That talk with his dad yesterday had given him the confidence to pursue a relationship for the first time in his life.

  But what if his judgement was as off as his dad’s?

  He’d always vowed there was no way he would open himself up for the kind of pain Ronnie had gone through after being rejected by his mum.

  What if he already had?

  * * *

  ‘Could the Valentine’s Day couples please take to the dance floor for a special dance?’

  Lucy waited. Just as she’d waited for the last ten minutes while Cash shook hands and slapped backs and accepted kisses from countless women.

  They’d been parted in the swarm rushing to congratulate them, but he hadn’t come after her. Instead, she’d stood there and watched the man she loved in his element, surrounded by a bunch of fake schmoozers.

  And now, as the other couples took to the dance floor and the first bars of a romantic ballad filled the air, Cash stood to one side, deep in conversation with his friend Barton.

  Had he heard the MC’s call? Did he even care?

  That was when Lucy’s brittle hold on her bad mood snapped.

  She’d never liked being ignored, had put up with it from Adrian too many times to count. But she was done being anyone’s wallflower.

  She barged up to Cash, grinding her teeth with each step. Barton must’ve seen something in her expression because he excused himself and melted into the crowd by the time she reached Cash.

  ‘Hey, there you are—’

  ‘We have to do an obligatory dance, then I’m out of here,’ she said, stopping short of shoving him in the chest for good measure.

  For the first time since she’d met him, Cash stared at her, gobsmacked.

  ‘Come on.’ She jerked her head towards the dance floor where the other couples had already started swaying to a soppy nineties ballad. ‘They’re waiting for us.’

  ‘Screw them,’ he finally said, his expression wavering between outraged and confused. ‘I want to know what’s got into you.’

  ‘Not now,’ she said, lowering her voice when several people nearby glanced at them. ‘Let’s get this done.’

  Lucy knew dancing would involve touching and, despite craving Cash’s hands all over her for a week, she inadvertently flinched when he took her hand.

  He swore under his breath and she totally agreed with the sentiment. This entire situation had been crappy from the start: fake relationship for the sake of monetary reward. Pity she’d been foolish enough to read more into it.

  He threaded his fingers through hers and she sucked in a deep breath to quell the instinct to yank her hand away.

  She could do this. She’d been good at pretending once. Pretending that Adrian’s continual flirting with anything in a skirt didn’t bother her, because he’d chosen her, married her. Pretending his long absences in the evening were work, not play. Pretending she was happy when in fact she’d soon grown tired of the high life and had craved what she’d wanted all along: someone to love her.

  Now, all she had to do was get through this winners’ dance and she could leave. She’d talk to Cash tomorrow, when her resentment had waned and she’d had a chance to calm down.

  Because right now, she could quite happily hit him over the head with a shovel for being so clueless.

  The crowd applauded as they reached the dance floor and Cash gave a theatrical little bow that annoyed her even more. When they reached the middle, he took her into his arms and stared into her eyes, as if she were the only woman in the world.

  As if.

  Seeing Cash interact with his peers here tonight had given her a much-needed dose of reality. Cash might be a nice guy but she didn’t belong in his world and had no desire to try and fit in.

  She wanted to spend her thirties with a guy she loved, curled up on the couch watching movies and laughing at in-jokes. She wanted to go out to dinner to favourite restaurants, and walk in the Botanical Gardens on Sunday and have brunch by the Yarra.

  What she didn’t want was parties and schmoozing and a world where glitz was valued more than niceness.

  Cash danced as he did everything else in his well-ordered life: with polish and precision. When she faltered, he covered for her. Not surprising, with her rigid back and tense posture. But he didn’t miss a step and his poise exacerbated the distance between them.

  ‘I know this week has been rough but we’re almost done,’ he said, lowering his head to murmur in her ear. ‘Just a few more hours, that’s all.’

  She accidentally trod on his toes but this time she didn’t let him cover for her. She stepped away, what she should’ve done before they’d got this far. ‘A few more hours? Are you out of your mind?’

  Frowning, he glanced around, and she had her answer right there. He was more concerned with what people thought than how she was feeling.

  ‘Cash, these are your friends, your peers. You stay.’

  He shook his head, as if not quite comprehending what he was hearing. ‘You’re actually leaving?’

  ‘That’s what I said before that stupid final dance, but you weren’t listening.’

  And with the gulf widening between them now their week was done, he never would.

  Determined to make a classy exit before she blubbered, she forced a stiff smile. ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening.’

  With Cash speechless for the second time in ten minutes, she headed for the door.

  Fresh air would help. It always did. How many dawn mornings had she leaned on her shovel in someone’s garden and just breathed? Willing the pain away, wishing the memories would fade faster.

  It had taken her nine years to get to this point: strong, independent, happy.

  Though that wasn’t entirely true. She’d been happier this last week than she had in ages and she had Cash to thank for that.

  He’d made her feel alive.

  Yet how she was feeling now? Like a wilting daisy that had been opened to a powerful sun, folding in on itself, back to self-preservation mode.

