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Romance for Cynics
Nicola Marsh
Must. Not. Fall. For. Fake. Boyfriend.Cashel Burgess’s PR team have come up with a plan to salvage his reputation and show his ‘softer’ side by entering a Valentine’s Day competition to find Australia’s Most Romantic Couple. It’s so ridiculous it might actually work. The hitch? He doesn’t even have a girlfriend. But that’s not about to stop him…Thanks to a good-for-nothing ex, gardener Lucy Grant hates Valentine’s Day. But when Cash makes her an offer too good to refuse Lucy finds herself half of the most cynical couple in Australia! The only problem is when a man fakes it this well, a girl might be tempted to turn fiction into fact…



Cash wrenched his mouth from hers and they stared at each other in stunned silence, their chests heaving, breathing ragged.
Lucy couldn’t tear her gaze away from Cash’s.
He didn’t look like a guy who was acting.
He looked as smitten as she was.
’You’d do anything for the cameras,’ she said, eager to break the unbearable tension between them.
He ducked his head to whisper in her ear. ’If that was you playacting, sweetheart, I’ll double your fee.’
She tossed her head. ’Okay. So we kissed. Big deal.’
’We’re attracted to each other.’ He ran a fingertip down her cheek. ’It’s not a crime to admit it.’
Lucy gritted her teeth. No way could she admit to wanting Cash.
The last thing she needed was to get involved in some weird half-assed relationship that had started out fake and yet involved very real sex.
Sex? Yikes. She really was in trouble.
Dear Reader
Valentine’s Day can inspire mixed feelings in people.
If you’re part of a romantic couple the pressure’s on for your better half to impress with grand gestures.
If you’re single you harbour hopes that a secret admirer will finally declare his undying love while trying not to turn a pale shade of green as your BFF’s partner lavishes her with gifts and flowers.
For confirmed romance cynics like Lucy and Cash, Valentine’s Day can be summed up in a few words: over-commercialised claptrap for gullible fools!
So what happens when these two cynics must fake a relationship for a week in the lead-up to the big day?
Will true love win over the most hardened hearts?
I had so much fun having Lucy and Cash deal with a variety of romantic situations designed to taunt and challenge.
The outcome?
This confirmed romantic is not telling.
You’ll need to read the book to find out!
Happy reading!
Nicola
www.nicolamarsh.com
Romance
for Cynics
Nicola Marsh


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
NICOLA MARSH has always had a passion for writing and reading. As a youngster she devoured books when she should have been sleeping, and later kept a diary whose contents could be an epic in itself!
These days, when she’s not enjoying life with her husband and sons in her home city of Melbourne, she’s at her computer, creating the romances she loves in her dream job.
Visit Nicola’s website at www.nicolamarsh.com for the latest news of her books.
This and other titles by Nicola Marsh are available in eBook format at www.millsandboon.co.uk
This one is for my dedicated readers and fellow romantics who believe true love will always triumph.
May all your happily-ever-afters be a heartbeat away.
Contents
Chapter One (#u10b7dc9c-d9ff-53d1-bceb-1c26e8ef2d4f)
Chapter Two (#u6b8f9fc4-48b1-5258-b3b6-840ebb6520d4)
Chapter Three (#ud09c7b9d-52ed-5f3d-904f-0bc383cf4ae5)
Chapter Four (#u52fe581b-d6fd-5d86-8d33-5e2a541a5c20)
Chapter Five (#u7537a762-80e3-58b0-b3cd-71ca8d1cb456)
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)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
ONE
‘This is a screw-up of monumental proportions.’ Cashel Burgess flung the daily newspaper on his desk and glared at the offending print.
Maybe if he stared at it hard enough this whole damn mess would disappear.
As if.
‘That’ll teach you for dating beautiful bimbos.’ Barton Clegg, an old college buddy who had the power to get him out of this godforsaken mess, pointed at the picture in the paper. ‘She’s a stunner all right, but Cash?’ Barton made a gesture resembling grabbing him by the balls and twisting. ‘She’s got you by these, mate.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ Cash pushed away from his desk, stood and resumed pacing, something he’d been doing way too much of since he’d learned the starlet he’d given financial advice to over a long lunch was concocting some twisted version of what had happened between the veal scaloppini and tiramisu.
‘Why did you call me over?’
‘Damage control.’ Cash stopped pacing and stabbed a finger at the paper. ‘You know I lost a packet when that overseas bank went under. And now this. If I lose clients over some slighted woman’s concocted BS...’ Cash shook his head. ‘The PR firm you work for is the best in the business. I need you to boost my profile to overshadow this crap.’
He turned the newspaper over before he did something crazy. Like stab a letter opener through the woman’s heart.
Bart shook his head. ‘We’re not taking on new clients at the moment, you know that.’
Cash frowned and stared down his soon-to-be former best friend. ‘You owe me after I got your ass out of trouble the night the dean bailed you up following that butt-out-the-back-window-of-the-uni-bus prank.’
Bart grinned like a goofball. ‘Those were the days.’
Cash rolled his eyes. ‘You’re a putz.’
‘A putz that’s going to get you out of a fix, apparently.’ Bart swivelled on the ergonomic chair. ‘I can put in a good word for you but it won’t do any good...’
A frown momentarily creased Bart’s brow before he snapped his fingers and leaped from the chair. ‘There is a way the firm can take you on. Guaranteed.’
Relieved he’d found a way out of this mess, Cash nodded. ‘Whatever it is, I’ll do it.’
A knowing grin spread across his friend’s face. ‘Sure?’
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Cash perched on the edge of his desk. ‘As you so delicately implied, that woman has my balls in a vice, so yeah, I’ll do anything.’
‘Fine. Then all you need to do is find yourself a girlfriend for a week.’
‘What the—?’
‘The firm’s running a massive fundraiser in the lead up to Valentine’s Day. A week-long love-in, where couples do a bunch of mushy stuff together, get filmed, soundbites get posted on the firm’s website and people vote for the most romantic couple.’ Bart’s smug grin widened. ‘You wanted positive PR. What could be better than raising a stack of cash for a good cause while being viewed by millions? Oh, and make sure your girlfriend is clean and wholesome, the opposite of your usual arm candy.’
Speechless, Cash gaped at his friend. ‘Are you freaking crazy? Where the hell do I find a girlfriend for a week?’
Bart waved away his concern. ‘Minor details.’ He strolled towards the massive French windows overlooking the sprawling lawn of Cash’s Williamstown mansion. ‘I’m sure you’ll figure something out.’
Cash’s fingers curled into fists. This couldn’t be happening. Bad enough he’d lost a bundle after following a bad investment tip from one of the best in the business, an old college mentor.
But having some scorned woman spreading gossip and innuendo about him because he’d knocked her back? That was something else. She was damaging his reputation in an industry where reputation was everything.
He gave financial advice to the stars. Australia’s elite actors and musicians came to him when they wanted to invest their money. And he’d built a considerable fortune from it.
He liked money. Liked the comfort derived from seeing cold, hard cash accumulate in the bank, providing security and reliability. Two things he’d never had growing up.
With the threat of his cash source drying up, Cash had turned to Bart. His mate’s solution sounded easy enough but he couldn’t exactly pull a girlfriend out of thin air.
Bart wolf-whistled. ‘Hey, what about her?’
‘Who?’
‘The hottie in the obscenely tight shorts.’
Cash crossed to the window, where Bart had his nosed pressed against the glass like a hormonal teenager.
‘Lucy? You’re kidding, right?’
