Miranda Lee - The Tycoon's Outrageous Proposal

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.

CHAPTER TWO

WHO WOULD HAVE thought that getting married would prove so difficult?

Byron pondered this surprising reality as he practised his putting on the smooth grey carpet that covered the floor of his spacious office.

One would have thought that a highly eligible bachelor of his wealth and looks would have found little trouble in securing himself a bride.

Not so, it seemed!

After Byron cut business ties with his media mogul father five years ago, he returned home to Sydney with two missions in mind. First, to establish his own successful investment company; second, to marry and enjoy the same happy family life his father had finally found. He’d achieved his first goal but so far had failed spectacularly with the second.

It wasn’t that Byron hadn’t tried. He’d actually been engaged twice during the last two years, both of his fiancées having been exceptionally beautiful young women who were very keen to wed the only son and heir of the Maddox Media Empire.

Unfortunately, neither relationship had gone the distance from engagement to the altar. The fact it had been his decision both times didn’t alter his disappointment. Plus, it wasn’t cheap to dispose of an eager fiancée quietly when you were as rich as he was. But Byron didn’t regret either break-up, not once he realised he could not spend the rest of his life with a woman he no longer loved, or perhaps never had loved in the first place.

Within a few short weeks of his putting a ring on each woman’s finger, his rose-coloured glasses had fallen off and he’d seen them for what they were. Not true loves at all, but vain, ambitious women who wanted the status of being married to him more than they wanted to actually be married to him.

True love, Byron decided as he lined up his next putt, was a rare commodity, though his father seemed to have been lucky second time around. During his recent visit to New York for his new half-sister’s christening, Byron had been impressed with Alexandra’s devotion to her husband. But maybe he was deluding himself on that score. Lloyd Maddox was, after all, one of the richest and most powerful men in the world. How would he ever know if a woman loved him, or his money?

Byron swore when his putt was as unsuccessful as all the others, the ball hitting the side of the practice chute. Frustrated, he strode over to throw open his office door.

‘Grace!’ he called out to his PA. ‘Could you spare a moment or two? I need your advice on something.’ Grace and her husband were regular golfers; perhaps she could spot what he was doing wrong.

‘I hope you haven’t forgotten that you have to be ready for a business luncheon with Cleo Shelton in fifteen minutes,’ Grace reminded him as she walked in, balefully eyeing the golf club in his hand, plus his rolled-up shirt sleeves.

A swift glance at the gold Rolex on his wrist showed that it was a quarter past twelve. ‘Hell on earth,’ he muttered. ‘Where has the time gone this morning?’