Cinderella and the Billionaire

by Marion Lennox

  ‘Or yes,’ she conceded. ‘They’re brilliant, of course. But, Matt, they should be in a museum somewhere, not oppressing the bejeezers out of everyone who walks in here.’

  Oppressing? He’d thought impressing more like.

  ‘I’m sorry you disapprove.’ He heard himself stiffening, ancestral pride doing a double take.

  ‘I disapprove of so much money being tied up for one man to look at over his morning toast.’

  ‘I eat my toast in the kitchen.’

  ‘Bully for you. Are there Pre-Raphaelites there, too?’

  ‘Dada,’ he said, and she shot him a look of incredulity and headed through to see. Satirical, nonsensical, the Dada paintings were part of a collection he’d begun himself.

  ‘Oh, my.’ Meg stopped before a picture of a pair of eyes somehow superimposed on a twisted teapot. ‘This is just the thing to face after a hard night.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ he conceded. ‘But I eat my breakfast fast.’

  ‘I would, too, just to get out of here.’

  ‘I’ll replace it before Henry comes here,’ he said defensively, and she turned and gave him a long, hard look.

  ‘Do you like this stuff?’

  ‘It’s an excellent investment. I can’t see Pooh and Eeyore fitting in here.’

  ‘I can’t see anyone but you fitting in here.’

  ‘As I said, I’ll get a designer in.’

  ‘It doesn’t need a designer,’ she said bluntly. ‘It needs someone to treat it as home. Look at that refrigerator. Have you ever seen a fridge as big as that without at least one grubby note attached saying there’s a Save the Whale meeting at your neighbours’ next Thursday? Or a change to garbage schedule? Or a card for a friend who’s turned clairvoyant and you promised you’d spread the word to your other friends who drop in unannounced with a slab of beer to watch a footy game?’ She looked at him a moment longer and then shook her head.

  ‘Uh-oh. Matt, you don’t have a clue about your neighbours, do you?’

  ‘I... No.’ He was at the apartment so little, and his entrance was private.

  ‘And mates who watch footy here? No?’ She sighed. ‘Okay, bring in your designer but keep an open mind about the fridge. Maybe let Henry decorate it. Meanwhile, are you heading to the office?’

  ‘I am,’ he conceded, but the thought of leaving Meg by herself with the Dadas... He hadn’t thought this through. ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Not sit here and let a teapot stare at me, that’s for sure. I’ll go explore.’

  ‘I’ll put the car at your disposal.’

  ‘No, thanks.’ She said it fast. ‘Shanks’ pony is great for seeing. So you’ll be back for dinner?’

  This wasn’t the way to encourage thoughts of marriage, he conceded. He should have left her at McLellan Place.

  ‘I’m meeting Steven Walker for lunch,’ he told her and watched her expression change.

  ‘Henry’s father? Really?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He’d had a few calls with Steven. Things were slotting into place, but a formal meeting seemed appropriate.

  ‘Would you like me to come with you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He hesitated. ‘Meg, until... Unless you commit to helping care for Henry, it might give the wrong impression. We don’t want to come across as a ready-made family.’

  ‘We certainly don’t.’ She eyed him cautiously.

  ‘But if you’d like to meet Steven...’

  ‘I would.’

  ‘Then I’ll send the car for you at one.’

  ‘Tell me the address and I’ll get there myself.’ He saw her glance down at the clothes she was wearing—neat jeans and a white shirt. ‘That settles what I’ll do this morning. I obviously need some going-to-lunch-with-billionaires clothes.’

  ‘Steven’s not a billionaire.’

  ‘You’ve looked him up, too? Okay, multimillionaire. Practically on the breadline. Regardless I’m not going to lunch looking like the poor relation.’

  ‘Try Neiman Marcus,’ he suggested. ‘Or Bloomingdale’s. I have accounts there. I’ll give you my card.’

  ‘You’re kidding me, right? Is this a Pretty Woman moment?’

  ‘I can afford—’

  ‘I’m sure you can but so can I.’ She grinned and stepped forward and kissed him, a proprietorial kiss, short and sweet and far too fast. When she stepped back she was still smiling.