Lucy Grant, his gardener, would be the last woman he’d ask to be his fake girlfriend for a week.
The woman despised him.
Not that she’d ever said or done anything overt, but she gave off an air of untouchability that made him want to ruffle her.
So he’d tried. Several times. Whenever they crossed paths, he’d flirt with her. Deliberately taunting, trying to get a rise out of her.
Nada.
Her hands-off aura intrigued him a little, but he hadn’t given her aloofness much thought. Except those odd times he’d been taking a business call and found himself at this very window, copping a very nice eyeful of firm ass, long legs and B-cups in a tight tank top.
Watching Lucy stride as she mowed his lawn or bend over as she clipped hedges made working from home that much more pleasurable.
In fact, he timed his rare workdays from home with her fortnightly gardening visits. Maybe she’d crack one of these days and give him a smile? Doubtful, considering the death glare she’d shot him this morning when they’d crossed paths on the back patio.
‘Why not?’ Bart peeled his nose away from the window with reluctance. ‘The firm only has room for one more couple and they’re closing applications today.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I put in a good word for you and you’re in. Guaranteed.’
‘You’re nuts,’ Cash said, his gaze unwittingly drifting to where Lucy stood near the front gate, pruning with her usual efficiency.
For all he knew, Lucy had a hubby and a string of dirt-smudged rug-rats at home. Though she didn’t wear a ring...not that it meant anything. Probably took it off for safety reasons while working.
Cash shook his head. ‘I don’t know the woman.’
‘No time like the present to get to know her.’ Bart glanced at his watch. ‘I need to head back to the office and I need your answer now. You in?’
Tension knotted the muscles in Cash’s neck. The last thing he felt like doing was parade around for seven days acting like a lovestruck fool.
But his business was everything. He’d worked too long and too hard to let it suffer because of circumstances beyond his control.
He’d approached Bart because he needed positive PR. But Valentine’s Day? Seriously?
‘Three...two...one...’ Bart made a buzzing sound and Cash nodded.
‘Fine. I’ll do it.’
Bart smirked as he shrugged into his suit jacket. ‘So who’s the lucky lady going to be?’
‘Leave that to me,’ Cash said, mentally scrolling through his list of female friends and coming up empty.
Half of them he’d dated and would never go there again. The other half wanted more and would see this week of lovey-dovey crap as a full-blown declaration.
Uh-uh. He needed someone without any romantic illusions.
Someone without any view to the future.
Someone without cunning, ulterior motives or the urge to shackle him to a ball and chain.
As he walked Bart out and Lucy acknowledged him with a curt nod, he knew.
He needed someone like Lucy.
* * *
‘Damn it.’ Lucy’s pruning shears slipped and she hacked off a chunk of ivy leaf violet when Cash appeared at the front door.
The guy had that effect on her. The ability to raise her hackles and make her want to chop something off—not of the flora variety.
Not his fault entirely, that she had a healthy disregard for millionaires in slick suits. It was a personal aversion, one she’d honed to a fine art nine years ago.
And Cash seemed more charming than most, with his ready smile and quick wit. But that was what put her on guard: his ability to flirt without trying, his easy-going approach when she knew it would be a practiced façade presented to the world.
Go-getters like him wouldn’t get anywhere if they were that laid-back all the time. And she knew enough about her number one client Cashel Burgess, courtesy of Google, to assume he would be a tiger in the boardroom.
Self-made millionaire by the time he was twenty-eight. High IQ, skipped a year at high school. Economics degree. MBA. Impressive jobs at elite actuary firms before opening his own financial advisory business to the stars.
He moved in A-list circles, often gracing the social pages and gossip columns in Melbourne media. Par for the course, considering he always had a busty blonde actress on his arm. She half expected to see the entire female cast of Melbourne’s top-rating soap opera stroll out of his house the mornings she worked here, but surprisingly she’d never seen a woman do the walk of shame out of his enviable mansion. Perhaps he spirited them away out the back.
No, she didn’t trust guys who behaved one way in public and another in private. Which was why she preferred ignoring him when they crossed paths every two weeks.
She knew her aloofness was why he deliberately went out of his way to seek her out. He saw her coolness as a challenge. She didn’t let it bother her. If anything, she notched her haughtiness up further. No way in hell would she ever let down her guard, because then she might have to face reality: that a small part of her was super attracted to the whole casually mussed brown hair, piercing blue eyes, chiselled jaw, dimpled smile thing he had going on.
Unfathomable. And wrong on so many levels, considering she’d vowed to never go for a suit again.
Must be her dating drought making her secretly lust after her boss. Maybe she should say yes the next time the guy at the hardware shop asked her out?
Cash’s visitor slid into a Porsche and backed out of the drive with a jaunty wave in her direction. She managed a terse nod in response and gripped the pruning shears, ready to resume work.
However, rather than heading back into the house, Cash started down the path towards her.
Crap.
They’d already done their usual him-flirt-her-avoid dance this morning so what did he want now? An encore?
She opened the shears then snapped them shut with a loud metallic clink that carried clear across the garden and she could’ve sworn she saw Cash falter, wince or both. Probably wishful thinking but she did it again for good measure.
‘Is that a warning?’ he said, eyeing the shears with a mix of wariness and amusement.
The corners of her mouth twitched against her better judgement. ‘No, but it could be if you keep hassling me while I’m trying to work.’
He smiled and the impact of those lips curving hit her somewhere in the vicinity of her solar plexus. ‘Why don’t you put the DIY castrating tool down so we can talk?’
This time, she couldn’t stop the laughter spilling from her lips. ‘About?’
‘Wow.’ He clutched his heart and staggered a little. ‘You’re gorgeous when you smile.’
‘And you’re full of it.’ She waved the shears in his direction. ‘What do you want?’
He flinched. ‘Not that.’
Damn, she loved sparring with a quick-witted guy. And if she were completely honest with herself, she missed it. Missed the fun of swapping banter with a guy who could fire back.
‘I’m busy—’
‘I really need to talk to you.’ His sincerity scared her as much as his overt flirting. ‘Would you like to come inside for a drink?’
‘No thanks.’ She shook her head. Bad enough bumping into him outside. No way would she set foot inside his place and risk pining for what she’d once had.
She’d put her past behind her a long time ago but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit there were times when she missed the luxury, the wealth, the glamour. ‘What’s up? Is it my work—?’
‘No, nothing like that.’ He huffed out a breath and for the first time since she’d started working for the tycoon six months ago via referral, he appeared uncertain and unsure. And damn, if that hint of vulnerability didn’t make him all the more appealing.
‘I have a problem I need your help with.’ A frown appeared between his brows. ‘Actually, it’s more than a problem. More like an impending catastrophe.’
Her curiosity was piqued. ‘Unless it has something to do with your jasmine wilting or your compost needing mulching, not sure what I can do to help.’
His frown eased as his mouth lost its pinched quirk. ‘This isn’t a gardening matter.’
‘Then I’m not sure what I can do—’
‘I need a fake girlfriend for a week and you’d be perfect.’
TWO
The shears slipped from Lucy’s hand and clattered to the path, thankfully missing her steel-capped boots, which had cost a small fortune.
She stared at Cash in disbelief. ‘You’re crazy—’
‘Just hear me out, okay?’ He held up his hands. Yeah, as if that would stop her from knocking some sense into him. Figured. The smart, gorgeous, funny ones were always certified lunatics.
‘My business is in danger of losing some major clients and I need a mega-positive PR injection.’ He pressed his temple, as if staving off a headache. She knew the feeling. ‘GR8 4U Public Relations is the best in Melbourne and they’re running a week-long fundraiser, which would be perfect for my business’s needs, but the catch is I need to be part of a couple.’ He nodded at her. ‘And that’s where you come in.’
