began, ‘I think my client has the right to a great deal larger settlement than you have suggested and here is a small selection of the innumerable irrefutable reasons why…’
In an hour it was all over.
Before Romy had even hit her stride in her savage roast, Sebastian capitulated.
He glanced at his watch, said, ‘Sorry to cut the game short, guys. It’s been a blast but I have a date. Give Janet whatever she wants.’
Now, that was one heck of a surprise! As, although the guy was a renowned playboy who had left behind a daisy chain of well-kept women who had kindly kept him company on those long, cold Melbourne nights, he had never even suggested a pre-nuptial agreement before marrying. So Janet getting what she wanted was a fair whack.
Sebastian grabbed a pen from the table, signed Romy’s contracts with a flourish, patted his lawyer on the back and left without a backward glance.
He had given up an exorbitant amount of money so as not to break a date. For a guy who seemed to go through women as if they were going out of fashion, Romy couldn’t help but wonder who could be that important to him.
And in some small, ridiculous part of Romy’s anatomy, she felt a pang of something akin to envy towards someone who could mean that much in Sebastian Fox’s life.

CHAPTER TWO
AN HOUR later Sebastian was still trying to push the thought of the lawyer and her stinging criticism from his mind.
A thin, high voice called out from across the oval. ‘Hey, Seb. Heads up!’
Sebastian scooped the ball up and weaved in and out of the group of youngsters running at his side, relishing the heat and sweat and opportunity to exercise away the niggling frustration that had tagged him all day. He eventually slowed enough for his elder nephew to tag him but not enough to make it look as if he wasn’t trying.
‘Tagged!’ Chris called out in glee.
‘Aah, you got me there, Chris.’ Sebastian shook his head in disbelief as he handed over the football to his opposition. ‘You’re just too quick for an old man like me.’
Chris grinned proudly and yanked the ball from Sebastian’s hands.
‘Everybody ready?’ Chris called out to the group straggling across the football field before taking off towards the goals.
A madly waving hand on the end of an adult arm on the sideline caught Sebastian’s attention. He looked up-field and made sure another couple of adults were keeping control of the game before he jogged off the oval.
‘Good to see you, Tom.’ He gave his brother-in-law a bear hug.
‘Hey, watch the threads. You’re sweating all over me.’
Sebastian made sure to wipe his hands vigorously on the back of Tom’s clean shirt before pulling away.
‘You’re getting thrashed out there, mate.’
Sebastian grinned. ‘You think you can do better? You join us.’
Tom held up his palms in defeat. ‘No, thanks. I’ve got this bad knee, remember.’
Sebastian raised his eyebrows in disbelief. ‘Melinda told me all about that. Didn’t you walk into the coffee-table? Three weeks ago?’
‘That table has a really sharp corner.’
‘Fine.’ Sebastian turned and watched Chris weaving across the field, the ball in his possession again. ‘You’re just lucky you’ve got me around to make sure your kids get the exercise they need.’
‘Sure, mate. Sure. Hey, Melinda told me today was D-day. Divorce day, right?’
‘Yep.’ The easy smile swiftly melted from Sebastian’s face. He kicked at a tuft of grass on the edge of the field.
‘So what did she get?’ Tom grabbed Sebastian by the arm, the slick sweat coating him suddenly of no importance. ‘You’d better not have given her the beach house. Melinda and I promised the kids a week there this summer.’
‘She would never have even asked for the beach house.’
Tom’s raised eyebrows showed he disagreed. ‘I think you proved you were the last one to know what Janet might or might not do to get what she wants.’
Sebastian shrugged. ‘Anyway, she got plenty.’ Tom let loose with a great laugh. ‘For a girl who seemed easy come, easy go, she sure turned out to have a killer streak.’
‘So we now know. But this wasn’t Janet. This was the lawyer.’
The lawyer. So much for pushing her to the back of his mind. The instant action replay running constantly through his mind all afternoon, and frustrating him to distraction, had been all about the lawyer. Long legs, startling eyes, and that hair. And most of all the cutting accusations about his lifestyle she had flung at him with such vigour. He’d been brandished a playboy before. And even a cad. And maybe with good reason. But the lawyer had labelled him ‘a neurotic caveman for whom women were merely bandages for his over-inflated ego’. And that had been rough.
‘Must have been a real hot-shot,’ Tom said, thankfully drawing Sebastian back to the comparative comfort of his current surrounds. ‘What’s his name?’
‘ Her name is Romy Bridgeport.’
Tom stopped laughing though his grin went from full-screen to wide-screen. ‘You poor fellow. A couple of guys at work have been on the losing end of her counsel. But I thought if any guy had a chance against her charms it would have been you. She must be really something. Was she the man-hater I heard she is?’
‘Well, I don’t think she liked me much.’
‘No? But I thought they all liked you, what with you being so cute and all.’
Tom reached out and gave Sebastian’s cheeks a rough pinch. Sebastian playfully slapped his hands away. But he did not feel so playful.
It was true. She had not liked him one bit. She had not even tried to hide the fact for civility’s sake. Yet despite it all he had been patently attracted to her. Attracted physically went without saying, but it was her vitality that kept him engaged even after she let fly with her unremitting accusations.
