Romance for Cynics (7 page)

By Cash’s sudden frown, he’d come to the same conclusion, so she conveyed her agreement with a slight nod.

Cash raised an eyebrow, clarifying she was sure, and she once again appreciated his thoughtfulness for her feelings.

Buoyed by being so cared for, she squared her shoulders and nodded. ‘Let’s do this.’

‘Brilliant,’ Raoul said, beckoning to one of the lurking camera crew. ‘Trust me, this’ll be fun.’

With his gel-slicked hair, beady eyes and over-effusiveness, Raoul would be the last person Lucy would trust. On the upside, she’d been dreading this stupid one-on-one interview and the faster she got it out of the way, the better.

Cash grimaced behind Raoul’s back and she stifled a giggle.

While Raoul fussed around a purple suede sofa, rearranging cushions and ordering the camera crew around, Cash slid his arm around her waist and ducked down to murmur in her ear, ‘You sure you want to do this now?’

His concern unnerved her as much as his proximity. ‘Yeah. Faster we finish, faster we can get out of here.’

‘I like the way you think,’ he said, his fingers skating across her hip and making her bite her bottom lip to stop a moan escaping. ‘I also like the way you kissed me back there.’

‘Stop it.’ She elbowed him, chuckling when he exhaled in an oomph. ‘Aren’t you the slightest bit concerned we may stuff up our answers here?’

‘Nope. When in doubt, fake it.’

‘We’re doing a good job of that,’ she said, glancing over her shoulder to ensure no one could listen in.

‘Not all of it’s fake,’ he said, staring at her lips so she couldn’t mistake his insinuation. ‘That kiss? Memorably real.’

‘Stop talking about it.’ She tried to elbow him again but he laughed and dodged. ‘You’re rattling me.’

‘Rattling is good.’ He smirked. ‘Means you care.’

‘Do not.’ She tilted her nose in the air, instantly regretting her defiance when he kissed the tip.

‘Yeah, you do.’ His wicked grin snatched her breath. ‘It’s okay, you know, to admit you find me irresistible.’

Lucy had no intention of admitting anything of the sort, however true it was. Falling for a guy too fast was the fatal flaw that had led her down the disastrous relationship path before; no way in hell would she make the same mistake again.

‘Okay, I’ll go first.’ Without breaking eye contact, he said, ‘I like you.’

Some of her resistance to Cash melted in the face of his abject honesty. Yet the longer he stared at her with that beguiling mix of charm and confidence, the more her doubts grew.

The guy had coerced her into posing as his girlfriend for a week. He schmoozed for a living. Could this be a deliberate ploy to soften her up so she gave a great interview to further his cause?

‘I like me too,’ she said, deliberately flippant as she eased away from him and sat on the sofa.

A small frown creased his brow, as if she’d confused or annoyed him in some way. But when Raoul returned to fussing over them rather than the props, Cash sat next to her and assumed a laid-back slouch as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Yeah, he must’ve been playing her. Because a guy like him didn’t ‘like’ a girl like her in a few days. Life didn’t work that way. She should know.

‘Ready to roll?’ Raoul drew up a footstool out of camera range and perched on it like a hyper parrot, all fluffing feathers and flapping wings. ‘I’ll ask you each a set of random questions regarding romance and you answer with the first thing that pops into your head.’

Uh-oh. The first words popping into Lucy’s head right now weren’t fit to be said let alone broadcast on YouTube.

‘Keep it simple, folks. Short responses. Funny is good.’ Raoul clapped his hands. ‘Right, we’re ready to roll.’ He held up a hand at the cameraman and counted down three, two, one with his fingers.

The camera panned to Raoul and he flashed a dazzling smile. ‘Good evening. We’re live at the eighties disco tonight with the couple of the moment, Cash Burgess and Lucy Grant.’

Raoul crooked a finger at the camera, as if he was inviting them into a private session where he’d reveal deep, dark secrets.
As long as the secret wasn’t that their relationship was a big fat fake
, Lucy thought.

‘So what would you like to know about this intriguing couple? Me? I’m all about the romance.’ Raoul swivelled towards Cash, and Lucy released the breath she’d been inadvertently holding. ‘Tell us, Cash. Was it love at first sight for you and Lucy?’

Cash swallowed as Lucy broke out in a sweat. Hell, these questions were going to be sheer and utter torture.

To his credit, Cash settled deeper into the sofa and draped an arm across the back of it, his fingertips skating along her shoulder, the epitome of relaxed when he had to be feeling as uptight as her.