She laughed, great hysterical peals she couldn’t stop once she started.
‘It’s not that funny,’ he said, eyeing her with a beguiling blend of wounded pride and little-boy-lost.
‘It’s freaking hilarious.’ She clutched her sides and huddled over a little, drawing in deep breaths to stop the giggles. ‘You’ve probably got a host of bimbos on speed dial and you think I should be your fake girlfriend?’
The chuckles started again and she would’ve had a hard time stopping them if Cash hadn’t placed a finger against her lips to quiet her.
As a silencing technique, it worked a treat. Because the moment he touched her, laughter was the furthest thing from her mind, considering she had to muster indignation or annoyance or something to stop from doing what she’d like to: kiss that finger.
She swatted his hand away and he continued. ‘All the women I know would be unsuitable. They want a commitment or a wedding ring. That’s why you’d be perfect.’
As she opened her mouth to argue he said, ‘You don’t like me.’
‘That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all day.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Believe me, if I had other options I’d take them but my business is everything to me and I can’t afford to lose it.’
‘With a place like this, surely you’ve got a few million or ten stashed away for a rainy day?’ She gestured at the house, a two-storey French Provincial style mansion sprawled across a double block on Williamstown’s foreshore, where real estate prices were sky-high. ‘Why don’t you dip into that?’
His lips compressed into a thin, angry line. ‘I need the positive PR more than the money.’
If this wasn’t about his business losing clients and money, there must be one hell of a good reason why he’d approached her, a woman he barely knew, to pose as his girlfriend for a week.
‘Why?’ She pinned him with the usual glare she reserved for their brief meetings. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’
His gaze shifted to stare over her shoulder, focused on the intense blue of Port Phillip Bay on a perfect summer’s day. ‘I work with famous people whose egos are as big as the pay cheques they want me to invest for them. My reputation is everything. And if that’s tarnished in any way...’
She raised her eyebrows, encouraging him to continue. He shook his head and his pained expression almost made her feel sorry for him. Almost. ‘One of Melbourne’s hottest actresses didn’t take too kindly to my refusing her offer of...uh, side benefits to our business arrangement.’
The unexpected jab of jealousy took her by surprise, as did the begrudging respect. Not many red-blooded guys would turn down taking things further with the sort of woman she knew Cash did business with.
‘Anyway, she’s spreading rumours. Bad ones. And I can’t go on the record in the media without adding fuel to the fire and looking like a callous bastard, so I need to tackle this a different way.’
‘And you think having a fake girlfriend for a week will do the trick?’ She smothered her chuckle when he glared at her. ‘Seriously, I need to get back to work—’
‘There’ll be a significant financial incentive.’
And just like that, Lucy’s respect for the crazy yet gorgeous Cash plummeted. ‘You want to pay me to be your girlfriend?’
He puffed up as if she’d insulted him. ‘Well, there has to be something in it for you, right?’
His assessing gaze slid over her, leaving her skin prickling. ‘It’s not like you’d do it out of the goodness of your heart.’
She snapped her fingers. ‘That’s right, considering I don’t even like you.’
Sick of the distraction, and ultimate stuff-up of her time management for the day, she picked up the shears. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find some other poor sucker—uh, I mean eternally grateful, simpering female to pander to your every whim for a week.’
He folded his arms, unimpressed by her flippancy. ‘So you won’t do it?’
She snapped the shears twice in response.
‘There’s nothing I can give you to sweeten the offer?’
She didn’t like the way her stomach fell at his smooth tone. ‘Nope. Not a thing. Not even if you promised to walk through Melbourne in a pair of my shorts, or gave me carte blanche to remodel this entire garden from start to finish.’
Actually, she could be tempted by that. Not the shorts thing. The garden. It was something she’d thought about often while doing the basic maintenance.
A garden like this deserved to be loved and made to shine. Mowing the lawn and keeping the hedges trimmed was a travesty, considering the underlying beauty.
How many times had she mentally planned a complete redesign? Loads, because she liked to daydream while she worked. Liked to envisage her landscaping business gaining notoriety so she could work on some of the city’s many beautiful gardens.
Ironic, that one of the things that mattered to her most these days—her job—was born from her disastrous marriage.
The sprawling garden surrounding Adrian’s Toorak mansion had been incredible. She’d spent many hours there, first entertaining, later losing herself in tending to it to block out the ever-increasing evidence that her husband was a lying, cheating scumbag.
She’d buried herself in books too, doing a horticultural science course to foster her love of all things green, and by the time the divorce had come through Lucy’s Landscaping had been a thriving business for a year.
She liked maintaining pristine gardens of the wealthy clients she’d once called friends. They trusted her and she ignored their pitying glances and overt condescension. Gardening paid the bills and made her happy. Nothing else mattered, apart from Gram, the woman who’d given her courage to leave Adrian in the first place.
Calculated interest sparked Cash’s eyes. ‘What if I said you could re-landscape the entire place?’
Damn her traitorous heart for leaping at the prospect. ‘Do you know how much that would set you back?’
His lips curved. ‘I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.’
‘Thirty grand.’
To his credit, he didn’t blink. Typical millionaire.
‘I need you as my girlfriend, Lucy,’ he said, taking a step closer. Too close. The scent of his spicy shower gel mingling with the nearby Daphne to make her swoon a little. ‘Please?’
With his big blue eyes fixed on her and that devastatingly sexy smile, Lucy wondered how many women had actually managed to say no to Cash Burgess.
She bet she’d be the first.
‘Sorry, can’t do it.’ She made a grand show of glancing at her watch. ‘And if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for an appointment.’
Before he could respond, she tucked the pruning shears into the tool belt around her waist and pushed the lawnmower towards her trailer as fast as her legs could carry her.
Because for one tension-fraught second, with that silent plea in his steady gaze, she’d almost said yes.
* * *
Lucy had barely kicked off her boots at her grandmother’s back door and entered the kitchen when she knew something was drastically wrong.
Gram baked every morning. If Lucy gardened to forget her husband, Gram baked to remember hers.
She supplied local cafés and schools and the local homeless shelter. Baking was Gram’s thing. So to enter the kitchen Lucy had grown up in to find Gram sitting motionless at the dining table with a stack of documents spread before her? As unforeseeable as Cash’s girlfriend-for-a-week proposal.
‘Gram, what’s wrong?’ Lucy pulled up a chair next to her grandmother and reached for her hand, its icy clamminess making foreboding slither through her.
Gram shook her head, the tears trickling down her cheeks as terrifying as her dazed stare fixed on the documents.
Lucy reached for the top one, surprised when Gram’s fingers clamped on her wrist and dug in with surprising strength.
‘Don’t.’
That one word held so much sorrow and pain and devastation, Lucy felt tears burn her eyes.
‘Gram, please, you’re scaring me—’
‘I could lose everything,’ Gram murmured, pushing the papers away so fast they scattered on the kitchen floor. ‘I loved your grandfather but by goodness he was a selfish bastard.’
Lucy stared, shock rendering her incapable of speech. Gram had adored Pops, who’d died twelve months ago. And in all the years they’d raised her, she’d never heard Gram utter one bad word about him.
Lucy had been amazed at how well Gram had handled his death, how pragmatic she’d been. And while she’d seen Gram shed tears at the funeral and afterwards, she’d never seen her look so fiercely angry or blatantly upset.
Lucy laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘Tell me what’s happened.’