‘Apparently she is engaged to some American,’ Tom said, again dragging Sebastian back to the present. ‘How ironic—a divorce lawyer getting married. You’d think she would be cynical about the whole deal.’
Sebastian did not remember seeing a sparkling diamond. But he had been blindsided by the significance behind the adorably short fingernails, so maybe… ‘Engaged to an American, you say?’
‘Mmm. Thing is, from what I’ve heard nobody has ever seen the guy or if they have they are keeping quiet about it. Maybe it’s all a diversionary tactic to fend off hot-from-the-oven divorcees. Don’t even think about it, I’m engaged.’
Sebastian looked up as a yell of glory erupted from the other end of the field. One of his team had scored a try. He looked back to Tom and shuffled from one foot to the other, itching to get back to the game.
‘Saved by the yell,’ Tom said. ‘Go on, then. Get back out there. But I want details. Come for dinner and stay over tonight?’
‘Fine,’ Sebastian conceded as he ran backwards onto the field. ‘Tell Melinda I’ll be there at seven.’
Romy stumbled into her apartment-building foyer after ten o’clock. She had spent the evening with her divorced-singles group, with once battered wives, with cheated-on husbands, with a woman she had comforted in a quiet corner, and with a pair who had the amazing news that they had become engaged…to one another! They were serious people looking for serious relationships, and if Romy knew anything about anything, she knew about that.
She shuffled into the antiquated lift, pulled the doors shut and endured the interminable ride to her top-floor apartment. Rhythmic creaks and groans took the place of the electronic music you would find in most modern apartment-building lifts. In an atypical fit of whimsy she had picked the apartment for the beautiful restored lift with its open-cage design, and she’d had to endure its resultant slowness and periodic breakdowns ever since. That would teach her!
Once home she checked her answering machine. Her parents had sent their weekly ‘hello’ in duet. She could not remember the last time she had spoken to one and not the other. They were the most devoted couple she had ever come across, still deeply in love after thirty perfect years.
She called them back, and hooked the phone beneath her chin as she prepared herself a light snack.
‘Hey, Mum.’
‘Hey, baby. I saw you on TV tonight. The Press conference. With that lovely Janet Hockley. Will she continue to make those aerobic videos, do you think?’
Romy chomped on a celery stick. ‘She made them before her marriage and during her marriage so I wouldn’t think she would suddenly stop now.’
‘Oh, good. I was thinking of buying the next one for your father for Christmas. It seems he doesn’t mind the exercise so long as there’s a cute young thing to show him how to do it. And I’ve hit the point that I’m willing to let him do anything so long as his cholesterol comes down.’
Romy set up her picnic on the small round table by the kitchen.
‘And did you get to meet that husband of hers?’
‘I did.’
‘And was he the stud the magazines say he is?’
Her mind wandered to the image of him walking from office to lift. Throughout the day it had transformed into slow motion and sepia. Now her mother had unfortunately relocated that image to Sebastian walking through a stable, rake in hand, shining with sweat…She fought the urge to dislodge the looped vision from her mind with a sharp slap across the cheek.
‘Not that I witnessed first-hand.’
Her mother paused and Romy hoped she did not pick up on the forced nonchalance in her voice. That was all she needed for her mother to get funny ideas in her head. Luckily her indifference seemed to fly.
‘Well, I guess that’s hardly something you could add to your résumé, dear, so no loss there.’
‘True. Is Dad there?’
‘He’s on the other phone, listening, dear.’
Of course he was. ‘All’s well, Dad?’
‘Well as can be expected considering your mother won’t let me eat potato any more. Potato, I tell you!’
‘Imagine if you got on her bad side. You’d be left with bread and water.’
‘Bread! Ha! She made me cut out bread long before potato became the evil food of the month—’
‘Anyway,’ Romy’s mother cut him off, ‘we just wanted to say we saw you on TV, dear. The girls at poker will be most impressed. Goodnight, love.’
‘Goodnight, Mum. ’Night, Dad.’
Romy hung up, appalled as the slow-motion, sepia, gorgeous-man-walking image was now replaced with the hazy image of Sebastian, the stud, dripping in hay and little else.
No! She was not a woman willing to have her head turned by an enchanting smile. She was stronger than that, more focused, and with very specific plans for her future, and mooning over a man like him did not come into that equation.
Romy was confident that like her parents she would never, ever marry unless she was sure it would be forever. Whereas this guy went through wives the way he went through baseball caps. Lucky he was Alan’s client, not hers, so it was unlikely she would run into him ever again.
She felt very sorry for the next Mrs Sebastian Fox. Whoever she was.
Sebastian walked into the kitchen early the next morning with his sister’s middle child Thomas slung squealing and twisting over his shoulder.
‘Put me down, Uncle Sebastian! You promised as soon as we got to the kitchen table!’
‘I promised once you finished my maths quiz. Come on, Thomas. Five times five is…’
Thomas took a deep, uncertain breath. ‘Twenty-five?’
‘That’s my boy.’ Sebastian tickled his nephew until tears welled in his eyes.
‘Put him down, Sebastian, or I’ll never get him to school.’ Melinda mixed several eggs in the frying pan and slopped in some milk and cheese.