‘While Lucy is incredibly gorgeous and could tempt any sane man to fall in love with her at first sight, I’d like to think it was her other qualities that intrigued me from the start.’

Raoul blinked, as if surprised by Cash’s answer, as Lucy wished her stupid heart weren’t leaping all over the place at the apparent sincerity behind his words.

None of this was real, she reminded herself. But for a fleeting moment, hearing Cash speak supposedly from the heart, she wished it were.

Raoul turned to her. ‘What about you, Lucy? Love at first sight?’

‘More like insta-lust,’ she deadpanned, while pointedly staring Cash up and down.

Raoul laughed as she’d hoped, while Cash pinned her with an all-too-fiery gaze that promised of payback later.

‘Your idea of the perfect Saturday night?’ Raoul pointed at Cash and the camera zoomed in.

‘Too easy.’ Cash dragged his gaze away from her to focus on the camera. ‘Taking Lucy to dinner at Melbourne’s finest restaurant, theatre or jazz club after, finishing with cocktails on the thirty-fifth floor of my favourite hotel.’

Raoul looked suitably impressed. Maybe he should date Cash for the week.

‘Lucy, how about you?’

Lucy linked her hands and rested them on her knees. ‘Cosy night in. A classic old black and white movie. Popcorn. Soda. Chocolate. Whipped cream. Cash...’

Cash’s gaze snapped to hers again and she could’ve sworn the air between them sizzled.

Okay, she wasn’t playing fair, trying to get him back for that kiss on the dance floor, but this was what he wanted, right? For the kissing couple to demonstrate how hot they were for each other?

Raoul fanned his face. ‘Phew, we can see why this guy is smitten with you, Lucy.’ He swung back to Cash. ‘Favourite romantic song?’

‘Anything that gets Lucy to kiss me like she did on the dance floor.’

Touché. Lucy should’ve expected Cash to fire back.

Raoul smirked. ‘Lucy, what’s yours?’

‘Moves Like Jagger.’

Expecting her to say more, Raoul frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Because Cash has the moves...and how.’ She winked at the camera, startled to discover she was actually enjoying hamming it up.

Raoul wolf-whistled while Cash’s sexy smirk promised retribution. ‘I could keep asking questions all night but we have a few other couples to interview, so, to wind up, why don’t you both finish by telling me: what’s your idea of the perfect date?’

Lucy gestured at Cash to go first, a dramatic arm sweep that had Cash grinning. ‘Flying interstate for a naughty weekend.’

Raoul nodded his approval. ‘Anywhere in particular?’

‘Preferably somewhere scorching hot, so Lucy parades around in the skimpiest clothes imaginable,’ Cash said, sliding closer to her on the sofa and leaving her no option but to snuggle into his shoulder.

She’d kill him.

She was fine firing back sassy barbs with some distance between them, but, with his spicy aftershave enveloping her in a sensual cloud and his body radiating enough heat to make her melt on the spot, she was sure to stuff up this next answer.

‘What’s your perfect date, Lucy?’ Raoul made a circular motion with his hand to indicate they had to wind it up and she rushed into her answer.

‘Low key. Simple. From the heart,’ she said, instantly regretting her honesty when Cash eased back to look at her face. ‘A picnic with my favourite foods. A mountain top. Intimacy.’

Cash held her gaze and she couldn’t look away no matter how much she wanted to. The public would lap this up, seeing it as a very private moment between lovers. When in fact Cash was staring at her as if he could see all the way down to her soul. As if he knew this was the first honest thing she’d said all night. And he appreciated it.

So she added, ‘With a man who makes me want to devour him more than the food.’

‘Love it.’ Raoul clapped his hands again, obviously pleased with the results of the interview. ‘Thanks, Lucy and Cash. We wish you all the best in your quest to win GR8 4U Public Relations’ Most Romantic Valentine’s Day Couple.’

As Raoul beckoned to the camera crew to follow him and find the next poor couple, Lucy slumped into the sofa, belatedly realising Cash still cuddled her close and she’d inadvertently slumped into him.

‘You did good,’ he murmured, hugging her.

‘Raoul seemed to lap up our lies, that’s the main thing,’ she said, allowing the brief comfort of being warmed by his embrace before standing. ‘I’m beat. Time to go.’

‘Not so fast.’ Cash stood and laid a hand on her forearm. ‘You gave some interesting answers.’

Lucy shrugged, determined to play down how much she’d loved sparring with him and the resultant buzz. ‘You heard what Raoul said. The public lap up that sort of stuff.’

‘So you were just giving the public what they wanted to hear, huh?’ Cash’s fingers slid around her wrist and he tried to tug her closer.