Gram finally raised grief-stricken eyes to meet hers. ‘I could lose the house.’
Lucy heard the five words but couldn’t comprehend them. She’d lived most of her life in this house, since her parents had been killed in a car crash when she’d been a toddler.
This cosy cottage in Footscray, one of Melbourne’s working-class suburbs, had been filled with love and laughter and food. Her friends had flocked once news of Gram’s lamingtons and jam tarts and lemon slices had spread, and her grandparents enjoyed being surrounded by young people as much as she revelled in the attention of being smothered with love.
Gram had often told her the story of how Pops had surprised her with the house as a wedding present and Lucy loved the romance of it all. Probably why she’d fallen for her own version of Prince Charming, with Adrian whisking her to live in his palace after they’d married. Pity her prince turned into a toad. But Gram had lived here for almost fifty years. How could she lose the only home she’d ever known?
‘I don’t understand.’ In fact, Lucy didn’t understand much of what had happened today. Tears blurred Gram’s eyes again and she blinked several times before continuing. ‘I’d hoped to avoid telling you any of this, love, but I don’t know who else to turn to.’
Lucy gripped Gram’s hand tight. ‘You’re starting to really worry me, Gram. Tell me everything.’
Gram dragged in a breath and let it out slowly. ‘Your grandfather had a gambling addiction. I didn’t know ’til after he died and the debts started rolling in.’
For the second time in as many minutes, Lucy stared at Gram, dumbstruck.
‘I paid off most of them from our life savings and his small superannuation payout, but now this...’ She picked up the sole remaining document on the table. ‘Your grandfather remortgaged the house to the tune of fifty thousand dollars. And unless I can start making repayments...’
Gram ended on a sob that galvanised Lucy into action. She wrapped her arms around Gram and hung on for dear life, letting her own tears fall. Tears of betrayal, of sadness, of disappointment.
Pops had been her idol. The kind of man she wished Adrian had been like. Moral. Upstanding. Dependable.
To discover it was all a lie was almost as devastating as learning the truth about Adrian’s indiscretions.
When Gram’s sobs petered out, Lucy gently disengaged. ‘It’s okay, Gram, I’ll help.’
‘I’m not taking money from you,’ Gram said, her frown fierce. ‘You’ve got your own mortgage and business. I won’t have you running into financial troubles because of me.’
‘Then we’ll sell this place and you can live with me—’
‘No. A young woman needs her independence and how will you find your own happiness with an old woman crowding your space?’ Gram’s mouth twisted in a mutinous grimace. ‘I have my pride and I’m not leaving this house ’til I’m taken out in a wooden box.’
Lucy only just caught her added, ‘Which may be my only option.’
The thought of Gram doing anything drastic chilled her blood and she grabbed Gram’s upper arms and gave a little shake. ‘I don’t ever want to hear you talking like that. You’re a fighter. You inspired me to fight for what was right with Adrian. You taught me how to survive upheaval and sadness.’
Lucy swallowed the huge lump of emotion clogging her throat. ‘You’re all I have left.’
Guilt clouded Gram’s watery gaze. ‘I’m sorry, love, that was a stupid thing to say. ’Course I’d never do anything silly.’
‘You better not.’ Lucy glared at her for good measure. ‘So if you’re too bloody stubborn to move in with me and you won’t let me help pay your mortgage, what are we going to do?’
‘Got a spare fifty grand lying around?’ Gram joked, trying to alleviate the hopelessness of the situation.
And in that moment, Lucy remembered where she could get her hands on a sizable amount of cash, almost enough to clear Gram’s debt and keep her house safe.
‘Actually, I just might.’
Gram started, then waggled her finger. ‘Don’t you dare even think of approaching that no-good son-of-a-bitch ex-husband of yours to ask for the money.’
Lucy snorted. ‘Gram, we’re desperate, but not that desperate. It’s been nine years since I’ve seen Adrian and I intend to keep it that way.’
‘Good.’ Gram tilted her head to one side, studying her. ‘Then where are you going to get that kind of money?’
‘I’ve got a plan,’ Lucy said, with a sinking heart.
Sadly, it involved backtracking on her adamant stance to not be Cash Burgess’s fake girlfriend for a week, and seeing if she could coerce him into throwing another twenty grand into the coffers to remodel his garden.
‘Is it legal?’
‘Barely,’ Lucy said, with a wry grin.
‘Luce...’ She’d heard Gram’s warning tone so many times as a teenager, it made her feel gooey inside to hear it now.
‘Gram, trust me. You’ll be the first to know what’s going on once I get everything sorted.’
‘You’re a good girl, Luce, always have been.’ Gram patted her cheek. ‘I just wish I could’ve preserved the memory of your grandfather for you.’
Touched by her grandmother’s concern considering the betrayal she must be feeling, Lucy smiled. ‘Nobody’s perfect, Gram. Pops must’ve loved you, and me, very much to try and hide his addiction from us. Does it hurt? You bet. Was he selfish in dumping all this trouble on you? Absolutely. But nothing can taint how much he loved us.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He taught me so much. You both did, and I love you for it.’
Gram swiped at her eyes again. ‘Damn waterworks. You’ve set me off again.’
Lucy sniffled. ‘Dry your eyes. I have a hankering for your signature lemon tart when I return so start baking.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To see a man about a plan.’
And a garden.
And a pact that would see her pose as Cash Burgess’s girlfriend for a long seven days.
Desperate times indeed.
THREE
Lucy spied Cash sitting on the back patio the moment she rounded the side of the house.
He had a stack of manila folders scattered on the table, an open laptop and a mobile phone. But he wasn’t working. Instead, he stared into space, a frown grooving his brows.
Gone was the über-confident air he wore like the finest designer suit. He looked like a guy with mega problems.
She knew the feeling.
Even now, thirty minutes later, she was still reeling from the news of her grandfather’s gambling addiction.
Not once had she suspected he had a problem. He’d worked hard his entire life at the local paper-mill factory, had given her and Gram a secure home, food on the table and the occasional holiday to Sydney.
Hers hadn’t been a Spartan upbringing but they hadn’t been flush with cash either. She wondered later, after her marriage went pear-shaped, if that had been a major attraction with Adrian. Not that she married him for his money. In fact, she hadn’t known the extent of his wealth until they’d been dating a few months and by then she was head over heels. But the money had been a welcome bonus after her frugal family life.
After he’d retired Pops had played lawn bowls, hung out at the pub with his mates to watch the horse racing on a Saturday arvo and gone into town weekly for lunch with his poker club.
Now, those outings took on a whole new meaning. Rather than having a beer with his cronies, he’d probably been gambling heavily, losing his hard-earned savings, then borrowing on the house he’d paid off years earlier.
Poor Gram. Lucy admired her resilience. And her pride. She didn’t blame Gram for not wanting to move in with her. The small outer-city weatherboard house she’d bought after the divorce was cosy on a good day. She loved its quaintness and what the house lacked in size, the garden more than made up for.
It had been the major attraction when she’d been house hunting and she’d fallen in love with the English cottage garden gone wild and the massive veggie patch.
The house could’ve been a shack for all she cared once she’d seen the garden but, thankfully, the Californian-bungalow-styled house was perfect for her needs.
Having Gram sell her house and move in had seemed like the only option at the time when she’d heard of her grandfather’s treachery.
But there was another solution to Gram’s financial woes and Lucy was looking straight at him.
She bounded up the steps, intent on being friendlier. Because if Cash had found a replacement fake girlfriend in the last half-hour, she was screwed.
‘Sorry to interrupt, but do you have a minute?’
