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And with Denver incarcerated, she’d simply waltzed out of Jax’s life without a backward glance.
The mother he’d trusted, the mother he’d loved, gone, just like that.
Now, ten years later, Denver had drummed up another appeal and he wouldn’t be surprised if Jackie came back.
Not only had Jax’s love for his mother taken a serious hit, but he’d lost respect for her too. How could he not, when she buzzed around his charismatic father no matter what he did, yet didn’t give a stuff about her only child and had severed contact with him for a decade?
He’d dealt with her treachery years ago and had finally moved on, but it galled him that Denver had once again raised his ugly head at a time when Jax was finally on top.
Maroney Mine had flourished and he thanked a nebulous god every day his maternal grandmother had put the mine in his name the moment he hit twenty-five.
Wily Gran had hated her daughter’s penchant for ‘scrubbed-up bad boys’ and rather than leave Jackie everything in her will she’d distributed her assets.
He’d been striving to make a success of the mine ever since, no thanks to the adverse publicity from Denver’s trial and criminal ties, and his father’s constant quest to make headlines. Regular magazine interviews, rumours of ring-leading gambling syndicates within jail and a tell-all biography had ensured the Maroney name remained front and centre in the media—for all the wrong reasons.
Little wonder the journos were hounding him for a different angle on the sordid tale.
As he’d told them repeatedly, he had nothing to say on the subject of his father. Not one single word.
Jax’s hands clenched at the last memory he had of his dad before he’d been arrested. Denver had shouted him lunch at the swankiest hotel in Melbourne. They’d lingered over Tasmanian oysters and King Island filet mignon with the most expensive Cab Sav in the house accentuating the meal perfectly.
No one could tell a story like his dad and he’d laughed long and hard over Denver’s exaggerated tales, their closeness something he valued the older he got.
Not many guys he knew in their mid-twenties were still happy to hang out with their dads but Denver had always included him in everything.
Not quite.
Denver had been arrested the next day in a Victorian Police Force special operation targeting corporate crime.
And Jax had been shattered.
The father he’d idolised, the father he’d looked up to, the father he’d admired for working his way up from his blue collar roots—and his own deadbeat dad—to become a business dynamo, was a liar and a thief and not the man Jax thought he was.
He’d stood by Denver: through the trial, the adverse publicity, the sentencing.
Initially he’d done it out of loyalty but as the trial progressed and the extent of Denver’s treachery became apparent, he did it so he could imprint every last detail into his memory as a reminder to never be duped again.
By anyone.
Denver’s non-contact after his incarceration had been a bonus. He wouldn’t have responded if the old man had tried to contact him anyway.
The moment the door had slammed on Denver’s jail cell was the moment he’d slammed the door on his relationship with his father.
Every deceptive minute of it.
The music faded and he sank into the couch, a prickle of unease creeping across the back of his neck.
He might not care about the past any longer but he hated the insidious, floundering feeling that swamped him when he remembered how many lives his father’s lies and cunning and deceit had affected, how many families he’d ruined by wiping away their fortunes.
By the crowd’s response tonight, they wouldn’t let Jax forget his connection to a man who’d ripped off millions.
Screw them.
He had a job to do.
A corporation to take to the top.
Tonight had been the first step towards making that happen. Business as usual.
Now who was lying? He might have finagled an invitation to the Seaborn’s event tonight but once he’d arrived and locked wits with Ruby, business had been replaced by the prospect of pleasure.
Wicked, decadent, all-night-long pleasure.
He wanted her.
He pulsed with it.
And what Jax Maroney wanted he usually got.
Another thing he could thank dear old dad for. He’d learned from a young age that if he demanded, he’d receive. Denver had been a soft touch.
A dad to pick him up from school and take him to the footy and play cricket in the park. A dad to coach him from the sidelines and help with science projects and fix his bike. A dad to beat at wrestling and build a tree house and go camping with.
Denver had done it all, always making time for him. Not that he’d been totally spoiled, but both his parents had fondly indulged their only child.
Which made their emotional defection the harder to comprehend.
Denver had been an amazing dad. Kids had been jealous, and Jax had been proud. People flocked to Denver Maroney and he milked his popularity.
Before proceeding to milk people’s hard-earned money, thanks to Jackie’s contacts, culminating in his embezzling millions that landed him in jail.
Jax’s fingers curled into tight fists and he thumped the couch’s armrest.
Damn Denver. Damn him to hell.
With a stack of paperwork waiting and employee performance evaluations to do, the last thing he felt like doing was ruminating on the evening and how thanks to his father’s reputation he’d failed to make inroads in his takeover bid, but the woman at the centre of his plans had succeeded in piquing his interest.
He’d heard of Sapphire Seaborn by reputation, had expected to lock wills with a take-no-prisoners businesswoman.
What he hadn’t expected was to be enthralled and challenged by a smart-mouthed blonde with more bravado than he’d credited her with.
When she’d discovered his identity, and later heard his offer...man, she’d been magnificent, all riled and defiant.
He got hard just thinking about it.
Sadly, he wasn’t at liberty to follow the demands of his libido, not when Ruby Seaborn had what he desperately wanted.
These days, when he wanted something, he went out there and took care of it himself.
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.
