Second Chance Proposal: A Man Without Mercy / Bring It On / Rancher to the Rescue

‘I guess it doesn’t matter if I tell you. It’s not as though it isn’t public knowledge.’

Jack frowned. It certainly wasn’t public knowledge to him.

Nigel frowned also. ‘I’m guessing by the look on your face that you didn’t read the gossip columns in Sunday’s papers, or see the photos.’

‘I never read gossip columns,’ Jack replied. He did sometimes skim through the Sunday paper—mostly the property section—but he’d been busy yesterday. ‘So what did I miss? Though, truly, I can’t imagine a girl like Vivienne making it into any gossip column. She isn’t the type.’

‘It wasn’t Vivienne. It was her ex-fiancé.’

‘Ex-fiancé... Good Lord, when did that happen? She was solidly engaged last time I saw her a few weeks back.’

‘Yes, well, Daryl broke off their engagement about a month ago. Told her he’d fallen in love with someone else. The poor girl was shattered, but she was very brave and soldiered on. Of course, the rat claimed he hadn’t cheated on her whilst they were still engaged, but yesterday’s paper proved that was just rubbish.’

‘For pity’s sake, Nigel, just tell me what was in the darned paper!’

‘The thing is, the girl Daryl dumped Vivienne for wasn’t just any old girl. He left her for Courtney Ellison. You know...? Frank Ellison’s spoiled daughter. Vivienne did the decorating job on the harbourside mansion you built for Ellison, so I guess that’s how the two lovebirds met. Anyway, the bit in the gossip column was announcing their engagement. In the photos—there were several—the Ellison girl is sporting a diamond engagement ring the size of an egg—as well as a much bigger baby-bump, meaning their affair’s been going on for quite some time.

‘Naturally, there was no mention of Courtney’s handsome husband-to-be having been recently engaged to another woman. Darling Daddy would have quashed that. You don’t get to be a billionaire mining magnate in this country without having lots of connections in the media. As you can imagine, Vivienne is very cut up about it. She was in tears on the phone yesterday, which is not like her at all.’

Jack could not have agreed more. Tears were not Vivienne’s style. He’d never met any female as cool and collected as Vivienne. But he supposed everyone had their breaking point. He shook his head, regretting now that he’d recommended her to Frank Ellison. Jack hated to think that he was in some way responsible for Vivienne’s unhappiness. But how could he possibly have known that Ellison’s man-eating maniac of a daughter would get her claws into Vivienne’s fiancé?

Still...if ever there was a man willing and ready to be eaten by the likes of Courtney Ellison, it was Vivienne’s now ex-fiancé.

Jack had only met Daryl once—when he’d briefly dropped in on Classic Design’s Christmas party last year—but once had been enough to form an opinion. Okay, so darling Daryl was movie-star good-looking. And charming, he supposed, if you liked silver-tongued talkers who smiled a lot, touched a lot and called their fiancée ‘babe’. Clearly, Vivienne did, since she’d been planning on marrying him.

It saddened Jack that Vivienne had been unlucky enough to lose her heart to one of that ilk, but he had no doubt that she would, in time, see that she’d had a narrow escape from long-term misery as a result of Daryl’s defection. Meanwhile, the last thing that girl needed was to be allowed to wallow in her present misery. Jack understood that Vivienne was probably feeling wretched, but nothing would be achieved by cutting herself off from the one thing she was good at and would make her feel good about herself: her work.

‘I see,’ he said, quickly deciding on a course of action. ‘You wouldn’t have Vivienne’s address, would you, Nigel? I’d like to send her some flowers,’ he added before Nigel gave him some bulldust about privacy issues.

Nigel stared at Jack for a long moment before looking up the company files on his computer and writing down the address.

‘I don’t like your chances,’ he said as he handed the address over.

‘My chances of what?’ Jack replied, poker-faced.

Nigel smiled a dry smile. ‘Come now, Jack, you and I both know you don’t want Vivienne’s address just to send her flowers. You’re going to hotfoot it over to her place and try to get her to do whatever it is you want her to do. Which is what, by the way? Another retirement-home project?’

‘No,’ Jack said, despite thinking that Francesco’s Folly would make a perfect retirement home, when and if he ever actually retired. ‘It’s a personal project, a holiday house I’ve bought which badly needs redecorating. Look, it’ll do Vivienne good to keep busy.’

‘She’s very fragile at the moment,’ Nigel warned. ‘Not everyone is as tough as you, Jack.’

‘I’ve often found that the gentler sex are a lot tougher than we men think they are,’ Jack said as he stood up and extended his hand in parting.

Nigel tried not to wince when Jack’s large hand closed around his much smaller one. But truly, the man didn’t know his own strength sometimes. Didn’t know women as well as he thought he did, either. No way was Vivienne going to let herself be bulldozed into working for him. Aside from the fact that she was in a dreadful emotional state at the moment, she’d never overly liked the owner of Stone Constructions—something which Jack obviously didn’t know.