  ‘Believe it or not, I can dress myself,’ she told him. ‘Allow me some dignity. Do you have somewhere here I can check the internet? Of course you do. The security code I saw you punch in—is that all I need to get in and out of this apartment? Great. Okay, off you go and cope with the world’s financial convolutions while I go find something to wear. I know what I think is more fun.’

  * * *

  Steven Walker was pretty much as Matt had expected. He was in his fifties, well built but bordering on pudgy. His Italian suit looked as if it had been made for him, his aura was one of wealth and privilege, and he spoke with care, as if whatever was said could be used against him. He greeted Matt as a business associate, and Matt could see the reservations behind the man’s eyes.

  That was okay. Matt had reservations, too. This was uncharted territory. Negotiating the fate of one small boy...

  He’d chosen one of his favourite eateries, discreet, expensive, a restaurant with myriad ‘rooms’ where business could be talked without fear of being heard. Maybe that had been a mistake, though, he thought, as the waiter hovered and asked about the absent ‘third person’. This wasn’t business. Or was it?

  Whatever, by the time they were through their first beer he was conscious of escalating tension. They’d been edging around the topic of Henry. Neither of them knew where to take this. To Matt it seemed as if they were marking time. Waiting?

  And then Meg arrived and the sight of her seemed to settle something deep within. It was all he could do to keep it formal, not to step forward and take her into his arms.

  She looked amazing.

  He’d expected her to be wearing, what? Something vaguely corporate? Not so much. She’d headed out with the idea of shopping for a business-type lunch in Manhattan. What she’d come up with was pure Meg.

  When he’d first seen her she’d been in filthy jeans, a battered oilskin and bare feet. What she was wearing now wasn’t even close to what she’d been wearing then, nor to the shabby jeans and windcheaters she’d worn back at Rowan Bay, but she’d lost nothing of that original, indomitable Meg.

  She was wearing black tights with ankle-length boots made of soft charcoal leather. Her crimson skirt was short, crisp, neat, showing off her gorgeous legs. A black vest lay beneath a beautiful embroidered jacket. The jacket was a little shorter than her vest, making the outfit look eye-catchingly chic. A faded leather bag—he recognised the brand and did a double take—hung casually from her arm.

  To top it off, she’d obviously found time to have her copper curls shaped into a proper elfin trim.

  She looked happy, buzzy from a successful shop? Her eyes were glowing. She smiled brightly at him, and as both men rose she turned that glowing smile onto Steven.

  ‘You’re Steven? Henry’s dad? I’m so pleased to meet you.’

  Steven put out a pudgy paw; he held Meg’s hand a little too long, and it was as much as Matt could do not to swipe it away and say, ‘She’s mine.’

  He didn’t. They were much too civilised. They sat again, and Matt tried not to look at Meg while she beamed at the waiter and asked nicely for a soda water, while she made small talk with Steven—while she held him entranced.

  Gorgeous didn’t begin to cut it.

  ‘We need to talk about Henry,’ he managed as their food arrived—the restaurant’s speciality, a seafood platter to be shared.

  ‘Let’s.’ Meg selected a scallop with care and popped it into he
r mouth. ‘Yum. Tell us, Steven, are you upset about what’s happening? And how do you see the care of your son playing out?’

  They were good questions. Great questions. They left Steven no choice but to put his cards on the table.

  ‘It’s been a shock,’ Steven admitted. He was watching Meg select an oyster and once again Matt had that almost-primeval urge to slap him. ‘I’ll admit my first emotion was anger that Amanda didn’t tell me. But there’s nothing I can do about that now, and I’ll do what’s right by the boy. He’s my son and I want him under my eye. I’ve been trying to decide what’s right, and I believe I have it sorted.’

  ‘Tell us,’ Meg said, seemingly entranced, and Steven flushed with the warmth of her attention.

  ‘I’m a wealthy man,’ he told her. ‘And what’s happened isn’t the boy’s fault. He is my son. I’ve therefore decided that it’s only fair that he’ll inherit. I have six children already, from three wives, but I’m fair. My estate was to be split six ways. It’ll now be split seven.’

