Chapter 8
Ruby had spent three days with the Seaborn accountant poring over spreadsheets until her eyes stung.
Figures weren't her forte, yet she'd listened, learned, and hyperventilated. No matter how hard they juggled and reassigned, they couldn't create miracles. Unless Seaborn had a sudden influx of cash or cut costs in major areas of the business, they'd be bankrupt soon.
She knuckled her eyes, hating the futility of tears.
She'd never been overly emotional but dragging around this burden had her on the verge of crying all the time.
So the last thing she felt like doing on a 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 went under, 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 Sapphire did this on a regular basis, she'd never know. Stepping into her sister’s shoes showed Ruby why Saph had burned out, considering she had to schmooze constantly, alongside her CEO duties.
Not to mention the secret her sister had lugged around for months—that no matter what they did, the company they loved would end up bankrupt.
The thought of her broken sister, and how little Sapphire had trusted her to help, brought a lump to Ruby’s 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 several deep breaths, grateful when the tightness in her chest eased. Taking a sip of wine, she glanced back at the crowded room.
And saw him. 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 propped behind a display, watching, his frown deepening as that penetrating glare swept the room.
Interesting. This was 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 finger food.
When the Meyers, an elderly rich couple who'd been friends of her mum, approached, he 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.
From memory, the Meyers' son had lost around eight hundred thousand dollars thanks to Denver Maroney, so it didn't surprise her that they snubbed his son.
This crowd always protected their own and Jax's father had done the unthinkable: used longstanding friendships to swindle, deceive, and destroy.
Why would Jax Maroney put himself through this? The guy might appear unflappable and aloof, as if he didn't give a flying fig what anyone thought of him, but being deliberately ostracised because of the sins of his father 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 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, she had no recourse.
She'd briefly considered it as an option to save Seaborn before waking up and smelling the coal dust. Jax Maroney had made it clear the other night: he was interested in their mine, not the oldest jewellery store in Melbourne.
He didn't care that Seaborn had supplied tiaras to the Miss Australia pageant for the last two decades.
He didn't care that they had personally written thank you notes from TV stars for their exquisite pieces.
He didn't care that 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, his expression showing a flicker of pleasure before he quickly masked it with the deliberate aloofness he probably practised in the mirror every morning.
"Stalking your next victim?"
His eyes widened. "I beg your pardon?"
She gestured 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."
"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 withering stare swept the crowd.
Maybe her earlier assumption hadn't been too far off the mark? While Mr Moneybags wore his aloofness like the finest designer suit, being shunned because of his name obviously rankled.
"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 designer loafered feet. But in that moment, with warmth flowing through her body like liquid honey, she wished she could believe him.
As if sensing her reaction, he pushed off the wall and took a step forward. In her face, in her personal space. Her senses ratcheted to high alert. Jax was too close, too hot, too much.
"Nothing to say?” His lips kicked into a sexy grin. “That's a first."
Biting back the irrational urge to reach up and pull his head down to within kissing distance, she eyeballed him. "You don't know me."
He leaned down and she braced against the incoming assault of hot male and crisp citrus.
"Maybe I'd like to?" He murmured in her ear, his warm breath tickling her skin and her eyelids fluttered shut, lost in the heat of undeniable attraction.
Before reality set in. She couldn’t get involved with the enemy.
His fingertip touched her ear lobe, trailed across her jaw, setting her alight. Desire streaked through every common-sense reason why she shouldn’t grab his hand and drag him out of here, back to her place.
She'd always been spontaneous when it came to guys, not following convention of waiting to be asked out. If she liked a guy, she let him know. But as Jax stepped away, leaving her hot and bothered and yearning, she knew he was no ordinary guy.
She couldn't toy with him. He wasn't the type to tease or taunt without serious repercussions. Considering the dire circumstances at Seaborn, she couldn’t afford to play with fire.
"I'd like you to leave our mine alone."
The glimmer of lust in his eyes didn't dim. If anything, her feistiness seemed to turn him on.
"And I'd like the wealthy in this city to acknowledge I'm nothing like my father and consider doing business with me, but we don't always get what we want."
His honesty stunned her, and when his lips clamped and he tried to turn away, she grabbed his hand.
"So you have a heart beneath that tough-guy exterior after all."
He frowned, but the rigidness around his mouth softened. "No."
He tapped his chest. "No heart here."
"You want acceptance—"
"For my business." He waved a dismissive hand at the crowd. "Couldn't care less what they think of me."
His clarification only solidified her impression that this deliberate ostracism had to mean more than he let on.
“You want them to accept your business, and I want my family business to survive intact. Maybe we should brainstorm a solution to our problems?"
His frown deepened. "Why? As you pointed out, we barely know each other. Why the hell would I discuss my private business with you?" He shook his head. “I understand business proposals. This?" He pointed at the crowd. "Not a hope."
She stared at him, something tugging at the edge of her consciousness.
He'd used the word proposal again… What if they could brainstorm a proposal to benefit them both?
An outlandish idea shimmered and coalesced, detonating like an ill-timed bomb, and she gasped.
"What's wrong?"
She glanced at his left hand. "Are you married?"
"No."
"Involved with anyone?"
His frown eased, that sexy grin back. "If this is your way of asking me out—"
"I'm not asking you out."
She placed her palms against his chest, slid them across to his lapels, and tugged him closer.
"I'm asking you to marry me."