by Leah Ashton
He was jumping at shadows. Ivy Molyneux was a woman who went after what she wanted. This phone call was nothing more. Unexpected, but also—not unwelcome.
‘I’m free,’ he said. ‘How about we meet at Ms Black at eight?’
A wine bar in Subiaco he’d visited with the rest of his squadron after they’d returned from their latest assignment—before they’d quickly relocated to the pub next door. It was sophisticated, intimate, stunning. Very Ivy.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I—uh—guess I’ll see you there.’
‘Ivy—’ he said, before she had the chance to hang up. ‘I’m still not after anything serious.’
He felt it was important he was honest.
But judging by her almost shriek of laughter before she ended the call, he had nothing to worry about on that front, regardless.
* * *
How had she let this happen?
For what felt like the hundredth time, Ivy had to stop herself fidgeting. So far she’d swivelled her bar stool, kicked her heels against the foot rest and attempted to tear a coaster into a million pieces.
She’d counted every step she’d made tonight. From her house to her car, and then from where her driver dropped her right outside this incredibly trendy bar to this seat. It was ridiculous.
In front of her sat an untouched glass of champagne.
She didn’t even know why she’d ordered it. Out of habit?
Or denial?
Ha!
As if it weren’t the only thought reverberating about her head.
I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant.
How had she let this happen?
This being pregnant. This being dressed in a cute cocktail dress on a Thursday night to tell a man she didn’t even know something that would change his life for ever.
The dress was new. She’d dragged one of her assistants out shopping. Ivy had made sure she’d smiled a lot and dropped hints about her ‘date’ tonight while still being deliberately coy.
That was all that had kept her going as the seconds and minutes had crawled along—focusing on her...plan.
In all honesty, it was far from her best plan. In fact, it was most likely her worst.
But she needed a plan right now. She needed a way forward, a way to fix this.
Because Ivy Molyneux didn’t make mistakes.
‘Ivy.’
At the sound of Angus’s already familiar deep voice, Ivy channelled Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman as she slowly pivoted her chair to face him. What she really wanted to do was disappear between the floorboards. So, so badly.
But then she saw him.
In Bali, in his casual wedding attire, he’d been undeniably handsome. Heck, he’d be undeniably handsome anywhere.
But in the intimate lighting of the bar, in dark jeans, boots and a slim fitting black shirt he was...just plain gorgeous. His clothes weren’t particularly formal, but he somehow managed to still look effortlessly dressed to impress. He looked darker, taller, broader than she remembered.
Especially now that he was standing so close to her. Close enough to touch.
And then he did touch her. Casually leaning forward to brush a kiss against her cheek and to bring his lips to her ear.
‘You are stunning,’ he said. His breath momentarily tickled her neck.
Ivy shivered.
He stepped back, his appreciative gaze sweeping over her.
She loved the dress she’d bought today. Teal silk with a feminine wrap bodice and a fitted skirt that hit mid-thigh, it flattered her curves and on any other day would’ve made her feel on top of the world.
That it didn’t helped bring her back to reality.
This wasn’t a date.
This so wasn’t a date.
Ivy slid off her chair, waving away the arm he offered her. Without a word she headed to the back of the bar. It was busy, with all but the three tables along the far wall occupied.
Each was marked with a small reserved sign, and it was towards the middle table that Ivy gestured.
‘I booked a table,’ she said.
She’d booked three, actually, and paid for a night’s worth of meals on all. It was still hardly private, but it would have to do.
‘Dinner?’ Angus asked.
Despite everything, Ivy managed a smile. Clearly dinner and conversation were not what Angus had planned for the night.
He was close beside her, and she could practically feel his growing tension.
Well, that situation wasn’t about to improve for him.
She took her seat, and Angus took his. He must have plucked her champagne from the bar, as he placed it before her, his wrist still bandaged as it had been in Bali.
That was nice of him.
Would he be a good dad?
She gave a little shake of her head. No. This wasn’t fair, that she knew and he didn’t. That he thought he was here for meaningless flirtation followed by meaningless sex, when he so, so wasn’t.
‘Ivy, what’s going on?’
She’d been staring, unseeing, down at her fingers, which she’d been wrapping and unwrapping around the stem of her champagne glass.
She took a breath. The deepest breath she could remember taking.
Then she lifted her gaze, and met his.
Even in the moody bar lighting, she now finally had enough light to see the colour of his eyes. Hazel.
They were lovely eyes, sexy eyes, but right now they were hard and unyielding.
Yes, he’d worked out that this night wasn’t going to pan out the way he’d planned.
‘Angus—I’m pregnant.’
THREE
Pregnant?
All the stupid, obvious questions were on the tip of his tongue.
Are you sure?
How...?
Is it mine?
But he knew all the answers:
Of course she was. That she wanted to be anywhere but here was clear in everything about her. She was one hundred per cent sure or she wouldn’t be putting either of them through this.