She resisted. ‘Absolutely.’

‘So all that talk of insta-lust and whipped cream and devouring me was just you playing the part of a smitten girlfriend?’

‘Yep.’ If she nodded any harder her head would fall off.

‘Pity.’ He finally released her wrist when she wouldn’t give in. ‘I’m sure I could rustle up some popcorn and chocolate in my pantry. And we could save the whipped cream for—’

‘I’m allergic to dairy,’ she blurted, desperate to get away before the heat flushing her body stained her cheeks crimson.

He laughed. ‘You’re good at fibbing for the cameras, sweetheart, but I can pick when you’re lying a mile off.’

‘Bull,’ she said, making the mistake of sneaking a glance at him.

Cash swooped in for a quick peck on the lips before straightening, his smug expression alerting her to the fact she hadn’t fooled him at all.

‘Tonight was a resounding success,’ he said, offering her a hand that she ignored. ‘And the best part? We made out.’

‘What are you, twelve?’

He laughed harder, slipped an arm around her waist and guided her towards the door. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with next for the rest of the week.’

As long as it wasn’t more of that unexpected honesty that had popped out at the end of the interview, Lucy was safe.

For now.

EIGHT

One of the
perks of Cash’s job was the long lunches, where he took his clients to Melbourne’s top restaurants and spent a leisurely few hours wining and dining and talking figures.

He thrived on it, taking the fortunes of his famous clientele and making them more money.

Not today. Today, he was off his game and it made him edgy and crappy and cranky.

Not good enough, considering the woman sitting opposite him was Australia’s top talk-show host at the moment. Cecilia Boyle was eloquent, intelligent and gorgeous. A tall, willowy blonde, she was just his type. The type of woman to tempt him to mix business with pleasure.

Not something he set out to do but it had been a perk of the job on occasion. Never instigated by him, and he chose his dalliances wisely, ensuring they both knew the outcome going in. Commitment-free. No long-term involvement.

It was the reason he was in this mess in the first place, his radar alerting him to the desperate starlet wanting to sleep her way into his portfolio.

He’d rejected her, she’d started rumours and here he was, with a fake girlfriend for a week.

A fake girlfriend who was the reason behind his edginess.

Lucy Grant was one giant distraction and, after last night, he couldn’t get her out of his head.

She was the reason he was off his game today. And it pissed him off even more, the fact he was letting last night interfere with his business today.

‘I like the asset distribution you’ve suggested,’ Cecilia said, her voice lowering as she touched his arm. ‘Do you want to discuss it further at my place?’

Cash should’ve been tempted. He should’ve taken one look at the sexy blonde in the figure-hugging cobalt jersey dress and escorted her from the restaurant to her apartment.

Instead, he flashed his best appeasing smile and eased away. ‘Thanks, but I’ve got back-to-back meetings all day.’

Her smile froze, the hard glint in her eyes the only sign her ego had taken a hit, before her acting skills kicked in and her expression blanked. ‘Not a problem. I’ll look over your suggestions this afternoon and email you my choices by tonight.’

‘Sounds good.’ They shook hands, brief and perfunctory, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Relief that was short-lived when Cecilia left the restaurant and he was left to mull.

Not that he needed to ponder much. Lucy Grant had him in a tailspin and, for a guy who prided himself on cool detachment when it came to the fairer sex, he was in way over his head with this one.

And with six more days to get through without letting Lucy get further under his skin than she already had, it looked like things were set to get even more distracting. Annoyed by his wayward thoughts, Cash flipped his laptop open to enter notes from the meeting with Cecilia, when a shadow fell over his table.

‘If it isn’t Casanova,’ Bart said, slipping onto the seat Cecilia had vacated. ‘Nice show you put on last night.’

‘Good PR,’ Cash said, not wanting to discuss his out-of-control reaction to Lucy with his mate. ‘Voters are lapping it up apparently.’

‘And you’ve bumped the story with Psycho Girl onto page six while your lip-lock with the hot gardener is page three in the social pages.’

‘Great,’ Cash said, typing a few addendums before glancing up. ‘Not that we’re aiming for the big prize, but, out of curiosity, what is it?’

Bart tsk-tsked. ‘Weren’t you paying attention at the introductory session?’

No, he’d been too busy picking his jaw up off the floor when Lucy had strutted into that room, flaunting her new image.

‘Just tell me already.’

‘Valentine’s Day dream date. Limo pick up. Drive to Mornington Peninsula. Dinner at an exclusive winery.’ Bart winked. ‘With an indulgent stay over in five-star luxury.’

