The Tycoon's Outrageous Proposal. Miranda Lee

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.’

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