‘Yes, sis.’ Sebastian swung the boy from his shoulders and plopped him at the kitchen bench next to Chris and Delilah.
‘You should be cooking for me,’ Melinda said. ‘I have to get ready for work. What are you doing today?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘When are you going to get a real job, Uncle Sebastian?’ Thomas asked.
Melinda grinned. ‘From the mouths of babes…’
Sebastian ruffled his nephew’s hair, earning a squeal of torment for his efforts. ‘I do just fine, thank you very much.’
‘It’s not about doing fine. It’s about using your gifts for good.’
He pushed Melinda aside with a bump of his hip and finished making the eggs for her. She set to getting the kids ready for school.
‘With my sponsorships and investments, I’m building a pretty meaty trust fund for your young tribe, sis, so I’m hardly using them for evil.’
Melinda was unmoved. ‘You hardly use them at all. If not a job then a hobby other than babysitting or playing touch footy and marrying badly. You need a project. I can’t stand watching you atrophy before my eyes.’
He chose to ignore Melinda’s barb. Though it had been playing on him all night. A project? Was that what he needed? He felt he was on the verge of something. As if he just needed a nudge and a truth would be revealed. He had no idea what it was but he felt invigorated, more than he had in years.
Sebastian lifted his shirt to reveal a very healthy torso. ‘What do you reckon, kids? Still enough to keep me going for a few winters yet?’ He poked his tummy out as far as it would go and scored a giggle from his nephews.
Melinda was about to hit him when Tom, senior, shouted out from the den. ‘That’s her!’
‘I’ve asked him a thousand times not to shout if he wants me, but to come and get me,’ Melinda said to Sebastian, her voice rising until it was more than a match for her husband’s. ‘He sets the kids such a bad example!’
‘It’s the lawyer!’ Tom shouted once more. ‘The one who took Sebastian to the cleaners yesterday.’
That caught Sebastian’s attention. He pulled down his shirt and hotfooted it into the den, where he sat on the arm of Tom’s couch. It was a Press conference from the day before. Romy’s sea-blue suit jacket was buttoned up to the neck no less, but nothing bar a big woollen hat could hide that shock of magnificent hair.
Tom whistled long and slow. ‘And boy, is she a babe!’
And then some, Sebastian thought, feeling his breathing slow perceptibly at the sight of her. But now he saw the danger signs as they appeared. What he was feeling was precisely the pattern Romy had reiterated he had followed all his adult life. That for whatever reason, he fell into one set of female arms after another. So according to her theories his attraction to her would simply be because she was in the line of fire.
‘Who’s a babe?’ Melinda asked from the doorway.
‘You are, my love.’
Tom grinned and patted his lap. Melinda rolled her eyes but followed his instructions and snuggled onto his lap anyway. Sebastian saw this interplay only from the corner of his eye as his gaze was focused on the tabloid TV show in front of him.
‘ That was your opposition lawyer,’ Melinda said. Then she too laughed. ‘I would have put money on the outcome to go her way. I’ll give it to Janet—despite her foibles, she is a clever, clever girl.’
Sebastian had had a feeling from the moment he’d walked in that room that Janet was a lucky, lucky girl. The clever one had been sitting beside her, pulling all the strings. More importantly, that clever one was someone who knew what she wanted and let nothing stand in her way. That certainty was what he had been missing. He’d had it once before time and life had whittled it away.
‘You were right, bro. She doesn’t like you much,’ Tom said. ‘You can see it in her eyes as clear as if she had said the words. She is as happy to have beaten you as she is that her client won.’
Melinda leant forward to get a closer look then turned to her brother with her mouth turned upside-down. ‘Poor Sebastian. The one woman who won’t be signing up to your fan club and she just happens to be on the opposing side of your divorce suit.’
Sebastian nodded but his mind was a long way further down the track. The room the Press conference was being held in looked familiar. Where had he seen it before? The cooking class! He had accidentally stumbled in there when searching for the conference room.
‘They have quite some set-up down there, you know.’
‘Do they, now?’ He felt rather than saw Melinda give Tom a look.
‘They have a crèche, a café, cooking classes for the newly single.’
The feeling that had been building up in him all morning hit some sort of crescendo then spilled over into understanding. He suddenly knew what he was going to do that day.
‘I was thinking of going back there to check it out further.’
‘You want to take a cooking class?’
Sebastian peeled himself from the chair; he felt as if he was waking up after a long sleep. ‘Maybe. Why not?’
‘Why not, indeed?’ Melinda agreed. ‘Maybe you should go back and check it out.’
‘Maybe I will.’
But he knew that there was no maybe about it.
Romy walked back from her early-morning Pilates class to her office in her gym outfit of a snug tank top, ankle-length gym tights and white sneakers, whistling a tune she had heard in the cab radio on the way to work. The towel wrapped around her neck kept lank hair off her hot skin.
Once in her office she slid the towel from beneath her hair, performed a pretty spectacular butt-wiggle in time with the conclusion of the jazzy song, and threw her towel over her shoulder towards her sofa. She stopped short, as she did not hear the usual soft slap of towel hitting seat.
‘Mornin’, Romy,’ a deep, sexy voice called to her.