Cash’s pulse quickened at the phrase ‘stay over’. The thought of having Lucy all to himself was enough to send his mind spinning all over again. The sexual tension between them when they’d danced, their manic make-out session...would equate to fireworks in the bedroom.

Bart tilted his head, studying him. ‘For a guy who is doing this for the PR, you’re sure giving a good impression of a guy who’s besotted.’

Cash shrugged, determined to play down how connected he felt. ‘Lucy’s a nice girl. We get on okay.’

Bart sniggered. ‘If that kiss was any indication, saying you
get on okay
is understatement of the year.’ He tapped at his smartphone and turned the screen to face Cash. ‘And have you seen the interview you did later? Sizzling.’

‘You know none of this is real,’ Cash said, deliberately averting his gaze from Bart’s phone.

Because the truth was, he’d watched that interview three times when he’d got home last night, fascinated by Lucy’s many sides.

She’d been bold and sassy one minute, hamming it up for his benefit, but her response to the last question had thrown him.

For the first time all interview she’d appeared uncertain, unguarded, as if all that stuff about a private picnic on a mountaintop was coming from somewhere more sincere than her other answers.

And he’d had the damndest reaction to her honesty...he’d wanted to take her on her dream date immediately.

He chided himself. It was pointless and stupid, reading too much into Lucy’s responses to him last night. They had roles to play and that was what they were doing.

He of all people should know how brilliant women could be at acting. Hadn’t his mum given a sterling performance as maternal caregiver for a few years, before showing her true colours and turfing him out?

Bart stared at the screen on his phone and wolf-whistled. ‘You’ve got some serious chemistry going on there.’

‘Showmanship for the cameras,’ Cash said, making a grand show of looking at his watch. ‘Speaking of which, I’ve got a ton of work to finish if I’m to make that riverside picnic tomorrow.’

Another function, another chance to spend time with Lucy. It would be laughable, how much he was looking forward to seeing her, if it weren’t so downright pathetic.

Cash didn’t pine over women. Although, considering he couldn’t get Lucy out of his head and was counting down the hours until tomorrow, it seemed he was doing exactly that. What was it about this particular woman that had him feeling so vulnerable?

Bart slapped him on the back. ‘My money’s on you taking out the grand prize and getting the girl.’

For an irrational second, Cash almost wished Bart’s prediction were right.

* * *

Lucy thrived on manic mornings. Up at six, out of the door by six-thirty, mulching her first garden of the day by seven. She loved dawn frosts and crisp air and dew on the grass. She loved tackling the hardest tasks first. But most of all, she loved the solitude of working in a garden surrounded by earthy smells and the chirping of birds.

She relished the peace. Found solace in it.

Except today, when the tranquillity merely served to make her thoughts more insistent and exceptionally loud.

This morning had been busier than most. She’d mowed four lawns, trimmed eight hedges and manicured three flowerbeds.

Yet all the vigorous physical activity in the world couldn’t take her mind off this afternoon.

A romantic picnic with Cash.

She’d been up half the night, determinedly ignoring what had happened at the disco and focusing on the one thing bound to subdue her attraction: designing his new garden.

Concentrating on work would keep her desire for Cash at bay and reinforce why she was spending time with him in the first place.

For the money. Cold, hard cash that would save Gram’s house. As opposed to warm, hard Cash, who would destroy the independent life she’d built for herself.

Not that it was his fault she’d been going through a man drought and was crushing on the first hot guy to enter her sphere.

Ironically, given that she was only here for the money, she wouldn’t have minded if he’d been a gardener or a tradesmen or any other blue-collar worker. She could handle those guys. It was confident, suave, wealthy guys in suits she had trouble with.

On the upside, she’d compiled a succinct yet inspired quote for Cash’s garden.

The downside? She’d have to work there, which meant seeing the guy way too often over the next few weeks once this Valentine’s Day rubbish was finished.

As she shrugged into a pale pink cashmere sweater her gaze landed on his garden’s plans spread across her dining table.

She loved it. Loved the quintessential Aussie theme she’d gone for. The high limestone wall in the far corner, with inlaid mosaics designed by indigenous artists. The granite edging and pebble paving near the five-foot water feature ending in a pond. The sculpture wall featuring imprinted marsupials. The spectacular flowering Golden Lyre grevillea. The stunning crimson Callistemon Firebrand bottlebrush. The delicate Chenille Honey-myrtle and majestic Candlestick banksia and perky yellow Knobthorn acacia.

She’d co-ordinated plants and colours with minute attention to detail, loving how her designs came to life beneath her fingertips, first as a sketch, later on computer.

