Loe raamatut: «The Tycoon's Outrageous Proposal»

CHAPTER ONE

CLEO DIDN’T CRY when she placed the flowers on her husband’s grave. She’d cried buckets that morning, once she realised she’d forgotten the anniversary of Martin’s death. When she explained to her very concerned boss that she always visited Martin’s grave with her mother-in-law on the anniversary of his death, he’d given her the rest of the day off, insisting that she collect Doreen and go.

So here she was with her eyes strangely dry whilst Martin’s mother cried buckets instead.

Maybe she was all cried out. Or maybe—just maybe—she’d finished with grieving. She’d loved Martin. In the end. And in the beginning. But there’d been that awful time in the middle when she hadn’t loved him at all. Hard to stay in love with a man who tried to run every aspect of your life, from where you worked to what you wore and who your friends were. At home, it had been just as bad. From the day they were married, Martin took control of the money, paid all the bills, and made all the decisions.

Her own fault, of course. At first, she’d liked his ‘take control’ attitude, had thought it manly. His decisiveness had appealed to her own lack of confidence and maturity. She’d been engaged at twenty, married at twenty-one. Just a baby, really, in more ways than one.

But all babies eventually grew up, and she’d come to see how stifling it was being married to a man who wanted you to stay totally dependent on him, who wouldn’t even let you have a baby until the mortgage was totally paid off so he could afford for you to be a full-time stay-at-home mother, a prospect that hadn’t appealed to Cleo. She’d liked her job in the marketing section of McAllister Mines, despite it having been chosen for her by Martin, solely because he’d worked there in the accounts division.

Cleo had made the momentous decision to leave Martin on the very day when he’d told her that he’d been diagnosed with cancer, a particularly aggressive melanoma, which the doctor had warned might not be curable.

It had turned out it wasn’t. But it had taken Martin two long years to die, during which time Cleo had learned to love him again. How brave he’d been during that terrible time. And how sorry for what he’d put her through during their marriage. Oh, yes, he knew exactly what he’d been doing all along; had known it was wrong, but said he couldn’t seem to help himself. Apparently, his father had treated his mother the same way, and consequently it was all he’d known as a model for marriage. In Cleo’s eyes it was no excuse, but it was at least an explanation for his behaviour.

His debilitating illness forced him to give up his controlling nature, gradually relying on Cleo to do everything for him. The balance of power shifted substantially, giving Cleo a new confidence in her ability to cope once Martin died, which soon became inevitable, once the cancer spread to his brain. She’d thought she’d be relieved when he passed away, and she was, in a way. But not long after, she’d become very depressed. If it hadn’t been for the boss of McAllister Mines promoting her to the challenging position of his PA, she wasn’t sure what might have become of her. She’d always suffered from depression, ever since her parents had been killed in a car accident when she was a teenager, leaving her to be raised by her paternal grandparents who were way too old—and way too old-fashioned—to know what a thirteen-year-old girl needed.

Thinking of her sad teenage years sparked the tears that had been absent up until then.

Doreen saw them and came over to link arms with her. ‘Now, now, love,’ she said, dabbing at her own tears with a wad of tissues. ‘We shouldn’t be sad. He’s not in pain any longer. He’s at peace now.’

‘Yes,’ was all Cleo could think of to say. She could hardly tell Martin’s mother that she was crying for herself, not Martin.

‘Maybe you shouldn’t do this any more, Cleo,’ Doreen added. ‘It’s been three years, and it’s not always good to dwell on the past. You’re still a young woman. You should be out there, dating.’

‘Dating?’ Cleo could not have been more surprised if Doreen had said fishing. Cleo hated fishing. Martin, however, had loved it, and had insisted she go along with him, even on their honeymoon.

‘You don’t have to sound so shocked,’ Doreen said.

‘And who, precisely, do you envisage me dating?’

Doreen shrugged. ‘You must meet plenty of attractive men in the course of your work.’

‘Actually, I don’t. If they are even marginally attractive, they’re always married. Besides, I’m not interested in dating.’

‘Why not?’

Cleo could hardly tell her mother-in-law that her son had killed off any interest she’d had in sex. She’d quite liked it, to begin with. But her hormones had gone into hibernation once they were married, once he started telling her what to do and how to do it, blaming her when she didn’t come, forcing her to start faking her climaxes, just to get some peace. It had been a relief when chemo affected Martin’s testosterone levels. Sex was the last thing on his mind when he was fighting for his life, and without the toxic effect of their missing physical connection, Cleo found she could be genuinely affectionate with her husband. She’d been holding his hand and telling him how much she loved him when he died.

And it had been true. She had loved him. But the damage had been done by then. She never looked at a man these days and thought of sex. She didn’t want it, dream of it, or crave it. So naturally, she never entertained the thought of dating, or getting married again. Because marriage meant sex; it meant having to consider a man’s wishes.

‘I don’t want to date,’ Cleo said at last. ‘And I definitely don’t want to get married again.’

Doreen nodded, as though she understood perfectly. She must have seen that her son was a chip off the old block. If Cleo had been emotionally abused in her marriage, then so had Doreen. Damaged, they were. Both of them.