She spun around, her hand smothering the scream that escaped her throat, and found Sebastian Fox leaning back in her sofa, the old towel clutched in his hand. She had to resist the substantial urge to whack him for giving her such a shock.
‘According to your day planner you should have been back,’ he looked at his watch, ‘three minutes and twenty seconds ago. I was getting worried.’
‘You read my diary?’ she blurted.
‘I couldn’t miss it. It is open on your desk and takes up almost as much space. I’ve never met anyone who diarised what they are going to wear for the next week!’
‘Dry cleaning efficiently is a finicky business. And so what if I am organized? What’s wrong with that?’
Romy had to shake her head to remember how this conversation had even begun.
‘I think the pertinent information is what on earth you are doing here, Mr Fox. I can assure you the contract you signed was legal and binding, therefore you have no recourse to insist on any changes.’
Sebastian stilled. He had caught sight of the Barbie insignia emblazoned across the length of Romy’s towel. The smile he shot her was enquiring and…impressed?
‘It’s the smallest clean towel I could find at home this morning,’ she waffled.
Sebastian nodded as though her explanation made it seem less ridiculous, then she was forced to wait as he neatly folded her towel and placed it on the seat beside him. As such she was also forced to notice how unfairly scrumptious he looked in his black sweater. His hair was mussed from the wind outside and light stubble covered his swarthy cheeks and chin. His stormy eyes gleamed in the low morning light and he looked far too alert for so early in the day.
He caught her watching him and smiled again, this time it was slow and languorous and she felt it in her gut. Of course, that was probably hunger from not having had breakfast before her class.
‘I thought maybe we could talk shop.’ His smile lit up with mischief. ‘Though perhaps I have caught you at a bad time.’
‘Because I am dressed as such?’ she asked, waving a frustrated hand down the length of her insufficiently clad body. ‘Goodness no. It’s Wednesday. We all go ultra-casual on a Wednesday.’
But it was not her skimpy outfit that bothered her as such. It was that the day before at least she had been prepared for the sensory onslaught that was he. She had been Ms Bridgeport the lawyer, and her attire, her props, had all been a part of the magic act and she had felt right at home on the stage she had set. Right now she was still numb with surprise and not ready for the likes of him. She was Romy the sleepy, Romy the sweaty, Romy of the Barbie towel.
It was time to regain her home-court advantage. She walked around her desk and sat in her office chair, happier to have a huge obstacle between herself and his keen gaze. She casually picked up her heavy blue crystal and rolled it around in her palm.
‘Since your ex-wife is a client of mine I’m not sure how much shop we can talk without ethics getting in the way. Though I’m not sure that would have occurred to you.’
There, Romy thought, take that!
‘Actually that did occur to me. So I rang Janet this morning and she assured me her contract with you was finalised as soon as I signed on the dotted line.’
How chummy. Even his ex-wife was on phone-chatting terms. Well, she was not falling for the all-too-cool façade. She knew better than anyone that an angelic face did not an angel make.
‘Fine. You want to talk shop, Mr Fox, then talk shop.’
‘I think this place is pretty amazing.’
Well, she couldn’t argue with that. ‘Go on.’
‘And of all the amazing sights I witnessed yesterday you are the cream on the cake. You are a force to be reckoned with, Romy. The best I have ever come up against.’
The way Sebastian said it made Romy imagine coming up against him in a whole different way than he had implied, and the mental picture raised her heart rate to twice the speed the Pilates had. There was no harm in blaming hunger and exercise-induced endorphins, was there?
‘And I would like to secure your services,’ he finished.
‘That’s very flattering, but if you are seeking my representation I am afraid that I am a specialist and I would be no use to you unless…’
Sebastian watched in amazement as the colour drained from Romy’s face, making her startling eyes rimmed with smudged eyeliner stand out even more.
‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘Please don’t tell me you already have another poor fish on your hook and you are already preparing for the time you will throw her back.’
Her statement was so ridiculous Sebastian almost laughed. But then he realised she was deadly serious. Her hand clamped tight onto a strange blue stone and he could swear she was on the verge of throwing it at him!
‘There is no fish to speak of, Romy,’ Sebastian said, simply unable to resist pandering to her self-righteousness. He wanted her up and fighting if he was going to get what he needed from her. ‘But I am a pragmatic man and time is awaiting, as is the next ex-Mrs Sebastian Fox. She’s out there somewhere and here we are, wasting time arguing about it, rather than giving the girl the chance to have a go.’
The nerve of the man! Romy’s palms began to itch as the hot blood rushed to her edgy extremities. She lowered her crystal into her desk drawer to stop herself from pegging it between his eyes.
‘I will not be your divorce lawyer, Mr Fox.’ Her voice all but quivered with indignation.
‘Once again, it’s Sebastian.’
She took a deep breath and counted to three. ‘Fine, then. I will not be your divorce lawyer, Sebastian. I act only for those who take marriage seriously and you, Sebastian, do not come across to me as a terribly serious person. And if you have really done your research you will know that I consider myself not in the business of promoting divorce but in the business of making sure the right people are together.’
‘Fine.’
‘Fine?
‘As I said, there is no fish to speak of. Not yet. So, since you are such a renowned matchmaker, I need you to assist me in procuring my next wife.’