  ‘That’s generous,’ Meg told him with a sideways glance at Matt. ‘But that’s for when you’re dead. What about now?’

  ‘My current wife has enough on her hands with her...our two children,’ Steven said smoothly, as if this was something that he’d worked out with care. ‘And, of course, my children from previous marriages still have a call on me. My time’s limited to attend to this boy’s needs. As long as his grandmother moves here, I see no reason why he shouldn’t stay with her. I’ve checked out McLellan Place on the web and he’s a lucky child to be invited to live there. I’ll pay for schooling, of course. He can go to the school I attended. It teaches boys to be boys—he can’t do better.’

  ‘Really,’ Meg murmured. ‘Boys will be boys, eh?’

  ‘None of that “caring sharing” stuff,’ Steven said, expanding on his theme. ‘My son should be tough. Boarding school, of course. Not that you’d want him all the time. Boarding school’s great until they turn into real human beings.’

  Matt’s hand slipped on his glass. He was gripping too hard. He carefully put it down. Smashing a glass would help nothing.

  But Steven wasn’t noticing tension. ‘I’ll cover any other costs he incurs, of course,’ he said genially. ‘After-school care, summer camps, that sort of thing. Oh, and of course, I’d like to meet him. Could his grandmother bring him into town, maybe once a month? Lunch? An hour or so? Kids aren’t much company but you do need to make an effort.’

  ‘You do,’ Matt said. Tightly.

  ‘So that’s agreed?’ The man seemed to relax, ground rules sorted. ‘I can’t help thinking Amanda used me, but I’ll do what’s right.’

  ‘What’s right,’ Meg said thoughtfully and turned to Matt. ‘An hour a month and funding. And no caring and sharing. Okay, Matt, your turn. What do you think’s right for Henry?’

  * * *

  The seafood platter was excellent. The calamari was a little tougher than she liked, but then this place wouldn’t be able to catch a squid a couple of hours before lunch.

  She ate two calamari rings and another oyster while she waited for Matt’s response. She knew this man by now. She could see tension in the set of his shoulders as he thought through Steven’s...offer?

  It was a crap offer but did he have a choice but to accept? Steven had the upper hand—there was nowhere for Matt to go.

  This seemed like negotiating a business contract, Meg thought suddenly, and she didn’t like the analogy.

  Neither did Matt. She could see the tension on his face. She could see him thinking how to respond.

  ‘Steven, what you’re suggesting seems adequate,’ he said at last. He was speaking slowly, and she could see him thinking each word out before he spoke. ‘This way he’ll have three adults in his life, his father, his grandmother, and me. I admit, I’d still like to be involved. You know Amanda was on my staff? Henry’s been in and out of my office since he was a toddler. I’ve grown fond of him.’

  ‘I understand that,’ Steven said. ‘If he’s a son of mine he’ll be whip-smart. If I get him well educated he’ll be a son to be proud of.’

  ‘I think that, too,’ Matt said smoothly. ‘But then...you already have children and you’re a busy man. You’d have trouble fitting him into your schedule.’

  ‘I’ll make the time,’ Steven said. ‘My wife won’t like it but it’s a duty.’

  ‘Does it have to be?’ Matt said, tentatively now. ‘You’re doing what’s right, but there is an alternative. It’s possibly too soon to commit to such a thing but if the placement I’m proposing works out... If you and your wife agree... There may be another way forward. You have six children and I have none. Steven, once you’ve checked us out thoroughly, and I know you’d want to do that, how would you feel about allowing us to adopt him?’

  What?

  Meg sat back in her chair and let the words sink in. Or tried to.

  Adoption?

  Where had that come from?

  And he’d just said...us?

  And it seemed Steven was as astounded as she was. ‘You’re kidding?’ He stared at Matt as if he’d just said something crazy. ‘You realise if you adopted him you’d be responsible? School fees, the lot. More, he’d end up with a claim on the McLellan estate.’

  Here we go, Meg thought numbly. Money.

