A Millionaire For Molly

‘There. Okay?’ He looked up at her and smiled, and she felt her heart do a crazy shift beneath her ribcage. Oh, for heaven’s sake!

‘Yes. Thank you. Now—’

‘Now your frog.’ He was still smiling at her, and it was a killer smile.

Angela handed over Lionel’s box, where he’d been placed for safekeeping. She looked at her friend strangely as she did so. It wasn’t like Molly to be this flustered. Interesting…

But Molly was still oblivious to anyone but Jackson. He had her mesmerised. He placed Lionel into her good hand and proceeded to do exactly what he’d promised, whittling a tiny splint, adjusting the leg so it was straight against the reed and then tying it carefully in place.

‘It’s as if he knows you’re helping him,’ Molly said, awed, and Jackson cast her another curious glance.

‘Yes.’

‘How long does he need to wear it?’

‘Maybe a couple of weeks. You’ll see the leg heal over.’

‘I can’t thank you enough.’

‘My lawyer did the damage.’ He lifted Lionel’s box and seemed to approve of what he saw. Sam had lined the box with plastic and soggy plant litter for the frog’s bed. ‘This is a great little recuperation unit.’ He lowered Lionel in and closed the box. ‘All done.’

‘Fantastic.’

‘And now you. You’ve had a shock. Would you like Mr Francis and I to drop you home?’

But enough was enough. The man was starting to seriously unnerve her, and she had a business relationship to maintain.

‘Thank you, but I’ll be fine.’

‘She’d like you to take her,’ Angela volunteered, but got a glower from Molly. Molly took a deep breath and took hold of the situation. Somehow.

‘I’ll see you at nine tomorrow,’ she told him.

He paused and looked down at her, still with that trace of confusion in his eyes.

‘With a chaperon?’

There was only one answer to that. ‘Certainly with a chaperon.’

He smiled at that, and once again his hand came out and touched her cheek.

‘Very wise. Okay, Miss Farr. I’ll see you tomorrow at nine. Take care of your hand. And your frog.’

And with that he was gone, leaving everyone in the office staring after him.

‘Molly, can I come? Please, can I come? You’ll need help and I can help you. I won’t even cramp your style.’ Jackson was no sooner out of the door than Angela’s clutch on her arm intensified. ‘I’d make a great chaperon.’

‘Thanks, but I’ll find my own chaperon.’ Molly managed a smile, albeit a weak one.

‘I need to go with you,’ Trevor told her. ‘This is my real estate firm.’

It might be, but it didn’t seem like it. The family firm had been handed down to this, the third Trevor Farr, and under his expert guidance it showed every sign of heading for bankruptcy. Trevor’s father had spoken to Molly at her sister’s funeral and persuaded her to give the place a try.

‘If you need a job in the city then I’d be grateful if you could join the family firm. Work under Trevor for a while as you get used to the city. You can learn the city trade from him—and he can certainly learn things from you. You’re the best.’

Until then she’d worked selling farms from her base on the south coast. Selling city property was a very different thing, she’d discovered, and her cousin was proving to be a millstone around her neck. Weak and ineffectual, he’d resented her competence from the start.

‘I can cope on my own,’ she told him now. She gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘I have a strong feeling that Mr Baird doesn’t want you or Mr Francis involved, and if his preferences mean a sale… How much did you say Mrs Copeland has on the place?’

Trevor swallowed. ‘Three million.’

Molly practically gaped. Three million. Whew.

‘Don’t mess it up.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Do you have someone respectable to take as a chaperon?’ Trevor might be a dope but he wasn’t completely heartless. Or he knew he’d have his father to answer to if anything went wrong. ‘The man’s got a reputation a mile long. Angela’s not suitable.’

‘Angela’s definitely not suitable,’ she agreed, managing a twinkle at her friend.

‘You have someone in mind?’

‘I do.’

Trevor paused, baffled at her lack of communication. ‘I suppose it’s all right, then.’

‘I suppose it is.’

‘Your hand’s not too sore to keep working? You’d better get moving if you want a Section Thirty-Two prepared.’

‘I’ll do it now.’ She flexed her fingers and winced, but Trevor was the only other person here capable of sorting the paperwork for such a property, and help from Trevor was the last thing she’d get.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s get on with selling Mr Baird a farm.’

CHAPTER TWO

THANK heaven Lionel wasn’t dead.

Sam was stoic, as Molly had known he would be. He’d been stoic for six months now. He’d taken every bit of dreadful news on the chin. Now his face was pinched, but blank, and when Molly tried to hug him he held back. As always.

‘I shouldn’t have kept him in the first place,’ he said miserably.

No. But then there was a no pets rule in their highrise apartment, so Sam had had nothing. They’d found the frog while they’d been crossing a busy Sydney street. It had been raining, there had been traffic everywhere, and Lionel had been sitting right in the middle of the road. He was a suicidal frog if ever there was one, and when Sam had pocketed him Molly hadn’t protested. Where he’d been, the frog would have been doomed.

May he not be doomed now, she thought, looking at the intricate arrangement of ponds Sam had rigged up on the bathroom floor.

‘I’ll have to clean all this up when he dies.’ The little boy put his hands in his pockets and tucked his chin into his chest. Molly knew there were tears waiting to get out. They’d wait a while. Molly cried. Sam didn’t.