CHAPTER THREE
‘I THINK the best thing for me is to get back on the horse,’ Sebastian said.
Romy’s mouth hung ajar and her eyes were round and bright as dollar coins. ‘Get…back…on…the…horse?’
Her face was crimson and absolutely delightful. He’d heard of women who were beautiful when they were angry but had thought it just a myth. But here was one woman for whom the saying could have been written.
‘OK. So that was a bad analogy. Though you obviously don’t see it yet, I will make someone a good husband,’ he said, taking to the plan the more he fumbled his way through it. ‘And, as you are a self-professed expert on the subject—’
‘I am nothing so worthy as an expert, Mr Fox.’
‘But you yourself are engaged, are you not?’ he asked.
Her mouth snapped shut like a threatened clam and surprise flickered across her vibrant eyes. But she neither agreed nor denied the claim. He wondered if Tom was right and it was a fallacy she had created as a hands-off signal.
A cute young thing like her, spending every day with newly single male clients would surely have an excuse to create such a rumour. But Sebastian decided it was more likely the truth. Half the reason he fancied she was perfect for the job was the likelihood she was taken. It meant he had a good reason not to fall into the trap of seeing her as someone to ease his loneliness short-term when he needed to refocus on the big picture.
The steady disapproval in her magnetic blue eyes was unmistakable. But welcome. It was exactly that spirit that he needed to tap. And all the better that her heat remain directed against him not toward him. She was spoken for and she didn’t much like him. Perfect.
‘I’ve rung around and heard good things about your divorcees group,’ he said.
‘Mr Fox, I assure you there is no way that I am going to launch you upon that unassuming group of people. They are serious and they are damaged, whereas you…you act as if it is all just a game!’
Aah, so that was why she was so offended; she did not get to be the shoulder to cry on. She did not get to be the fix-it woman. Well, if that was what she needed to be…
‘I assure you, Romy, it was no game. I am serious. I am damaged.’ He held out his arms and even gave her his best go at a pout. She glared at him in disbelief but he thought he saw the first real flicker of interest.
With visible effort her face relaxed. Her tongue shot out to briefly wet her lips and she managed a fragile smile. ‘I would not even know where to begin.’
‘Well, that’s the beauty. I’m a not only a willing and able participant but I also have a bevy of ideas. I just need your help to implement them. Besides, I am very certain you have researched my background so thoroughly you now know more about me than I do. So mould me. Shape me. Make me the kind of man any good woman would want to marry.’
Her eyes positively glowed and he knew it had nothing to do with recent exercise. She was once more lit with that inner fire, that spirit that so caught at him. He had finally found the right button to push to bring her on to his side. She was intrigued despite herself.
‘I’ve done some homework and have heard about how hands-on your clients expect you to be. And I want that from you.’
Sebastian knew from the firm line of Romy’s mouth the only hands-on approach she would be willing to give him right then was a right hook.
‘I can’t do it. I have other clients counting on me.’
‘For the moment they can count on someone else.’
‘I can refuse you as a client.’
‘I will bring so much work your firm’s way you will not have a choice.’
He stood, stretching like a sleepy cat, knowing it would only rile her more, and the fists clenching on her desk showed him it worked. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to prepare my file.’
‘Don’t count on it.’
He glanced over her barely dressed form and, since he was way beyond right-hook distance, he could not stop himself from saying, ‘I’ll see more of you soon.’
Then he left.
Once outside the city building, Sebastian took a deep breath of the still foggy morning air. But the grey sky could not dampen his mood. She was such a spitfire, yet so certain. If he had any chance of finding his footing again it would be at her side.
He couldn’t believe that only the day before, after years of knowing he wanted a family of his own more than anything, his experience with Janet had made him think he had hit a point when it really might not happen for him. He saw the future on the horizon, shimmering like a mirage, but he knew it was real and just waiting for the right moment to slip into focus.
He took off up the street, whistling and smiling at strangers. One of those strangers turned out to be a familiar dark-haired pixie.
‘Gloria! Good morning!’
She glared at him, her big eyes narrowing to slits as her perceptive gaze slid past him to her building beyond. ‘Mr Fox. What brings you to this part of town?’
No point in pretending. She would know soon enough. ‘I had a proposition to put forward that could not be refused.’
‘And what was that?’
‘Your boss is going to make a husband out of me.’
Gloria’s eyebrows raised a good inch. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning, since she turns out to be not just a divorce perpetrator but also a marriage aficionado, I have signed on for her to teach me what being a good husband means, so that I will be ready when I meet the woman of my dreams.’
‘Well, well, well. That I didn’t see coming.’
‘Unique, don’t you agree?’
Gloria’s mouth twitched. ‘So unique that if I have a bad day at work today I’ll know who to blame.’
Sebastian burst out laughing. ‘Yet still I am not deterred. I made a good decision this morning, a decision to change my life, and I am sticking by it.’
‘Then good for you.’ Was that a smile that finally tickled at the corner of her mouth?
‘If it turns out that my decision has…consequences, I’ll make it up to you. What do you want? A case of wine? Wrestling tickets? My head on a stick? What would it take to have you on my side?’