He glanced at her hands and raised an eyebrow. ‘No unspoken castration threats via gardening tools this time?’
‘My idea of a joke,’ she said, sitting in the wrought-iron chair opposite without waiting to be asked. ‘Probably a touch of sunstroke. Gardeners’ occupational hazard.’
The corners of his mouth eased into a smile that slugged her to the gut. ‘But it’s cloudy today.’
She smiled at him in return. ‘Can’t you give a girl a break?’
‘I will if you do that more often.’ He leaned forward and traced her mouth, his fingertip doing crazy things to her insides.
Considering they had to fake it for the next week, her reaction to the charmer? Not good.
She leaned back, out of touching reach. ‘Trust me, I’ll be all smiles if I’m your girlfriend for the week.’
His eyebrows shot up so fast she laughed.
‘Yeah, I changed my mind.’ She held up a finger. ‘With one stipulation. Your garden quote increases to fifty grand.’
His eyes narrowed in speculation. ‘For that price I could hire every PR firm on the eastern seaboard to make me look good.’
‘Yeah, but you wouldn’t have an amazing garden at the end of it or have me on your arm playing the devoted girlfriend doing whatever I’m supposed to be doing.’
She made it sound like an offer too good to refuse when in fact she’d be getting a lot more out of this bizarre arrangement than him.
Payment for the garden refurbishment would clear Gram’s debt and keep her cottage safe, while the huge boost to her profile in the landscaping business would ensure other wealthy clients would hire her. And that in turn would enable her to set up a healthy nest egg so Gram could see out her days in peace.
Gram deserved that safety net, after raising her.
He continued to study her, coolly assessing. ‘What made you change your mind?’
‘Would you believe a woman’s prerogative?’
‘No.’
‘I need the money.’ A half-truth that would have to suffice. She didn’t know Cash Burgess—had no intention of getting to know him. Theirs was a mutually beneficial business arrangement. End of story.
The fact she was a teensy-weensy bit attracted to him? Irrelevant. Besides, she had little doubt that spending a week in his obnoxiously superior company would cure her of that.
After what felt like an eternity, where he seemed to study every freckle on her nose, he nodded. ‘You pose as my girlfriend for a week. Attend a few PR functions. Boost my profile. No romantic entanglement whatsoever. And I’ll pay you fifty grand to remodel my garden. Deal?’
He held out his hand and she shook it. ‘Deal.’
But rather than let go of her hand, Cash held it firmly, tugged hard, and pulled her half across the table to meet his lips.
This was so not part of the plan.
* * *
Damn. Cash had wanted to rattle Lucy’s customary cool exterior. Had wanted to see if he could get a reaction out of her other than a smart-ass comeback.
The impulsive kiss had been about making a dent in her impenetrable armour.
It hadn’t been about making him want more, to the point where he could easily have devoured her.
He’d expected a rough shove away and a resounding slap. He hadn’t expected her lips to soften, to mould, to cling.
And then she made a sound, a soft, seductive sigh that shot straight to his groin.
He wrenched his mouth from hers and stared in fascination at the woman who would be his girlfriend for a week.
Looked like faking it for the cameras with Lucy wouldn’t be such a hardship after all.
‘What was that all about?’ She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, as if she couldn’t stand the thought of boy cooties.
‘Seeing if we’d be compatible.’
She didn’t like his smug, trite answer, her big brown eyes sparking caramel fire. ‘Don’t you dare do that again—’
‘Can’t promise that, considering we’ll be hamming up the romance in front of the cameras.’
‘Cameras?’
His grin widened. ‘The firm who’s doing me a favour, GR8 4U Public Relations, are filming the couples involved, posting snippets on the firm’s website for voting, and the most voted couple raises the most funds for charity.’
‘We’re being filmed?’ Horror darkened her eyes as she waved her hand between them. ‘So you and I will need to...I mean, we’ll have to act all lovey-dovey...bloody hell.’
He laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not expecting to win the thing. Just being in the competition is going to provide all the positive publicity I need to stave off any damage that woman can possibly inflict.’
She cocked her head to one side, studying him. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Anything for my girlfriend.’
With an exasperated sigh, she ignored his wink. ‘What if people don’t buy our charade? Will you screw me over?’
After that surprisingly sizzling kiss, Cash wished Lucy wouldn’t allude to him screwing her over anything.
He shook his head. ‘Whatever the result of the Valentine’s Day competition, you’ll get your chance to tackle this garden and get your money.’
Her nose wrinkled as if she’d smelled something nasty. ‘Valentine’s Day?’
He could understand her dislike for the ridiculous day that made flower vendors a lot of money and idiots out of any self-respecting guy. ‘We attend a week of romantic functions in the lead-up to Valentine’s Day, where the winner is announced at a formal ball.’
‘This just gets better and better,’ she muttered, frown lines appearing between her brows. ‘Valentine’s Day blows.’
Damn. Cash would have to add blow alongside screwed as words Lucy should never utter around him.
‘Couldn’t agree more. Valentine’s Day is overcommercialised crap for schmucks, but it’s what we’ll sign up for.’
‘Just shoot me now,’ she said, looking so woeful he couldn’t help but smile.
‘Don’t all women dream of hearts and flowers and verbose declarations of love skywritten in fireworks until death us do part?’
She stiffened and squared her shoulders. ‘Not this one.’
‘Go on, admit it. You want a happily ever after as much as the next girl.’ She had such an untouchable quality, he couldn’t resist teasing her.
But he wasn’t expecting to see genuine hurt in her expressive eyes. Hurt he didn’t want to be responsible for.
‘Hey, I was kidding...’ He reached out to touch her hand and she snatched it away.
‘Forget it.’ She stood so abruptly the chair scraped loudly against the patio tiles. ‘I’ll start drawing up plans for the garden and get an itemised quote to you by the weekend.’
‘Sure.’ He should be rapt she’d agreed to his outlandish suggestion to pose as his girlfriend. So why the guilty niggle that he’d pushed her into doing something she’d rather not? ‘We’ll need to meet to go over our dating story, to strategise, stuff like that. How about dinner tomorrow?’
He deliberately chose a date-like rendezvous, to see if she lightened up enough to pull off this charade. Because the last thing he needed was for people to realise they weren’t really a couple and he was doing this for the PR.
‘Dinner?’ She made it sound as if he’d invited her to leap into the Yarra River naked on a frigid winter’s day.
‘That’s what couples do,’ he said, his emphasis not lost when acceptance downturned her mouth.
‘Yeah, you’re right.’ She visibly brightened. ‘But I get to choose the place.’
Was it a power thing? Did Lucy need to feel in control and that was what her funk was about? Fine. Frankly, he didn’t care where they ate as long as they put in a good show for the competition and he didn’t lose his clients and his business.
‘Not a problem. Text me the details.’
‘Done.’
She waved and almost ran down the steps in her haste to escape. How they were going to pull off togetherness for the cameras he’d never know.
As he gathered papers and flipped his laptop shut she called out, ‘Cash?’
He glanced up, surprised by the mischievous glint in her eyes. ‘Yeah?’
‘Tomorrow night? Hope you like it spicy.’
With a jaunty half-salute she was gone, leaving him confused by her hot and cold act and looking forward to tomorrow night more than was good for him.
* * *
That evening, Lucy picked up a half-garlic, half-ham-and-pineapple pizza on the way to supper with Gram. She hoped their favourite comfort food would do just that: provide comfort when she told Gram how she was obtaining the money to save her house.
