Marrying the Enemy

Acquiring the Seaborn mine would be no different.

CHAPTER FOUR

RUBY had spent three days with the Seaborn’s accountant poring over ledgers until her eyes stung.

Figures weren’t her strong suit yet she’d listened and learned. And hyperventilated.

No matter how hard they juggled and reassigned, they couldn’t create miracles. Unless Seaborn’s had a sudden influx of cash or cut costs in major areas of the business, they’d shortly be bankrupt.

She knuckled her eyes, hating the futility of tears. She’d never been the type to get emotional but dragging around this burden had her on the verge all the time.

Not a good look during a last-ditch stand.

Last thing she felt like doing with her Saturday was attend the races but a competitor had invited her to their launch and, not wanting to appear churlish, she’d agreed to go with head held high.

If Seaborn’s was on the way out, better to go out with a bang than a whimper.

She swanned through the marquee at Flemington Racecourse, air-kissing acquaintances, greeting industry peeps, fake-smiling and making idle chit-chat like a pro.

How Sapphie did this on a regular basis she’d never know. Little wonder she’d burned out. And this on top of her CEO duties. And the secret she’d lugged around for months—that no matter what she did the company they loved would end up bankrupt.

The thought of her broken sister and how little Sapphie had trusted her to help brought a lump to her throat and she grabbed a Chardonnay from a passing waiter and edged towards the balcony overlooking the lush green course, desperate for fresh air.

She dragged in great lungfuls, grateful when her lungs eased and she could breathe easier. Taking a sip of wine, she glanced back at the crowded room.

And saw the last man she wanted to see.

Jax Maroney. Black suit. Black heart. Black mood too, judging by the glower and permanently etched frown.

Detached from the mingling crowd, he was propped behind a display, watching, his frown not easing as that penetrating glare swept the room.

Interesting. The second function in a few days where he’d deliberately separated from the crowd. He didn’t appear awkward; then again he didn’t exactly fit into this esoteric crowd, six-three of brooding, beautiful male.

She edged behind a pillar and watched him. He didn’t move, didn’t smile, didn’t accept a drink or hors d’oeuvres. The only time he appeared animated was when the Meyers, an elderly rich couple who’d been friends of her mum, approached. He squared his shoulders, managed a sardonic smile and held out his hand. Only to have the couple ignore it, mutter a few words that wiped the smile off his face, and walk away as fast as their arthritic knees could carry them.

The guy wanted to ruin her family’s business and she should hate him, but when he resumed his air of detachment and blanked his expression as if nothing had happened, a small part of her felt sorry for him.

If memory served her correct, the Meyers’ son had lost around eight hundred thousand dollars thanks to Denver Maroney, so it didn’t surprise her they snubbed his son.

This crowd always protected their own and Jax’s dad had done the unthinkable: using longstanding friendships to swindle and deceive and destroy.

What intrigued her was why Jax Maroney was putting himself through this. The guy might appear unflappable and aloof, as if he didn’t give a flying frisbee what anyone thought of him, but being deliberately ostracised because of the sins of his father?

It had to make an impact on him. Unless the guy was made from stone. Considering his disdain as he glanced at his watch and scanned the crowd as if looking for someone, it was more than likely.

Her heart kicked and she gave it a little rub. As if he’d be looking for her. Considering how they’d parted the other night, the next time they communicated she expected to see an offer in writing from his lawyer.

Guys like him didn’t give up easily. Powerful, commanding, never taking no for an answer.

If Maroney Mine had the Seaborn mine in its sight, Lord help her.

She’d briefly considered it an option to save Seaborn’s before waking up and smelling the coal dust. Jax Maroney had made it clear the other night: he was interested in their mine, not in the oldest jewellery store in Melbourne.

He didn’t care that Seaborn’s had supplied tiaras to the Miss Australia pageant for the last two decades. He didn’t care they had personally written thank-yous from TV stars for their exquisite pieces. He didn’t care Aussie movie icons had worn their signature sets on the red carpet in Hollywood.

Jax Maroney cared about the bottom dollar—his—and to hell with everyone else.

She didn’t know whether the stress of the last few days had caught up with her or she just wanted to vent and he happened to be handy, but she downed her second Chardonnay and marched towards him.

He glanced up, the flicker of pleasure lighting his face quickly masked by a deliberate aloofness he probably practised in the mirror every morning.

‘Stalking your next victim?’

His eyes widened. ‘I beg your pardon?’

She waved at the crowd. ‘Most of Melbourne’s jewellers are here. Scoping out someone else to muscle in on and drive out of business?’

The corners of his mouth curved into an infuriating smirk. ‘I’m guessing you’re not here to agree to my proposal, then.’

‘You guessed right.’

Proposal...probably some fifty-page document designed to bamboozle.

She hated feeling this helpless. ‘Are you ochlophobic?’

He shook his head. ‘Why?’

‘You’re always hanging around the outskirts, avoiding crowds.’

‘More like people avoiding me,’ he muttered, bitterness tightening his mouth as his brooding stare swept the crowd.

Maybe her earlier assumption hadn’t been too far off the mark, then? While Mr. Moneybags wore his aloofness like the finest designer duds, being shunned because of his name obviously did rankle.

‘You look like you don’t want to be here. Maybe that scares people off.’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t care what people think. I’m here on business.’

‘Funny business, I bet,’ she muttered, earning another slight twitch of his mouth.

‘Don’t you have people to schmooze?’

‘Don’t you?’ she fired back, ashamed by her cheap shot considering he’d just told her this crowd were avoiding him and she’d seen the evidence firsthand with the Meyers.

His imperious gaze swept her from top to toe, visually stripping her black-silk-imprinted-with-crimson-roses strapless dress from her body. Her skin pebbled and prickled with awareness; she’d never felt so exposed.

‘I’m right where I want to be.’

It meant nothing, a line from a guy used to having women falling at his Prada-loafered feet. But in that moment, with warmth flowing through her body like liquid honey, she wished she could believe him.