The smile was finally in place. No teeth but definite lifts to the corners of her mouth. ‘You want me on your side?’
Sebastian nodded. He had the distinct feeling Gloria could make it difficult for him otherwise.
‘Then be on Romy’s side,’ Gloria said, melting enough to give him a chummy pat on the arm before she headed to work. And Sebastian watched her go with the feeling she may have been on to something even more inspired than he.
By the time Gloria arrived for work Romy had showered and changed into a much more appropriate little black dress with killer stiletto mules and had worked herself up into a right temper. She paced back and forth as Gloria took pages of notes about the meetings they would hold that day.
‘When’s my first appointment?’ Romy asked.
‘She’s here. Mrs Libby Gold. She’s fresh meat so be gentle. She looks nervous as an ant at an anteater convention.’ Gloria drew a broad concluding line under her notes. ‘You had Pilates this morning, did you not?’
‘I did.’
‘Aren’t you taking the classes for stress release?’
‘I am.’
‘And do you think you are getting your money’s worth?’
Romy stopped pacing and turned to her assistant, who was staring cross-eyed at portions of her short, spiky fringe which she was systematically pinching between her fingertips.
Romy sat deliberately on the corner of her desk and clasped her taut hands together in her lap. ‘I had a visitor after class who undid all the instructor’s fine work.’
‘That doesn’t seem fair. Maybe you should get Mr Fox to reimburse you.’
Romy could do nothing but stare. ‘Well, maybe I should. What he suggested was just plain ridiculous.’
‘I thought the makeover idea was whacko at first but it has kind of grown on me.’
Romy blinked. ‘Nothing gets by you does it, Gloria?’
‘Not a thing. And for that you should be thankful. But you will do it anyway, won’t you?’ Gloria asked.
‘Of course I darned well will. He practically dared me and you know I can’t refuse a challenge.’
And the guy was a clean slate. Malleable. If she could find Sebastian Fox, of all men, a woman with whom he would really settle down then it would prove that marriage could still work today. What a coup that would be.
And what an affirmation.
‘Though how you noticed his challenge when that fine butt of his was walking by I have no idea.’
This coming from the woman who the previous week had told all and sundry that all men were chief purveyors of low self-esteem in women. ‘I can’t believe you noticed his butt when that fine ego of his was walking by.’
Gloria shrugged. ‘Maybe there’s more to him than the dossier suggested.’
‘You do realise you are talking about a man, do you not?’
‘And what a man—’
Romy pointed to her office door. ‘Out.’
Gloria peeled her diminutive frame from the large chair. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
Romy shot one more look at her clock. ‘Send in Libby Gold and then as soon as she’s gone patch me through to Alan Campbell.’
Gloria turned at the door and shot Romy a cheeky grin. ‘Mr Fox’s lawyer?’
‘He just so happens to be.’
Gloria winked. ‘Shall do, boss.’
Romy spent the next fifty minutes with Libby Gold, who for fifteen years had been the wife of a man who had made a fortune in toothpaste. She was sweet, she was matronly and she had no idea how she had found herself in a lawyer’s office talking divorce.
Privately Romy was glad Libby had come to her as she knew she would take extra-special care of her. Taking her through the process slowly and surely. And taking her philandering husband to the cleaners.
‘But what does that make the last fifteen years of my life?’ Libby asked. ‘A waste? I cannot handle the thought.’
‘You can handle it, Libby, because it has not been a waste. It has been a grand lesson. For you both. He will pay for his mistake and you will come out of it with knowledge and experience and a tidy fortune to tide you over.’
‘What good is money if I don’t have Jeffrey? I can’t bake a favourite meal for money. I can’t rest my head on money’s shoulder while watching a movie. People are what counts. People are what makes your life a life. Money has no memory.’
What could Romy say to that? The poor woman’s mind was settled, for today anyway. Romy would win her around to the knowledge that the future was out there for the taking. That the man for her was still out there. And Romy had not lost a client back to their spouse once. Not ever. And she was not willing to start now.
Romy stood and patted her client on the shoulder. ‘See Gloria on your way out and she’ll tee you up for our next session.’
Once Libby was gone, Romy buzzed Gloria’s intercom. ‘Can you get Alan for me, Gloria?’
‘I don’t think now’s the right time,’ her voice mumbled through the black box on Romy’s desk. ‘We’ve had quite a spate of correspondence since you’ve been busy.’
She nibbled at a little fingernail. ‘Well, are you going to tell me what the correspondence says?’
‘Oh. Sure.’
Romy heard the squeak of Gloria’s chair and she ambled into the office with a fresh cup of chamomile tea and bundle of faxes in her hands.
‘What have you got there, my sweet?’ Romy asked.
‘Faxes.’
Romy took a deep calming breath. ‘Saying?’
‘The first came from Alan saying Mr Golf Pro has ceased services with his firm and to send any further correspondence to his new firm. And confirming usual drinks tonight at Fables?’ Gloria looked up with questioning eyebrows.
Romy nodded vigorously. ‘Sure. Go on.’
‘Next came one from Mr Golf Pro saying that he is coming on board with us. The header showed that fax was sent to all the partners as well.’