Gram wouldn’t be impressed. The last of the great romantics, Gram believed everyone deserved a lifetime of love. It had taken her six months after the initial separation to stop asking Lucy if there was any chance of reconciliation with Adrian; and the only reason she’d ceased badgering was because Lucy had finally told her the truth. That Adrian was a serial philanderer with a penchant for spending his considerable wealth buying the affection of women other than his wife.
Gram had never mentioned his name again, which suited Lucy just fine. For while the hurt had faded following the discovery of Adrian’s indiscretions, the shame hadn’t. She’d been seduced by his world, had fallen for the glitz and glamour his wealth provided as much as she’d fallen for him. The designer clothes, the flashy car, the whirlwind of parties. She’d loved it all.
Their marriage had seemed effortless, almost too good to be true. Which figured, considering that it was.
So it wasn’t any great surprise she’d shut herself off from that world when it fell apart. She’d sold off her designer gear, ditched the fancy haircuts and make-up, and found solace in gardening.
She liked dirt trickling through her fingers. She liked the solitude. She liked the small of damp earth and freshly cut grass. There was an inherent honesty in being so close with nature, a comfort she hadn’t found elsewhere.
Gram had understood, had fostered her love for the outdoors and Adrian soon became a distant memory. But Gram’s romantic nature couldn’t be suppressed and she occasionally probed for news of Lucy’s dates, or ‘possibilities’ as Gram liked to call her infrequent forays into dinner or a movie.
The truth was, Lucy didn’t socialise much. She dated occasionally, laid-back guys she’d met at the mulch supplier or tool shop. Blue-collar guys the exact opposite of Adrian.
But she hadn’t felt a buzz in a long time...until today, when Cash had kissed her.
Not good.
She’d done her best to rationalise her reaction for the rest of the day, attributing the spark she’d felt as dormant hormones getting a kick-start.
While that might be true, it didn’t explain the insane yearning to do it again. To see if it had been a fluke, a one-off. To see if he could make her whole body come alive for the first time in for ever.
Cursing under her breath, she let herself into Gram’s cottage through the back door and dumped the pizza on the counter.
‘Hope you’re hungry, Gram,’ she called out, dishing the pizza.
‘Starving. Be there in a sec,’ Gram called out from the bedroom.
Good. A few seconds gave Lucy time to mentally rehearse her spiel. Delivery was key if Gram was to accept her crazy scheme.
‘All done.’ Gram shuffled into the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. ‘No more surprises.’
Curious, Lucy placed their plates at the table and returned to the sink to fill two glasses with water. ‘What were you up to?’
‘Going through your grandfather’s files. Making sure there were no more nasty debts ready to pop up and make our life hell.’
Lucy nodded, saddened by the secrets Pops must’ve kept from those he loved. ‘Good idea.’
Gram sat at the table and licked her lips. ‘Okay. This is your second visit in one day and you bring pizza. What’s going on?’
Lucy slipped an arm around Gram’s shoulders and squeezed. ‘Never could fool you.’
Gram’s eyes twinkled as Lucy took a seat. ‘My girl, you forget that I was your age, once—and I tried every trick in the book.’
‘I’m not sure you will have tried my latest trick, Gram.’ Lucy toyed with the cheese oozing over the crust of her pizza. ‘You know that plan I mentioned to secure the fifty grand? It’s all set.’
Gram’s mouth dropped open before it closed with an audible snap. ‘I hoped...I mean, I thought you were dreaming...how—?’
‘One of my clients wants a complete redesign of his garden. The quote is about fifty thousand.’
Gram’s eyes widened in horror. ‘I can’t take that much of your hard-earned money off you. It wouldn’t be right.’
Lucy should have known this wouldn’t be easy. ‘Gram, you raised me. I owe you everything and this is the least I can do to repay you.’
‘Family don’t need repaying.’ Her lips set in a mutinous line. ‘I won’t take it.’
‘So you’d rather move out? Live in a one-room rented bedsit somewhere?’
Gram glanced away but not before Lucy had glimpsed fear. ‘If that’s what it takes. Your grandfather caused this problem, not you, and I won’t have you paying for his sins.’
Lucy admired Gram’s pride. In fact, she empathised. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with Adrian once she’d discovered his lies and pride had prevented her from taking the generous settlement he’d offered.
Pops had called her foolish at the time but Gram had been quick to silence him, telling him to mind his own business. No, she couldn’t fault Gram for not wanting to take such a hefty sum of money. But it meant Lucy would have to embellish her offer to make it more appealing: namely, appeal to Gram’s romantic side.
‘That garden I’m doing? It’s in exchange for accompanying the client to a few functions.’
Predictably, Gram perked up and lost her stubborn pout. ‘What functions? And who’s this client?’
‘Cashel Burgess.’
A small dent appeared between Gram’s brows. ‘Why does his name sound familiar?’
‘He’s in the papers a fair bit.’ Understatement, considering the number of times his handsome face graced the society pages. The way he put it, his socialising was purely work, but she wondered how many times he’d blurred the lines between personal and professional with his clients.
Not that it was any of her business, but the thought of his many dalliances made her stomach churn and she nudged away the plate of pizza.
‘He’s a financial advisor to the stars.’
Gram fixed her with a steely glare. ‘Doesn’t sound like your type.’
‘He’s not, but he’s a nice enough guy, he asked for my help and I agreed.’
‘On the proviso you get fifty thousand dollars for making over his garden.’ Gram shook her head. ‘What am I missing here? Sounds to me like the guy’s desperate or crazy or both, offering to pay you to attend a few functions.’
Lucy should’ve known Gram wouldn’t give up easily. The last thing she needed was Gram getting ideas about her fake relationship with Cash, but looked as if she’d have to tell her the rest.
‘He’s not desperate.’ Lucy slid her electronic tablet out of her bag and plugged Cash’s name into a search engine. ‘Take a look at the guy.’
She flipped the screen towards Gram, who clutched at her heart. ‘Oh my Lordy, the man’s swoon-worthy.’
Lucy laughed. Not many men made Gram’s swoon-worthy cut. Over the years, the limited list included Frank Sinatra, Rock Hudson, Elvis and more recently George Clooney. High praise indeed for her pretend boyfriend.
‘He looks like that handsome young man in The Notebook.’ Gram stared at her with renewed interest. ‘Not every day my granddaughter gets to parade around with a Ryan Gosling lookalike.’
Lucy stared at the picture of Cash on the screen, tilting her head to one side, and had to admit Gram was right.
Ryan was excessively cute and they’d both cried buckets during that movie. Five times.
Great, now every time she had to look at Cash she’d be imagining Ryan and those sexy scenes...best not go there.
‘You know, maybe this isn’t such a bad idea after all.’ Gram’s gaze strayed from the screen long enough for Lucy to see that familiar calculated, matchmaking gleam. ‘Going out with a young man of that calibre can only be good.’
‘This is a business arrangement, Gram, nothing more.’
Predictably, Gram ignored her warning tone and continued. ‘I know there’s a lot more to this than you’re telling me, missie, but you’ve got a good heart and a smart head on your shoulders. I trust your judgement.’
‘Does this mean you’ll take the money?’
‘We’ll see,’ Gram muttered, her brusqueness tempered by a warm smile, and Lucy took it as a win. ‘Now, let’s eat.’
Lucy was only too happy to comply, but as she bit into the gooey cheese she wondered how smart her judgement had been when she’d let Cash kiss her earlier that day.
And enjoyed it.
FOUR
Lucy didn’t like feeling powerless. She’d felt it once before, around the time Adrian dumped a whole heap of whoop-ass on her head in the form of a divorce. She’d done everything humanly possible in the ensuing years to ensure she never felt that way again.