  ‘I’m happy for that to happen,’ Matt said smoothly. He’d put his proposition on the table. Now he sounded ready to negotiate the finer points. ‘But the most important thing is surety for the boy. Peggy’s elderly and edging on confused. Hopefully she’ll be here for him for a few years yet, but, if not, this would give Henry the sense of belonging I think he needs.’ He glanced across at Steven. ‘Of course, you’d still like access, and it’s important for Henry to know as much about his background as possible. A scheduled meeting with him once a month would still be an option.’

  ‘Of course,’ Steven said, and Meg watched him visibly warm to the idea. Ridding himself of a responsibility he’d never wanted in the first place. ‘So he’d stay with you?’

  ‘He’d stay at McLellan Place with Meg. I’d be there as much as I can.’

  ‘With Meg?’ He turned to Meg, bemused. ‘This young lady? Where do you fit in?’

  ‘Meg’s Australian,’ Matt said smoothly. ‘Peggy’s sent her as envoy to see for herself what we’ve arranged.’ He hesitated but then obviously decided to say it. ‘I’m trying to persuade Meg to move to McLellan Place, as well. As my wife.’

  And just like that, Meg’s shock turned to anger. What was he doing, saying such things to a guy she’d only just met? This was personal.

  Plus...adoption. He hadn’t even mentioned the option to her. He was talking of marriage and a child, and he hadn’t even thought to talk about something so important?

  ‘So there’d be a mom for Henry,’ Steven said, his eyes alight with interest. ‘Marriage, eh? The fast research I’ve done puts you as a confirmed bachelor. What’s made you change your mind?’

  ‘Meg has,’ Matt said simply. ‘With Meg at McLellan House, Henry would definitely be lucky.’

  Lucky? Define lucky, Meg thought, thinking of that vast mansion, of the empty rooms, of Matt’s apartment here, of the sterility, of the loneliness...

  And then she thought, Who am I thinking of as being lonely? Henry? Or Matt?

  Or me?

  She was struggling to get her head around this. He’d proposed marriage. He’d create a family, for him to be part of at will?

  ‘But you’d only be there at weekends,’ she managed. She was blocking Steven out for the moment, focusing on the man in front of her. Marriage? Adoption? What was he promising Steven?

  She was being blackmailed.

  ‘My life is here in Manhattan, but yes, I’d be there whenever I can find time,’ Matt told her.

  And she thought, He doesn’t get it. He do
esn’t see.

  ‘Your life’s in Manhattan?’ She was having trouble getting her voice to produce more than a squeak.

  ‘I have a business empire to run,’ Matt said smoothly. He sounded back in control again, contract laid out; all she had to do was sign. ‘I’ll take care of Henry as well as I’m able but my financial empire is based here. That’s who I am.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  She said it far too loudly. The waiter, who’d surreptitiously arrived to check on drinks, stopped dead in the doorway. He checked the contents of their glasses from afar and disappeared fast.

  This restaurant was obviously geared to respectful discretion. It probably wasn’t used to having Australian fishing persons swearing at two financial giants.

  These men were at the peak of their careers, she thought bleakly. They were powerful and ready to have every suggestion applauded by minions. So here she was, being blackmailed into being...a wife minion.

  He hadn’t talked to her about the adoption option. Why?

  Because he’d decided to slot her into what he needed from her. Sharing? Not so much.

  Enough. She wasn’t tasting this seafood anyway. She rose and the men rose with her. Matt even had the decency to look worried. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘It’s not okay,’ she told him. She was trying not to let her voice wobble but she wasn’t succeeding. ‘Steven, I’d appreciate it if you could forget what Matt said about marriage. It’s not going to happen. I came here to check that Henry would be cared for if he moved here and I know that’ll happen. You guys sort the financials. Peggy will do the loving. And me? I’m heading back to my old life. Heaving craypots. Taking punters on fishing charters. I’d like to say that’s who I am, but it’s not true. It’s what I do.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Matt was looking at her in bewilderment. ‘Meg, you could have a great life at McLellan Place.’

  ‘I could, couldn’t I?’ she retorted. What she had to say shouldn’t be said in front of Steven but what the heck? She was too angry to care.