‘Of course it was,’ Romy groaned, feeling herself sinking deeper and deeper into the quicksand that surrounded Sebastian Fox.
‘Aah. Alan must have found out who Sebastian’s new law firm is. A few rude words in this one. I might keep a photocopy for the Christmas party.’ Gloria looked up at Romy, a big grin spread across her pixie face. ‘But this latest from Mr Golf Pro is something else again, for your eyes only. And it reads like…a recipe for the perfect woman.’
‘Give me that!’ Romy spat out.
Gloria kept a tight hold of the sheet of paper.
‘What does it say?’ Romy asked. ‘It says:
Dear Ms Bridgeport,
Further to our discussion I thought I would give you a running head start on our mission. In formulating the plans for my renovation, please keep in mind that I must in the end be capable of drawing an individual with the following non-negotiable criteria:
Easy on the eye
Able to string a sentence together
Must at least reach my chin when not in heels (old back injury means I cannot bend my neck for prolonged periods of time)
Employed
Hope that gives you somewhere to start.
Cheers, Sebastian.’
Well. He’d said he was willing and able with a bevy of ideas and it looked as though this could be the first. How helpful. What had she got herself into?
Gloria slumped into the guest chair, her eyes brimming with tears of laughter. ‘Is he for real?’
‘I’m afraid I really could not tell you.’
‘If you had to make a list outlining the perfect man, what would it be?’
‘Are you for real?’
Gloria pursed her lips and Romy knew it was either answer or be badgered for…forever.
‘If I had to reduce someone to a list, my perfect partner would be serious, committed, optimistic, thoughtful and kind. He would remember my parents’ birthdays and give up his window seat in a plane.’
Gloria grimaced. ‘Sounds more like the qualities of a good priest than a good husband. But unfortunately I can picture who you are describing without even thinking about it.’
So could Romy and for that she was infinitely thankful. ‘At least it’s a tad more specific than that rubbish. How about you?’
‘Did you not hear me regale you concerning Mr Fox’s glorious butt an hour ago? And now I see there is a devious mind to go with it. Your Mr Fox is someone I’d happily bump into in a dark alley.’
If only the girl was not the most astute assistant she had ever worked with…
‘Don’t get ideas, Gloria. He’s not my Mr Fox.’
‘But now he’s our client?’
‘Looks that way.’
‘Fantastic.’
Romy expected Gloria, who refused to wear skirts or high heels, claiming they were a form of bondage imposed by men to put women at a disadvantage, of all people to be outright offended by Sebastian’s ridiculous list. But alas, she seemed to have quickly succumbed to the man’s more flagrant charms.
Gloria leapt from her chair and practically skipped to the door. ‘I’d be happy to take dictation for every one of your meetings with that one.’
Romy held her arms out, palms upwards in submission. ‘If it will make your day.’
‘Romy, that would make my year.’
Sebastian sat back in a dark leather chair in the office he kept in a cottage in the back yard of his Hawthorn home. He’d been in there all afternoon, catching up on correspondence, including forwarding the paperwork necessary to clear up his change of legal representation.
Now moonlight from the large bay windows streamed into the small room, spilling across glass cases filled with his sporting trophies, medals and pennants. Having them on display, even in this private room had been Melinda’s choice. Sebastian would have put them in storage but Melinda insisted he keep them as a reminder of his wonderful successes.
All they did was remind him that he no longer professionally played the game he loved. A back injury sustained long ago had cut short his promising career before he had even hit his stride.
But he still preferred that cosy room to all others. His big house was too big. Too quiet. Too lonely. It had been built to house a large family and as such had never realised its potential.
Rather than submit to the usual claustrophobia creeping up on him, to gain a much-needed boost of human contact, he dialled his sister’s phone number.
‘Hey, Melinda.’
‘Hi, Seb. What’s up?’
Sebastian heard the clank of cooking pans and pictured Melinda in the kitchen with the phone tucked between her chin and her shoulder.
‘Just calling to say hi.’
‘Hi.’ She paused. ‘What is it? Come on, it’s dinner time. Hurry up.’
Sebastian had rung to let her in on his project. She wanted him to get a project and he had obeyed. But how on earth would he tell her his project involved the babe moulding him for marriage? If he was in the same room he just knew that Melinda would scuff him about the ears and accuse him of making a play for the woman. Which he most certainly wasn’t. The thing was, he needed Romy. He needed her passion, her energy, her faith in a happily ever after.
Though Melinda would do anything for him, she could not do this. She just would not understand. She had gone straight from home into Tom’s arms and had lived ten solid years with her wonderful family.
‘Put Chris on.’
‘He’s doing his homework.’
‘Come on. Put my nephew on or I’ll call you Mindy forever and ever.’
‘Fine. Chris!’ she shouted out so that even the neighbours would hear. ‘Uncle Seb’s on the phone!’
Sebastian heard the muffled noise of footsteps thundering down the carpeted stairs.
‘Here he is.’
‘Thanks, Mindy.’
‘You little—’
‘Hey, Uncle Seb! Mum said you’re taking us out Sunday. Where are you taking us?’
‘I was thinking the zoo.’
‘Yeah? Cool!’
Sebastian felt all his cares slip far, far away as he slumped back into his soft chair and listened to the excited babble of his young nephew.