But following Cash’s impulsive kiss yesterday morning, that was exactly how she’d felt. Powerless. Out of her depth.
He’d done it to rattle her probably. Or just because he could. Guys like him were used to kissing women every day of the week. A power play? An ego trip? Whatever the reason, she didn’t want to bring it up again by asking him.
But she did have to reassert control and that meant putting him on the back foot this time.
She’d assumed meeting him for dinner in a pokey, no-frills Indian restaurant in the heart of Melbourne’s busy CBD would do just that.
She’d been wrong.
From the moment he’d strutted into the place wearing faded denim and a navy polo top, she’d been fidgety and edgy and altogether too flustered.
The guy looked incredible.
She’d never seen him in anything other than slick suits. She preferred him that way: hands-off. The kind of guy she’d never go for again.
But this new, improved version of Cash, his fingers stained orange from eating chicken tikka with his hands, sweat beading his brow from the fiery prawn vindaloo and the constant appreciative moans after every mouthful?
Way too appealing. And ruining her plans to rattle him good and proper.
‘How did you find this place?’ He dipped a piece of naan bread into a golden dahl before popping it into his mouth, his rapturous expression making her increasingly uncomfortable.
Could he look any more...orgasmic? Damn.
‘Stumbled on it a lifetime ago, been coming here ever since,’ she said, ladling more lamb korma on her plate in an effort to keep her hands busy and her mind firmly on the meal. ‘The quality of the food more than makes up for the lack in décor.’
‘I don’t give a flying fig how a place looks if the food tastes this good.’ He scooped up a healthy serve of aloo gobi and spooned it into his mouth to prove it.
‘Aren’t you just full of surprises?’ she said under her breath, not sure whether to laugh or cry at this turn of events.
Pretending to be Cash’s girlfriend would’ve been easier when she didn’t like the guy. Seeing this relaxed, easy to conform side of him? Not good for her peace of mind.
She didn’t want to like him.
Not with the memory of that kiss on constant replay in her head.
‘Go on, admit it.’ He swiped at his mouth with a serviette. ‘You’ve misjudged me.’
Great. Not only was the guy easy-going and gorgeous, he was astute too.
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She crossed her fingers under the table for telling the little white lie.
‘Yeah, you do,’ he said, impossibly smug as he leaned back in his chair and studied her with an intensity that burned hotter than the curries she’d eaten. ‘Because of all that beat-up crap in the media, you thought I’m used to dining in five-star restaurants and I’d hate a place like this.’
Lucy added intelligent to his growing list of attributes. Double damn.
She chose her response carefully, not wanting to give away too much. ‘Not an entirely ludicrous assumption, considering you’re in the papers every week attending some fancy shindig with a famous woman on your arm.’
‘You’ve kept tabs on me?’ His conceited grin infuriated her. ‘Why, Lucy, I didn’t know you cared.’
‘I don’t,’ she snapped, instantly regretting her terse answer when his grin widened. ‘It’s called Googling and being prepared, considering I’ll be your girlfriend for the next week.’
‘So you plugged me into a search engine to check me out. Even better.’ He winked. ‘Discover anything interesting?’
‘Only that you have too much time on your hands by the number of flashy functions you attend.’
And that he had a thing for vacuous blondes. She decided to keep that particular insight to herself.
‘Networking is a huge part of my job,’ he said, his grin fading as he reached for a water. ‘I get most of my clients by word of mouth.’
‘So why should the ramblings of one woman threaten to derail a reputation you’ve built over the years?’
His eyes widened in appreciation. ‘You have done your homework.’
He gulped the water and set the glass on the table. ‘Unfortunately, the referral network my business thrives on is pretty fragile. Stars in the TV industry can be fickle and gossip is easily spread. All it takes is one false rumour and...’
He shook his head. ‘I won’t let that happen. I’ve worked too damn hard to build up my business to let it be ruined by a vindictive woman.’
His honesty impressed her. ‘So what happened to make this woman so intent on revenge? Did you break her heart?’
‘Didn’t get that close.’ He screwed up his face in disgust. ‘She wanted more than one date, I didn’t, and she didn’t take the knock-back kindly. Next thing I know she’s threatening all sorts of bizarre scenarios. I got the impression she’s desperate for publicity for her fledgling career and others I’ve spoken to aren’t impressed by her antics off screen in general.’
‘That’s sad.’
‘Don’t feel sorry for her. I’m the one she can ruin with her craziness.’
Lucy leaned forward and patted his hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be the epitome of a sane girlfriend to counteract your loony ex.’
‘She’s not my ex—’
‘Kidding.’ Lucy tried to move her hand away but not fast enough, as Cash turned his over and captured hers.
‘It’s kinda nice having you want to protect me.’ His thumb brushed her pulse point and she almost leaped off her chair. ‘Something tells me we’re going to be very good together.’
For one insane moment, with Cash holding her hand and staring at her with blatant interest, she could almost believe him.
‘And something tells me if we don’t get our stories straight your reputation isn’t the only one about to flush down the toilet.’ She withdrew her hand. It did little for the residual tingle in her palm. ‘So what’s the spin we put on our faux romance?’
‘We stick to the truth as much as possible,’ he said, looking way too comfortable for a guy about to perpetuate a big, fat lie, while she all but squirmed at the thought of being filmed for some hokey Valentine’s Day fundraiser. ‘We met six months ago through a mutual friend but haven’t started dating ’til recently.’
‘And the fact you’ve kept me hidden away while parading around town with your usual arm candy?’
‘You sound jealous.’ He smirked.
‘I’d have to care first,’ she said, shooting him a sickly sweet smile.
‘I’m a man who likes to keep his personal and professional lives separate, so that’s why we haven’t gone public yet. Those other women? Business.’
‘More like monkey business,’ she muttered, earning another wink for her trouble. ‘Tell me more about these functions we have to attend.’
‘We’re being briefed tomorrow apparently. All I know is we attend a picnic, an eighties-inspired disco and a roller-skating event, before the ball on Valentine’s Day.’
Lucy pretended to stick two fingers down her throat and gag.
He grimaced. ‘Yeah, sounds like a pain in the ass.’
‘The things we do for love, huh?’ She batted her eyelashes and he laughed, the lines crinkling the corners of his eyes adding depth to his face.
‘Want to know what I think?’ He leaned forward.
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘Keep doing that.’ He jabbed a finger in her direction. ‘If we can keep doing this trading quips thing when the cameras are around, they’ll think we’re a real couple for sure.’
‘True,’ she said, remembering the many times Gram and Pops would bicker over the smallest thing. Other couples she’d seen over the years too. That should’ve been her first indication something was wrong with her marriage: the fact that Adrian was far too civilised and they never fought. No relationship was that perfect. She knew that now.
‘Did I pass?’
She blinked away memories better left suppressed. ‘What?’
‘Did I pass your test, the one you set by inviting me to dinner here?’
‘Test?’ she asked, looking as incredulous as possible.
‘Come on, Lucy. I knew from the minute you invited me here that you had something up your sleeve. You couldn’t wait to get me out of my comfort zone.’
She nodded begrudgingly. ‘I like a guy who can adjust to his surroundings. Especially a stuck-up, wealthy guy, who I assumed wouldn’t know dahl from a dollar.’
‘Careful. I could’ve sworn you said you like me.’ He ignored her veiled insults and focused on the one thing she wished he wouldn’t. ‘Which is kinda nice, considering I really like you.’
He was teasing, she knew that, but the small part of her that had been starved of male attention for too long lapped it up.
