Romance for Cynics

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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