CHAPTER FOUR
AROUND eight o’clock that night Romy and Gloria tumbled into Fables on Flinders in a mass of coats and scarves. The bar, with its wood panelling, burgundy leather seating and lawyerly clientele, may as well have been a law firm with a liquor licence.
Romy ordered a glass of white wine. ‘You need more colour in your life, Gloria,’ she said as Gloria sipped on her Black Russian through a straw.
They soon spotted Alan with a few of his cronies. He waved them over. They were like clones of every other man in the place, the men Romy associated with on a daily basis. They were young and successful in their tailored suits and handmade shoes but, considering their profession, these attributes were tempered by male-pattern baldness and premature pessimism.
‘We hear you have stolen Alan’s meal ticket,’ one of the guys said.
‘Jealous?’ Gloria asked.
The guy shrugged and said nothing and received a good ribbing from the others.
‘I am sorry, Alan,’ Romy said. ‘He didn’t get any encouragement from me.’
‘Don’t worry, Romy,’ Alan said. ‘I’ve had a day to get over it. And I’m sure I will be able to put food on the table this winter. So is he giving you any trouble?’
She shrugged. ‘Nah.’ But that was the worst part. Since his recipe fax she had jumped every time her intercom had beeped or her phone had rung. She had expected him to come back, or send another fax or at least call. And since he had not, her nerves were shot.
‘He’s a big pussycat,’ Gloria said.
‘It’s the big cats that you have to watch,’ Alan said. ‘They’re smooth, they’re quick and they’re lethal.’
‘Thank you, Alan. I’ll be sure to remember that.’
Beside her, Gloria drew in a sharp breath and Romy saw her eyes widen. Romy followed their direction to find her very own tomcat standing by the table, with a Cheshire grin spread across his face.
‘Evening, Alan,’ Sebastian said. ‘Hi, boys.’
The men all gave him hearty handshakes. Even after having dumped their firm he was still obviously a very popular bloke. A man’s man.
His attention turned to Romy and her stomach flipped. With his hair slicked back, face freshly shaven, wearing an immaculate charcoal-grey suit with a matching overcoat he was a knockout. She could sense Gloria all but batting her mascara-loaded lashes beside her.
Who was she kidding? He was a woman’s man if he was anything. Though decked out in similar garb to those around him, Romy recognised that he was like a lion amongst the surrounding pack of hyenas. Ideas and plans bubbled excitedly to the surface just looking at him. Plans about their plans, of course.
‘Were you looking for me, Sebastian?’ she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.
‘That I was. Thought tonight was as good a night as any to get started on our project.’
Romy flinched. Her gaze swung around the table and she found several pairs of desperately eager eyes turned her way. If they knew that she, Romy Bridgeport, hard-nosed divorce lawyer, thought she could help Sebastian Fox, renowned playboy, land himself a wife for life there would be no living it down. But of course if she kept such a high-profile, lucrative client happy by succeeding in the task, then she would be lauded as the most innovative and hands-on divorce lawyer in town. Even partnership material?
So before any incriminating questions could be asked, she slithered out of the seat. ‘Of course. No time like the present.’
Gloria plonked down her drink and made to follow. Romy all but shoved her back into her place as she shot her a warning glance. ‘Stay, Gloria. Have one for me.’ And keep your mouth shut!
She grabbed a hold of Sebastian by the elbow and all but dragged him from the table. Her friends waved their goodbyes amidst some barely hidden jokes and catcalls.
‘What was that all about?’
‘You just happened to be the topic of conversation before you arrived. They warned me you could be trouble.’
‘What with?’ He paused and then it seemed to dawn on him. ‘With you?’
Romy’s face burned in an instant, one of the pitfalls of having such pale skin. ‘I hardly think that is what they meant.’
He appraised her face as he led her out the front door. ‘They had cause to think as much. But you know what? You must be the first attractive woman for whom I have not had one thought of marrying.’
‘Lucky me.’ She had no idea whether to feel relieved or offended. She shot him a look as she slipped by and searched his face for any sign of the same intense reaction her body suffered in his presence. He smiled blandly back and she decided it was a one-way street.
Well, that was all the better. Physical attraction was a fickle thing. It came and it went and so long as one of them was completely unaffected it would slip away, unspoken. And nobody would be left a blithering, humiliated mess, which was the best one could hope for in a situation like that.
‘But since you are already engaged I guess that lets us both off the hook,’ Sebastian said.
She glared at him. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning you won’t be looking to me as some sort of available suitor to take you away from all your worries.’
‘And what worries would those be?’ she asked between clenched teeth.
‘You tell me.’
‘The only worry that comes directly to mind is the fact that my time has been annexed by one client who I believe will be wasting said time. Anything you could do to sort that out for me would be much appreciated.’
‘Alas, that’s the one thing I cannot do.’
He grinned, her chest tightened and she could have slapped him for it.
‘But at least we can focus on our project knowing we are both safe from each other’s clutches.’
She tried to convince herself that the idea of being in his clutches could not have been less appealing. ‘Well, that’s just excellent. I always feel so much more comfortable with a new client once I am sure they feel safe from my clutches.’

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