Romance for Cynics (13 page)

* * *

Cash did this for a living. Schmoozed and backslapped and listened to TV stars drone on, so consumed by their self-importance they didn’t know when to stop.

He should be used to it but tonight he was off his game. His grand plans to romance Lucy in style had been shot. First with Ivenka’s dramatic crisis when she’d arrived on his doorstep as he’d been getting ready for the ball, and now with the constant parade of well-wishers who wanted to shake his hand or pat him on the back because of his favourite status to win tonight.

He couldn’t give a rat’s ass who won tonight. He’d achieved his objective. Re-signing many old clients, holding onto those in danger of leaving him, and gaining some hugely positive PR for his company. He’d heard earlier today that the jilted starlet who’d threatened his reputation had left the country to try her luck in Hollywood. Considering her B-grade acting skills, she was going to need that luck and plenty of it.

So he should have been flying tonight. But something had him on edge: Lucy’s uncharacteristic coolness. Sure, she smiled and nodded and pretended to genuinely be interested in every person that came up to chat, but he could see the signs.

The slight angling of her body away from his.

The infrequent handholding.

The inability to meet his eyes for longer than a few seconds.

The subtle withdrawing with every smile fading too soon, her forced laughter at his jokes, the worry clouding her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking.

Was she preparing to revert to his gardener after tonight? Was that why she was behaving like this?

He had to reassure her, had to convince her how much she meant to him. The sooner they could slip out of this place, the better.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention?’ The PR firm’s CEO waited for the crowd to quiet before continuing. ‘Can I also have the competing couples move towards the front and line up below the stage?’

‘Ready to strut your stuff one last time?’ he said, holding out his hand to Lucy.

Her hesitation was imperceptible to all but the practised eye but he saw it, and his concern doubled.

‘Let’s do this.’ She slipped her hand into his, its cold clamminess at odds with her usual warmth.

‘You okay?’ he murmured as they headed for the stage.

‘Yeah.’

Her terse one-syllable response inspired him even less.

They waited at the bottom of the stage while the CEO droned on about the fun of romance and the importance of Valentine’s Day and one lucky couple’s dream date. And all the while, Lucy kept her gaze fixed on the CEO, not glancing his way even when he squeezed her hand.

Yep, something was seriously wrong.

‘And now I’d like to announce the winner.’ The CEO made a big show of opening a sealed envelope, when, if the online voting was anything to go by, they’d won by a landslide.

He’d looked forward to whisking Lucy away on a dream date, especially after tonight when he’d hoped to lay his heart on the line.

Now? He wasn’t so sure.

The CEO cleared his throat. ‘This couple won by a huge margin, earning the title of Most Romantic Valentine’s Day Couple.’

He paused and rattled the envelope for dramatic effect. ‘Congratulations to Cash Burgess and Lucy Grant. You win the Valentine’s Day dream date, courtesy of GR8 4U Public Relations. Enjoy.’

A loud cheer went up as people wanting to hug and air-kiss and congratulate besieged them.

Cash tried his best to hold onto Lucy’s hand but she slipped away in the sheer volume of people wanting to get closer to them.

He craned his neck, searching for her, and their gazes collided, hers quietly accepting of...? What? This mayhem?

This meant nothing, a momentary glitch before the real aim of the evening started: him getting her alone so they could talk about their future.

He smiled, hoping she’d understand that once this mayhem subsided they were out of here.

It must’ve lost something in the translation because Lucy turned away, leaving him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

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
.’