The how hardly needed explaining. He’d been there, too.
And was it his?
Well, that was only a faint hope that this was all a terrible mistake, rather than a genuine question.
And he was grateful that a small smidgen of his brain told him to swallow the words before they leapt from his mouth.
Because of course it was his. He had known what he’d been doing in Bali—known he’d pushed her out of her comfort zone, known he’d pursued the electric attraction between them to what he’d felt was the only logical conclusion...
But that she didn’t normally have random sex with a practical stranger on a beach had been abundantly clear.
So yes, it was his.
With the basics covered, he dropped his head, gripping his skull with his hands.
He swore harshly.
That was about the sum of it.
‘Angus?’
He kept his head down, but he nodded.
‘I know this is a shock. I know this is the wrong place to tell you. When I called I hadn’t planned this...but...’
It didn’t matter. Who cared where she told him?
His thoughts leapt all over the place, as if his brain was incapable of being still, or of grasping onto anything at all.
He’d never felt like this.
He’d been in combat many more times than once.
He’d been in the most stressful situations that most people could imagine. Real stress. Real life-and-death stress, not running-late-for-work stress.
And yet this had thrown him. This had sent his ability to think, and apparently to talk, skittering off the rails.
His gaze shot up, linking with hers in almost desperation. ‘A plan?’
Ivy nodded slowly. And then she seemed to realise what he was thinking.
She looked down, studying her untouched champagne glass again.
‘No,’ she said, so softly he had to lean closer. ‘Not that.’ Her gaze darted back to his, and she looked at him steadfastly now. With that directness, that realness he’d liked so much in Bali. ‘I’m thirty-one, and I have money and every resource I could wish for at my disposal. In every possible way this is the last thing I want. But a termination isn’t an option for me.’
She barely blinked as she studied him. Long, long moments passed.
Angus cleared his throat. ‘I’m thirty-four with a career I love that takes me away from home for months at a time and could one day kill me. I don’t want this. I don’t want children.’ Ivy’s gaze wobbled a little now as Angus swallowed. ‘But for no reason I can fathom, I’m glad you’ve made that decision.’
Now he glanced away. He didn’t know why he’d said that, or why he felt that way. The logical part of him—which was basically all of him—didn’t understand it.
It made no sense. But it was the truth. His truth.
When he looked back at Ivy she was again studying her champagne glass.
‘Well, it’s good we’re on the same page, then,’ she said, her tone now brisk and verging on businesslike. ‘So, here’s my actual plan.’ By the time she met his gaze again, she was all business. Ivy Molyneux of Molyneux Mining—not Ivy the girl from the beach. ‘I’ll get straight to the crux of it: I’d like us to get married.’
Straight after the pregnancy news, Angus would’ve thought it would take a hell of a lot to shock him.
That did it.
‘What?’
She held up a hand. ‘Just hear me out,’ she said. ‘What I’m proposing is a business arrangement.’ A pause, and then a half-smile. ‘And, yes, marriage.’
Ivy might find this funny, but Angus sure as hell didn’t.
He remained stonily silent.
‘The term of the agreement would be twelve months from today,’ Ivy continued, clearly warming to her topic. ‘As soon as possible we would reveal our—until now—several months’ long secret relationship to family and friends, and, shortly after, our engagement. Then, of course, our—’ now she stumbled a little ‘—our, um, situation would mean that we’d bring our wedding forward. I thought that we could make that work in our favour. A Christmas Eve wedding would be perfect, I felt.’
A Christmas Eve wedding would be perfect?
Angus’s brain was still requiring most of its synapses to deal with his impending parenthood. But what little remained was functioning well enough to realise that this was completely and utterly nuts.
‘Is this a pregnancy hormone thing?’ he asked, quite seriously. ‘Can they send you loopy?’
Ivy’s gaze hardened. ‘I can assure you I am not crazy.’
More than anything, Angus wished he’d had time to order a drink. For want of another option, he gestured at Ivy’s champagne. It wasn’t as if she could have it, after all.
She nodded impatiently, and then carried on with her outrageous proposal as he downed half the drink in one gulp.
‘After the wedding we’d need to continue the illusion that we’re a couple, but given the nature of your work that shouldn’t be too hard. My house is huge, so we could live quite separate lives when you are home. Not being seen in public together will help, anyway, for when we separate a few months after the baby is born.’
She blinked when she said baby, as if she couldn’t quite believe it was true.
‘After the separation you’re free to do whatever you like, and then, as soon as legally allowable, we’ll divorce, and carry on with our lives.’
‘Except for the fact that we’re parents of a child we had together.’
A reluctant nod. ‘Well, yes.’
Angus took a second long swig to finish the champagne he’d barely tasted. He plonked the glass down with little care, and then leant forward, watching Ivy’s eyes widen.
