Page 173 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

He snorted. His situation would be laughable if it weren’t true.

Because finding a suitable bride was going to be nowhere near as easy as finding a companion for the night. Sure, there were plenty of women he’d encountered who’d dropped not so subtle hints during their time together that the two of them would make the perfect couple, but none of them had convinced him and, frankly, their rank enthusiasm for the role of his wife had left him cold and more cynical than ever about finding a woman that he wanted to marry.

There were still more women he’d met who he knew would be more than happy to playact in the role of his bride for however long that took, especially if he offered the right kind of financial incentive. He’d be more than willing to compensate any woman handsomely if it meant his mother might go to her final rest without the worry of her son being left on the shelf.

But even that way came with complications. He didn’t want complications. He didn’t want a woman who wanted to be his wife, but neither did he want a woman who told him she was happy to act in the role, only to change her mind when her use-by date expired. Prenuptial agreements could only go so far, and he had no desire to have to resort to legal action to sort it out.

No, what he needed was a woman whodidn’twant to be married to him. A woman who would only do it under sufferance, persuaded to marry him only because of a decent incentive, whether financial or otherwise. A woman who would nonetheless be more than prepared to blow him off the first opportunity she got.

Where the hell was Dom expected to find a woman like that?

CHAPTER TWO

BY THE TIMEMari Peterson’s so-called express train finally pulled into Melbourne’s Flinders Street Station forty minutes late, she was fuming. She hated being late any day, but especially on a day as important as this one. Forget about grabbing a coffee on the way to the office, she’d barely have time to collect her papers let alone her thoughts before this morning’s nine-thirty meeting with the bankers. Cooper Industries desperately needed this loan to fund its expansion onto the world stage. What kind of impression would it make if the company’s own finance manager turned up late?

To be fair, Mari hadn’t been in the best of moods when she’d boarded the train, but lack of sleep coupled with caffeine deprivation could do that to you. She’d woken after a fractured night, her mind still grappling with the fallout of yesterday’s bombshell phone call from her sister’s carer that she couldn’t afford to stay on without a substantial pay increase and that she needed to find a new job. Where was Mari going to find another Valerie? Housekeeper, cook and faithful companion all rolled into one, the woman was a godsend. More to the point, Suzanne loved her. Valerie’s departure would break her heart.

Not that Mari could blame the woman. Nobody was exempt from the cost of living crisis and Valerie hadn’t had a pay rise in two years—because Mari hadn’t been in a position to give it to her.

What the hell was she going to do?

Outside the station her tram was pulled up at the stop. She powered down the steps to catch the crossing, only to have the lights turn red and the traffic cop send her smartly back to the kerb.

‘Good grief,’ she muttered, her spirits taking another hit as the tram took off. Another delay. This day was shaping up to be a disaster.

Breathe.

Through the turmoil of her hammering heart and the constant roar of traffic filtered the calming voice of her grandmother. The steady voice she’d employed whenever a teenage Marianne had worked herself up over some real or imagined injustice, whether it be despair over their parents’ tragic deaths in a country road crash, some despot in a land far away terrorising and holding hostage a civilian population, or even because her little sister was driving her crazy. Suzanne had always had a knack for driving her big sister crazy.

‘Breathe,’her grandmother would say. ‘Take a moment. Focus on what you can control, not on what you can’t.’

Mari took a deep breath and turned her face away from the impatient crowds jostling around her and up to the blue sky above, blocking out the ding of trams and rush of cars, instead focusing on her breathing, drinking in the autumn air. She was a long way from that excitable and passionate teenager she’d been more than half a lifetime ago, but her gran’s advice was still just as sound now as it had been then. More than that, it was apt.

Because just like that impulsive teenager she’d been, she was working herself into a frazzle. Sure, she was late for work and missing her coffee fix and she’d have to sort a new carer for Suzanne and soon. But when all was said and done, Mari was already late and there was nothing she could do about that other than text the CEO with an updated arrival time and pass on her apologies. Likewise, while it might elicit a grimace, it probably wouldn’t kill her to make use of the instant coffee in the office kitchen for once instead of the barista-made coffee she preferred. Finding a new carer for her sister would no doubt prove more of a challenge, but she would make that happen too.

Mari found a smile of thanks and sent it heavenwards. She’d needed that moment to calm the tangled mess of her thoughts and steady her racing heart. Any ideas that the day was ruined were overblown. Any sense of foreboding was entirely down to lack of sleep. A strong coffee—however sourced—would soon fix that.

She texted a quick update to the CEO.

Train finally arrived. Waiting on tram. Be there in ten.

An answer pinged back almost immediately.

No rush. Meeting cancelled. Fill you in when you get here.

Cancelled? What was that about? The bank had demanded this meeting as part of their deliberations as to whether they approved the loan. Forget that the statements had been audited, they wanted to quiz Mari and go through the financial statements line by line.

Unless the bank had already approved the loan? She refused to entertain the prospect that they might have knocked Cooper Industries back. The financial statements had been audited and together with the extensive reports Mari had provided proved that the company’s fundamentals were rock-solid. Any banker worth their salt could see that.

She stared at the message on her phone. Eric Cooper would be ecstatic if the loan had been approved, but it was impossible to read anything into his brief text. Unless he was wanting to share the good news in person? Yes, that was something Eric would do.

She exhaled as the walk lights turned green, feeling her spirits lighten as she headed to the tram stop. Because suddenly it didn’t feel as if everything in her life was turning to custard. Even better, she actually had time to get herself a decent coffee. This day was getting better already.

Ten minutes later, aromatic coffee in hand, Mari pulled shut the cage on the ancient lift in the old red-brick warehouse and pressed the button for the third floor. The lift rattled its way upwards, past the ground floor that had been given over to delivery van parking, through the two levels of screened-off laboratories and up to the small mezzanine office level she liked to refer to as the penthouse suite. It was hardly anything as salubrious. But between the flash new apartment blocks and hotels that now populated the Docklands area, a slim window in her office offered the tiniest sliver of Melbourne’s Port Phillip Bay.

She sipped her coffee as she stepped from the lift, ready with a greeting for Carol, but there was no one manning Reception, the space unusually hushed. She stepped into her office without encountering a soul. Today the sun turned the tiny glimpse of sea to dazzling, sparkles of light dancing as the surface of the sea shifted. She watched it for a moment, enjoying the play of light. Oh, yes, Mari loved working here.

‘You’re here. Good,’ she heard behind her.

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