But privately she’d expressed the opinion to Nigel that Jack was a pain in the neck to work for, a driven workaholic with impossibly high standards which, whilst admirable in one way, could be very trying. Of course, he did pay very well, but that wasn’t going to help him where Vivienne was concerned. Money had never interested her all that much, possibly because she’d inherited plenty of her own when her mother had died a couple of years ago.

‘If you want some advice,’ Nigel called after Jack as he headed for the door, ‘Actually taking Vivienne some flowers—not red roses, mind you—might improve your chances of success.’

Though Nigel seriously doubted it.

CHAPTER TWO (#ud8887f14-a148-5fbf-8088-29c9a3d45c2b)

VIVIENNE’S ADDRESS WAS easy to find. It was located in Neutral Bay, only a short drive from Classic Design’s office in North Sydney. Finding a florist first was not quite so easy. Neither was deciding what flowers to buy. By the time Jack parked outside the two-storey red-brick building which housed Vivienne’s apartment, an hour had passed since he’d left Nigel.

Not a man who liked wasting time, it was a somewhat exasperated Jack who climbed out from behind the wheel of his black Porsche, carrying the basket of pink and white carnations the florist had finally convinced him to buy.

A sudden autumn shower had Jack bolting up the narrow front path and into the small lobby of the apartment block. Thankfully, he didn’t get too wet, just a few drops on his shoulders and hair; nothing that couldn’t be easily remedied.

There wasn’t any security panel anywhere, he noted as he smoothed back his hair. The building was quite old, possibly federation, though in reasonably good condition. He pressed the brass door-bell, hearing only a faint ring coming from inside. No one came to answer straight away, giving rise to the annoying possibility that Vivienne wasn’t at home. Jack now regretted not ringing first. He had her mobile number in his phone. He’d just presumed she’d be at home after what Nigel had said.

‘I’m a bloody idiot,’ he muttered under his breath as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and brought Vivienne’s number up on the menu. He was about to call when he heard the dead lock being turned. It wasn’t Vivienne who opened the door, however, but a plump, middle-aged woman with short blonde hair and a kind face.

‘Yes?’ she said. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I hope so,’ Jack replied, switching off his phone and slipping it back into his jeans pocket. ‘Is Vivienne at home?’

‘Well, yes, but...um...she’s taking a bath at the moment. I presume those flowers are for her? If you give them to me, I’ll make sure she gets them.’

‘I’d prefer to give them to her personally, if you don’t mind.’

The woman frowned at him. ‘And who might you be?’

‘The name’s Jack. Jack Stone. Vivienne’s worked for me on a number of occasions.’

‘Ah yes. Mr Stone. Vivienne has mentioned you once or twice.’

Jack was taken aback by the dry tone in the woman’s voice when she said that. He wondered momentarily what Vivienne had said about him, but then dismissed the thought as irrelevant.

‘And you are?’ he shot back.

‘Marion Havers. I live in number two,’ she said, nodding towards the adjoining door. ‘Vivienne and I are good friends as well as neighbours. Look, I presume since you’ve brought her flowers that you know what’s happened.’

‘Actually, I didn’t know a thing till I went to Classic Design’s office this morning to hire Vivienne for a job. Nigel explained the situation, saying how upset Vivienne was, so I thought I’d come round and see how she was.’

‘How very kind of you,’ the woman said with a soft sigh. ‘As you can imagine, the poor girl’s devastated. Can’t eat. Can’t sleep. She did get some sleeping tablets from the doctor, but they don’t seem to be working too well. Anyway, after this latest catastrophe, I think she’ll be needing some serious anti-depressants.’

Jack had never agreed with the way people turned to medication to solve life’s problems.

‘What Vivienne needs, Marion,’ he said sternly, ‘is to keep busy. Which is the main reason I’m here: I was hoping to persuade her to come and work for me.’

Marion looked at him as though he were delusional, but then she shrugged. ‘You can try, I suppose. But I don’t like your chances.’

Frankly, he thought he stood a darned good chance. Okay, so Vivienne was very upset at the moment, but beneath her distress she was still the same sensible young woman he’d come to respect enormously. She’d soon see the logic in his proposal.

‘Could I come inside,’ Jack asked, ‘and wait till Vivienne’s finished in the bathroom? I really would appreciate a personal word with her today.’

Marion looked doubtful for a moment, until she glanced at her wristwatch. ‘I suppose it will be all right. I don’t have to leave for work for another half hour. Vivienne should be out of the bath by then.’ She looked up at him and smiled. ‘Meanwhile, I could do with a quick cuppa. Would you like to join me? Or would you prefer coffee?’