It had been easier than the usual design process of site analysis, where she’d spend hours taking measurements, photos and noting existing vegetation, because she already knew every inch of the space she’d be working with.

Though she had spent an inordinate time on the concept plan, ensuring the scaled layout of his new garden would wow.

When she’d finished, he’d have a garden people would admire and talk about. And, in turn, ensure her business boomed so she could set up that nest egg for Gram and herself.

She never wanted to feel insecure or at the mercy of a guy again, after Adrian had made her feel both. Walking away from his fortune had been easy. Making it on her own had been tough. But she’d done it, and the faster she financially secured her and Gram’s future, the better.

In a way, Gram’s misfortune had opened her eyes. If someone you loved that much could leave you vulnerable, who could you really trust?

She’d like to think she could trust again some day. She wasn’t a bitter and twisted divorcee who’d never tread down the committed-relationship path again. But if she did ever take a chance on trusting again, she’d make damn sure she had her own assets protected and money to fall back on.

Her mobile phone beeped as she locked the front door and one glance at the screen made her heart race in anticipation. Cash Burgess was a client so it stood to reason she had his number in her mobile. She stored all her clients’ numbers. Yet by the timing of this text message, she had a feeling this wasn’t business.

She stabbed at the icon to bring up her messages.

Did U pack ur teddy?

Confused, Lucy reread the message, before getting the picnic allusion.

Her thumb flew over the keypad:

Not a teddy bear’s picnic, tho I’m in a grizzly mood.

She hit send as she slid into her car, hoping she could get through this afternoon unscathed—and without Cash surprising her with any more sizzling lip-locks.

Her phone pinged again.

Who’s talking about bears?

It took her a second to absorb the innuendo behind his message and she had an instant image of her wearing a sheer black teddy and Cash ripping it off her. With his teeth.

‘Damn it,’ she muttered, trying to think up a suitable response and coming up empty.

She settled for a sedate and rather pathetic ‘
C U soon
’.

And spent the next twenty minutes driving from her place to the picnic spot on the Yarra River near the Botanical Gardens trying to ignore the far from sedate visions of the two of them together that were flooding her imagination.

* * *

‘You’d better be on your best behaviour today,’ Lucy said, glaring at Cash over a chilled glass of chardonnay as they sat on their cosy picnic rug for two. ‘And that means no kissing.’

‘Spoilsport,’ he said, raising his glass in her direction. ‘Haven’t you heard? That’s what couples in love do in the lead up to Valentine’s Day.’

He blew her a kiss for good measure. ‘And that one doesn’t count.’

She smiled, unable to resist his teasing. Scooting a little closer to him so they wouldn’t be overheard, she murmured, ‘Do you think we’re the only ones here who think Valentine’s Day is a load of codswallop?’

He grinned and jerked his head towards the couple on his left: a couple currently sipping their wine with arms entwined. ‘Not them.’

He rolled his eyes towards the right, where a guy hand-fed chocolate-dipped strawberries to his girlfriend. ‘Or them.’

He stared at the couple directly in front of them, with the woman sitting on the guy’s lap while she nipped his earlobe. ‘And they’re positively sickening.’

‘Couldn’t agree more.’ She clinked her glass to his. ‘Here’s to being a couple of anti-cupids.’

‘I’ll drink to that.’

Lucy could do this. Could joke and laugh and pretend she wasn’t on the banks of the Yarra River, surrounded by liveried waiters serving exquisite picnic food, topping up their glasses, with a bunch of soppy couples who actually believed all the romantic claptrap Valentine’s Day perpetuated.

He lowered his glass, studying her with an intensity she found unnerving. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Sure. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer you.’

The corners of his mouth quirked. ‘Why are you such a cynic?’

‘Could ask you the same thing.’

He hesitated, as if weighing up his response, before placing his glass on a mini-tray and leaning back on his hands, arms outstretched. ‘My mum chucked us out when I was little. Wrecked my old man.’

He stared at the river, lost in memories she wished she hadn’t intruded on. ‘She was rich. Dabbling with a rough-around-the-edges guy. Probably got tired of Dad. Or me. Whatever. Dad changed from an easy-going, happy guy into a stern, taciturn grump. We had no money. Nothing I did was good enough. Until I hit my teens and started bringing in the money by working part-time jobs.’ He shook his head. ‘Was the only time I ever saw Dad without a frown, when I brought in those regular paycheques.’

Lucy stared at the guy she’d pegged for rich and shallow initially, stunned by his hidden depths. And feeling incredibly guilty for judging him.