‘Why?’ he asked.
Ivy actually shrugged. ‘Does it matter? I can assure you that the remuneration you’ll receive for this will be a life-changing amount. Millions of dollars.’
Pocket change to her.
‘And a house, too, if you like,’ she added, as if an afterthought.
‘Before tonight, Ivy, I never wanted children, and I never wanted to get married,’ he said. ‘Now I’m having a child, but, I can assure you, absolutely nothing has changed on the marriage front. I wouldn’t have picked you to be the old-fashioned sort, Ivy, but I’m not. Even with a diamond-encrusted solid-gold carrot.’
Ivy shook her head, as if she couldn’t comprehend his rapid refusal. ‘I promise you that this will cause you minimal impact, I—’
‘It’s marriage, Ivy. Nothing minimal impact about that.’
She gave a little huff of frustration. ‘Don’t think of it like that. Think of it as signing a contract, nothing more.’
‘Signing a contract of marriage, Ivy. And you still haven’t told me why.’
Now that he had her glass, Ivy had transferred her fidgeting to her fingers—tangling and twining them together.
Had she really thought he’d agree, just like that? An offer of a crazy amount of money and all sorted? Even if her proposal made no sense on any level?
He studied her. Was she was so detached and separate from reality in her billionaire’s turret that she truly believed that money could buy her anything? It was his immediate and rather angry conclusion.
He could feel every sinew in his body tense in frustration at the thought of the level of entitlement, of arrogance that would lead to such an assumption...
But now as he looked at Ivy, it didn’t fit. He hadn’t seen it in her in Bali, and he still didn’t recognise it now.
Sure, she was still some distance from normal, but he knew it wasn’t entitlement, or arrogance, that had triggered her plan.
It was something he could understand. That he could recognise.
It was desperation.
* * *
Ivy didn’t know what to do now.
Maybe he was right. Maybe pregnancy hormones had sent her loopy, because, honestly—had she really thought he’d just agree?
In her experience some people could be bought for the right price. Actually, make that many, many people. But nothing about Angus had indicated to her that he was one of those people. In fact, if she’d spent even a minute properly considering her plan, she would’ve seen this fatal flaw.
Which of course was the problem. She hadn’t spent any time thinking about it, at least not thinking about such pesky details like: what if he doesn’t agree? Because she’d been clinging to this plan as if it were a rope suspended over the abyss that was her pregnancy, and she just couldn’t, could not, let it go.
But, the thing was, if this plan had something to do with mineral exploration or extraction, she certainly wouldn’t give up this early in the fight.
And that meant that she’d have to—at least partly—answer his question.
‘When I turn thirty-two,’ she said, looking him in the eye just as she always did during business negotiations, ‘my mother will relinquish her position as Chief Executive Officer of Molyneux Mining to me. It’s the same age she was when my grandfather died and left her the company, and this has been planned literally from when I was born.’ She paused. ‘I turn thirty-two in July next year. Based on some useful internet calculators—pending me seeing a doctor—our baby will arrive approximately one week before that date.’
Our baby. A slip of the tongue, but Angus displayed no reaction.
; ‘Although the succession plan was determined before my birth, I can assure you that I want this too. I’m very different from my mother in many ways.’ A huge understatement. ‘But in this way, we are in sync. We both live for Molyneux Mining. This is incredibly important to me.’
It is everything to me, she almost added. But somehow she didn’t think that would help.
It was near impossible to read Angus’s expression, but he nodded. ‘I get that you love your job. I get that you don’t want to give that up. What has this got to do with marrying me?’
‘About ten years ago just under half of Molyneux Mining was listed on the Australian Stock Exchange. We’re still majority family owned, but I report to a board of executives, as well as to our shareholders. We also have a number of significant projects in progress, including a joint venture to mine manganese in the Pilbara, which is reaching final negotiations. It is also widely known that I will take over Molyneux Mining next year, and that we are already in a period of comprehensive change management.’
‘So you’re worried that a baby will impact your share price?’
Ivy’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, not the baby. No one had better think that a baby will impact my professional performance.’
Oh, how she hoped that was true. She ignored Angus’s mildly incredulous raised eyebrows.
‘It’s all about how the baby came to be here, that’s the problem. My whole career has led to my next birthday. Everything I have done, every decision I have made, has been with this succession in the front of my mind. I am known for being meticulous in my planning. For never making a snap decision, for never being reactive in my actions. Even my boyfriends have been chosen with some consideration for my career—I always do background checks. I never take anything or anyone on face value.’
Except she’d never done a background check on Angus. The only thing she’d cared about that night was how good Angus had made her feel.
‘So a baby is okay. But hot, crazy sex on a beach with a stranger isn’t.’
Ivy recoiled a little, and felt her cheeks grow warm.
Now her gaze dipped to her fingers. With some effort she untangled them, laying her palms flat on the table to force them still.