Cleo looked at her mother-in-law and thought it was a shame. Doreen was still young, only fifty-two, and still slim and attractive. She should be the one getting out and dating. There had to be some nice men left in the world. Surely.

Of course there were, Cleo conceded, thinking of her boss. Scott was a wonderful man. Kind. Caring. A good husband. When he wasn’t being stupid, that was. Cleo could not believe how close he and Sarah had come to breaking up. Still, all was right in their world again now, which was a relief. Last week had been a nightmare!

She shook her head and sighed wearily.

‘I think we should go home,’ Doreen said gently, obviously misinterpreting that sigh.

Cleo smiled at the woman who was more than a mother-in-law these days. She was her best friend, having moved in to help Cleo with Martin towards the end of his illness...and never leaving. Widowed just before Cleo had met Martin, Doreen had never owned a house with her husband, so after Martin died, Cleo had asked Doreen to move in with her permanently. She’d jumped at the chance and neither woman had ever regretted it.

Thanks to Martin’s taking out enough life insurance to cover the mortgage, Cleo owned her house in Leichardt, an inner western suburb where the value of properties had skyrocketed lately, due to its proximity to Sydney’s Central Business District. It wasn’t a large house, and it was a little run-down, but, still, it was hers and it meant independence and freedom.

‘Good idea,’ Cleo returned and started walking back to the car park. ‘What’s on TV tonight?’

‘Not much,’ Doreen replied. ‘We could watch one of the movies I put in the planner.’

‘Okay,’ Cleo said, always happy to watch a movie. ‘But I hope it’s not a miserable one,’ she added. ‘I can’t stand those dreary issue movies.’ She wanted to be entertained, not depressed.

Before Doreen could comment, Cleo’s phone rang, and she rifled in her handbag to retrieve it. It was Scott, as she suspected. Not many other people ever rang her, except scam callers. And they always waited until she was home in the evening, cooking dinner.

‘It’s my boss,’ she said, putting her phone up to her ear with one hand whilst she handed Doreen her car keys with the other. ‘I have to take this. You go back to the car. I won’t be long. Scott! What’s up?’ She hoped everything was still good with his wife.

‘Nothing drastic,’ he replied. ‘Sorry to intrude on your afternoon off. Everything go all right with the flowers?’

‘Oh, yes. Fine.’ Cleo’s conscience pricked that her visit to the cemetery was already out of her mind.

‘Good. Just thought I should let you know I’ve decided to take Sarah away to Phuket on a second honeymoon.’

‘Oh, Scott, what a wonderful idea! When?’

‘That’s why I’m ringing you. We’re leaving tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Tomorrow!’

‘Yep. And we’ll be gone for two weeks.’

‘But you’ve got an appointment with Byron Maddox at lunchtime this Wednesday,’ she reminded him. With the price of minerals plummeting recently—and that infernal nickel refinery a virtual money pit—McAllister Mines was in financial trouble. Scott had asked her to find him a potential partner with sufficient funds to improve his cash flow and take the load off him. And his marriage.

Byron Maddox had been first cab off the rank. Actually, the only one she could find on short notice who had enough money to qualify, Scott having asked Cleo to find him an Australian investor this time.

‘I know,’ Scott said, not sounding at all worried. ‘I thought you could stand in for me.’

‘He’s not going to be happy with that, Scott. It’s you he wants to see, not me.’

‘Not necessarily. He just wants the heads up on the business at this early stage. You know as much about McAllister Mines as I do.’

‘That’s very flattering but not true.’

‘Don’t underestimate yourself, Cleo. I have every confidence in you.’

Good Lord, he was going to go off and drop her right in it, wasn’t he? Cleo knew full well that she wasn’t at her best dealing one-on-one with a man like Byron Maddox. She could handle being Scott’s assistant during business meetings, but her social skills faltered badly when she was left on her own with men who expected every female they dealt with to flirt and flatter them inordinately.

Cleo would never be a flirt or a flatterer. Neither was she ingratiating or coy or submissive. Though there’d been a time when she’d been guilty of the latter. These days, she was a very up-front, straight-down-the-line girl who found it impossible to use feminine wiles when doing business. This made her popular with wives—if there were wives—but not with their spouses. And certainly not with the bachelor businessmen she’d come across.

Cleo winced at the thought of going—alone—to a business lunch with Byron Maddox.

‘I’ll do my best,’ she told Scott with resignation in her voice. ‘But please don’t expect miracles.’

‘Like I said, Cleo, I have every confidence in you. Now I have to ring Harvey as well as all my section managers and let them know that you’re in charge for the next two weeks. Then I really have to go home. Sarah’s in a flap about being ready in time. Look, I probably won’t see you at all tomorrow so I’m saying my goodbyes now.’

‘Do you want me to call you after the meeting with Maddox?’ she asked before he could escape.

‘Absolutely. Have to go, Cleo. Good luck.’

And he was gone.

Cleo sucked in a deep breath then let it out slowly as she walked back to the car. She didn’t begrudge Scott his happiness. She also didn’t mind being in charge of the office for a couple of weeks. But she certainly wasn’t looking forward to Wednesday.

‘What did your boss want?’ Doreen asked as she climbed in behind the steering wheel. ‘You look worried.’

Cleo sighed as she gunned the engine. She was worried. Very worried indeed.