‘Good to see you practising for the cameras,’ she said, hoping to defuse some of the tension gripping her by gulping her mango lassi.
Sadly, the cool fruity yoghurt did little for the heat racing through her body and making her yearn for things she shouldn’t. Like Cash. Naked.
‘Why do you do that?’ His hand snaked across the table to touch her wrist. ‘Pretend like there’s no way in hell I could find you remotely attractive.’
‘Because I know your type and I’m not it.’ She barked out a bitter laugh and gestured at her faded skinny jeans and thigh-length red cotton T. ‘Look at me. I wear khaki work shorts and singlets or denim and cotton.’ She pointed to her face. ‘No make-up.’ She tugged on the ends of her cropped hair. ‘Without a foil or highlight in sight.’
His expression morphed from playful to sincere. ‘Did you stop to think that maybe that’s why I like you? That I don’t go for all that artifice when it matters? That appearances can be deceptive and I prefer to judge a person on what’s inside?’
She could’ve applauded his valiant speech if not for one thing: if what she’d researched was true, he’d spent his entire life proving the opposite of everything he’d just said.
‘Let’s stick to the programme, okay?’ She signalled for the bill. ‘We both know this thing between us is fake. No need to label it as anything else.’
Cash frowned, and looked set to belabour the point, but thankfully the waiter’s speedy arrival took care of that.
Good. The last thing Lucy needed was Cash trying to convince her that he was deeper than her perception. A perception fast being challenged by this surprisingly sweet, sexy man.
FIVE
The next morning, Lucy met with the last person on the planet she’d want to spend time with.
A stylist.
She liked the way she looked. She liked wearing comfortable, versatile clothes. She liked maintaining a no-fuss haircut, even if she did look as if she’d just got out of bed and headed to work most days.
But she liked the thought of saving Gram’s house more, and desperate times called for affirmative action: like updating her wardrobe, her hairstyle and her look.
Not that she was doing this to impress Cash. She’d taken pride in her appearance once, had loved the expensive fashions she’d worn during her marriage, had adored her artistic hairdresser, had spent an inordinate amount on make-up.
But no matter how prettied up she’d been, Adrian had cheated on her anyway and she’d shut away her inner fashion guru a long time ago.
However, being filmed as part of Cash’s fundraiser changed the playing field. And after his impassioned speech last night about not judging on appearances, she felt guilty.
Just because she didn’t go in for frippery any more didn’t mean he could neglect his public image, and she’d be doing him a disservice by rocking up to his fancy functions in ripped denim and pilled cotton.
He’d been nothing but lovely last night and her subtle antagonism seemed to make him laugh all the harder.
She had no intention of falling for his charm, which he was obviously used to laying on thick with the girls, but somewhere between the potato bondas and the Madras chicken curry she’d grown to respect him a tad.
And she was starting to regret having done the one thing he said he didn’t do: judge on appearances.
Because she had. Judged him. By the house he lived in, by the clothes he wore, by the company he kept.
Despite her preconceptions, the Cash she’d enjoyed a delicious Indian meal with in that tatty diner? Unpretentious, easy-going and able to laugh at himself.
She’d made a snap decision on leaving the restaurant: if she had to spend a week in his company, the least she could do was lighten up.
Not every guy was the enemy and, sadly, the years of self-imposed singledom had turned her into a cynic.
So that was why she was here, in one of Melbourne’s iconic department stores, consulting with an elegant woman who had nothing on her mind but making Lucy spend as much money as humanly possible.
‘You have a good eye for fashion.’ The fifty-something woman with a blonde coif, wearing a tight black shift and towering stiletto pumps, stood back and appraised her with blatant shock. ‘Every piece you’ve chosen looks like it has been made for you.’
‘I like clothes,’ Lucy said, her simple statement earning a beaming smile from FashionZilla.
‘I’ll be right back with the perfect sandals to go with that sheath.’ The consultant bustled away, leaving Lucy standing in a small room that looked like something out of Arabian Nights.
She spun around, feeling like Carrie in Sex and the City, glamorous and chic, the simple strapless red sheath reflected back to her tenfold in the surrounding floor-length mirrors.
Her hands skimmed the shot silk, savouring the slide of expensive fabric. Out of all the outfits she’d tried on, this had made her heart flutter the most.
She remembered this heady feeling: of choosing the perfect outfit, confident she looked good in it. All the clothes she’d worn back then had been about her: making her feel good. Sure, she’d appreciated Adrian’s compliments, but after a frugal upbringing it had been like a kid let loose in a candy shop and she’d revelled in it.
Which was the exact reason why she’d left it all behind.
She hadn’t wanted to be reminded of her foolishness. Had she been so wrapped up in the frivolity of her indulgent lifestyle that she’d been oblivious to her husband’s indiscretions? Or worse, had she used her privileged life as a deliberate distraction from the warning signs?
She hadn’t thought so at the time, or during the many months after she’d dissected the disastrous fallout, but on the odd occasion when she allowed her mind to drift she wondered if she’d been blinded to the truth by the glitz she’d grown to love.
The consultant hurried back into the room and thrust a pair of sparkly stilettos at her. ‘Here, try these.’
Lucy had a distinct Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz moment as she slipped on the sparkly crimson heels. If only she could click her heels and vanish back to the staid normality of her life before she’d discovered the truth about Pops, the threat to Gram’s house and the craziness of agreeing to pose as Cash’s girlfriend.
‘What do you think?’ The consultant fussed around her, smoothing non-existent creases and adjusting the zip. ‘You’ll make quite the impression in this outfit whatever the occasion.’
The occasion would be the Valentine’s Day ball and a most welcome conclusion to her week-long zaniness posing as Cash’s girlfriend.
Once her obligations were done, she could throw herself wholeheartedly into his landscaping job.
But as she stared at her startling image in the mirror, she had a thought. How would she interact with Cash after this week was done? Would they revert to their previous cool relationship or would the week of forced proximity and faked romance change things?
Ideally, she’d go back to ignoring his overtures and he’d go back to making millions. In reality, Lucy knew a week of spending time together, sparring and joking, would blur the boundaries.
‘Shall I start packaging your choices?’ The stylist picked up her clipboard and started ticking items off her list. ‘Just to clarify: you’re taking the jade waffle-knit jacket, the aubergine skirt suit, the black pencil skirt, the tribal print dress, the quilted puffer jacket, the floral flip skirt, and the formal sheath you’re wearing.’
This was the time for Lucy’s sanity to return. She should bolt from the store while she had the chance. Instead, she found herself reluctantly nodding. ‘Yes, thanks.’
The woman’s eyes glittered at what would be healthy commission. ‘And the shoes to complement the outfits? Black patent leather kitten heels, the knee-high boots and the crimson evening stilettos?’
‘Those too,’ Lucy said, her resigned sigh earning an odd look from the stylist.
‘You get changed while I start putting these purchases through.’ The stylist wiggled a card out from a stash on a nearby table. ‘And if you’re interested, our in-store hairstylist is offering seventy-five per cent off all services to customers who spend over five hundred dollars here.’
Considering Lucy had just spent double that on replenishing her wardrobe, she definitely qualified. Lucy thanked her, took the card and slipped back into the dressing room to change back into her jeans and ‘I HEART DIRT’ T-shirt.
She’d come this far in her lunacy. Why not go the whole hog and get her hair done too?
Feeling chirpier than she had in ages, she hummed the latest pop song under her breath as she changed, surprisingly eager to see Cash’s expression when she met him at the PR firm’s head office to launch the fundraiser later today.

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