  She exited the town hall and stood on the top step, dragging in great lungfuls of air. Not quite what she’d envisaged, considering the slight smog that hung over inner city Melbourne, but air all the same.

  Stupid thing was, now she’d escaped, she didn’t know what to do. Should she hail a taxi and head home? But that wouldn’t make Cash look good, considering that was why he’d done this in the first place, for the positive PR.

  That was when reality slammed into her with the force of a runaway backhoe.

  Their week was officially over. Better for him, they’d won, ensuring a stack of good PR.

  Maybe she wasn’t useful any longer?

  Was that what his behaviour back there had been about? She’d outgrown her usefulness and his subtle withdrawing was a way of letting her down gently?

  Maybe the romantic fantasy she’d built up in her head, of the two of them being a real couple beyond this week, had been just that? A stupid fantasy.

  ‘Hey, where are you tearing off to?’ Cash’s hand clamped on her shoulder and he spun her around. ‘What’s got into you tonight?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She shrugged off his hand, hating the way his mouth compressed into an angry line.

  ‘You bolting out of there sure didn’t look like nothing to me.’

  ‘I think I’ll head home—’

  ‘Are you serious? We just won that competition. They expect us to—’

  ‘To what? Keep faking it for everyone?’

  He paled. ‘I thought we’d moved past that a few days ago.’

  Lucy’s heart faltered. Maybe she was overreacting? Then she remembered the utter desolation of standing in that exquisite ballroom, surrounded by a bunch of strangers, watching the guy she loved ignore her as she came in a distant second to everything else.

  She wouldn’t put up with it. Never again.

  ‘I did too. But after what happened in there?’ She jerked her head towards the hall. ‘I don’t think so.’

  Confusion creased his brow. ‘What happened in there? We won an amazing dream date. I thought you’d be happy.’

  ‘Things don’t impress me.’ She wrapped her arms around her middle to ward off the chill seeping through her. ‘People do.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘And that’s half the problem.’ She shook her head. ‘We come from different worlds, Cash. It’s never going to work.’

  ‘Bull.’ He reached out to her and she held him off with a raised hand. ‘Maybe I’m no good at this relationship stuff but I’m willing to give it a go. What about you?’

  Lucy should be ecstatic he cared enough to want to explore what they’d started this week. It was what she’d wanted.

  Until this moment, when she knew with a startling clarity deep in her heart she could never put up with standing on the outskirts looking in.

  It had been a deep-seated insecurity that she’d acknowledged once her marriage to Adrian imploded. She’d spent too much time at functions on the fringes, watching him charm everyone.

  She’d found it endearing at the time, her husband’s popularity. And she’d supported him unconditionally wherever they went.

  But watching Cash do something similar in that ballroom showed her how far she’d come over the years.

  Simply, she couldn’t go through that again.

  It wasn’t Cash’s fault, wasn’t a deliberate ploy to ostracise her. It was a guy doing what he’d always done, and not willing to change because he had someone special in his life.

  She shook her head. ‘Sorry, I can’t do this.’

  Stony-faced, he stared at her in disbelief. ‘None of this makes any bloody sense. You led me to believe...’ His jaw clamped shut, anger making his neck muscles pop.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That I was more to you than a means for money,’ he spat out, glaring at her with so much fury she almost cried.

  But tears were for sissies and Cash’s wild accusation lit a fuse to her temper.

  ‘Considering that money’s all that matters to you, I don’t see why you’d care,’ she said, resisting the urge to shake some sense into him. ‘I need that money to save my gram’s house. What’s your excuse?’

  She snapped her fingers. ‘That’s right. Accumulating wealth is an occupational habit for shallow, narcissistic men who see a big bank balance as a status symbol. Image is everything and you’ll do anything to get what you want, including pay someone to be your girlfriend.’

  She couldn’t stop, her inner resentment spilling out in a torrent. Every worry she’d harboured about him, every insecurity of hers, coalesced into this shocking moment that left them both reeling.

  She knew she’d gone too far the moment the harsh words tumbled from her mouth. She wished she could take them back when he paled and stood stock-still, not even blinking.

  ‘Cash, I’m sorry—’

  ‘No you’re not.’ His flat, emotionless monotone scared her as much as his blank expression. ‘Good to know what you think of me. But you want to know something? I’d rather have clear goals in my life than not having any ambition and settling for a life of nothing because of some crap that happened in the past.’

  Lucy stared at the man she’d thought she loved, wondering how she could have got it so wrong. Again.

  Sorrow clogged her throat and she swallowed several times before responding. ‘I’m happy being a gardener. It’s not nothing.’ She jabbed a finger in his direction. ‘And you know nothing about my marriage so shut the hell up.’

  She scored a direct hit as remorse flickered in his eyes. ‘I know that whatever happened back then has made you into the woman you are today, scared to take a risk because you may get hurt again.’

  Not willing to have this conversation with him, Lucy shook her head. ‘You don’t know anything about me.’

  She hiked up her skirt in one hand and carefully descended the steps, a small part of her wishing he’d come after her.

  He didn’t and as a taxi miraculously appeared in front of her she quickly got in and gave her address to the driver.

  Lucy willed herself not to look back, but as the taxi slid away from the kerb she glanced out of the window. Cash’s stricken pallor almost as cold as the town hall he was silhouetted against as he stood alone, hands thrust into his pockets, a devastatingly handsome man in a tux without the woman who’d been willing to give him everything.

  THIRTEEN

  By eight the next morning, Cash had fielded three phone calls from new clients, responded to five emails and watched an investment he’d made in a new company just launched on the New York stock exchange make four of his oldest clients very rich.

  It should’ve been a good day.

  The commission he’d earn from the new clients, most of them gained through socialising last night, would be huge, and the connections he’d made would ensure that his company remained intact.

  Everything he’d worked so hard for, saved.

  Yeah, this should be a great day.

  Instead, all the money in the world couldn’t fix his crappy mood.

  Only one woman could do that and she’d made it abundantly clear what she thought of him.

  How the hell had he got it so wrong with Lucy?

  He swept a stack of papers off his desk as Barton stuck his head around the study door.

  ‘Bad time?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Cash growled, wishing he could tell his best mate to rack off. No point ruining two relationships in twelve hours.

  ‘Tough. We need to celebrate.’ Bart strode into his study and dumped a stack of newspapers on his desk. ‘I know you’ve probably seen these online but never hurts to keep paper relics of your greatest successes.’

  Cash pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing the dull ache that had resided there since last night would vanish. ‘I take it your company is pleased with the outcome of the Valentine’s Day couple crap?’

  ‘Crap?’ Bart’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I thought you and Lucy were right into it.’

  ‘You knew it was fake from the start,’ he said, his bitterness audible. ‘I got what I wanted, so did she.’

  Bart’s eyes crinkled in confusion. ‘But you two...I mean, it looked like...’

  ‘Appearances can be deceiving,’ Cash said, pushing back from his desk to cross his office and stare out of the window. At the garden that would soon be refurbished. By Lucy, strutting around here every day.

  Hell.

  ‘Sure they can, which is why I thought you two weren’t faking it at the end.’

  Cash heard the rustle of newspaper, before Bart said, ‘Here. Take a look at this.’

  The last thing Cash wanted to see was anything remotely connected to Lucy, but the faster he acquiesced to Bart’s demands, the faster he could get rid of him.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A recap of your hot and heavy romance with the luscious Lucy.’ Bart held up a broadsheet, covered from top to bottom with pictures of him and Lucy taken over the last week.

  Lucy hand-feeding him strawberries at the picnic.

  Lucy’s arms looped around his neck as he carried her off the skating rink.

  Lucy’s lips locked on his at the disco.

  And many more, each pic depicting a happy, smiling, laughing Lucy. With him looking like a smitten, devoted schmuck.

  ‘Looks pretty real to me,’ Bart said, shoving the newspaper into his hands. ‘So why are you feeding me a load of BS that says otherwise?’

  ‘Because it’s not real...’ Cash said, trailing off when he caught sight of a small picture, tucked away at the bottom, right-hand corner of the page.

  It was the same still he’d seen on his computer before the ball. The picture that had made him realise he loved her.

  So what had happened last night to make Lucy change from an adoring woman who appeared to be in love to a raving shrew who despised him and all he stood for?

  ‘If that’s not real, I’ll pose as your Valentine’s Day date next year,’ Bart said, swallowing a guffaw when Cash shot him a death glare.

  ‘This isn’t funny.’ Cash folded the newspaper and threw it on his desk. Yeah, as if that could erase those happy snaps from his mind.

  ‘Sure it is.’ Bart smirked. ‘Never thought I’d see the day when a woman brought you to your knees, you big dufus. No one can fake looking like that. Looking like they’re in love.’

  ‘I’m not in l—’

  Bart sniggered. ‘Yeah, keep telling yourself that, big guy. In the meantime, in case you waste any more time stewing over whatever has you in a snit, don’t forget it’s Valentine’s Day. The perfect day for grovelling.’ Bart shrugged. ‘If there’s a need to, that is. Just saying.’

  So Bart had a point.

  Through all the confusion of the last week—faking it at the events, revealing glimpses of their true selves, falling into bed—one fact remained steady.

  Cash loved Lucy.

  Was he going to throw the first real relationship he’d ever had away because Lucy had got spooked and deliberately pushed him away?

  Last night, he’d been angry. She’d hurt him.

  But in the cold light of day, with visual evidence of their developing relationship laid out in print, Cash knew he couldn’t walk away.

  Not without a damn good fight.

  He held out his hand. ‘Thanks, Bart.’

  ‘No worries, mate.’ Bart pumped his hand. ‘Just one last thing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Convince Lucy to let me be your best man, ’cause I don’t think she likes me very much.’

  Cash laughed. ‘If she takes me back, you’re on.’

  * * *