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Lucy had barely kicked off her boots at her grandmother’s back door and entered the kitchen when she knew something was drastically wrong.
Gram baked every morning. If Lucy gardened to forget her husband, Gram baked to remember hers.
She supplied local cafés and schools and the local homeless shelter. Baking was Gram’s thing. So to enter the kitchen Lucy had grown up in to find Gram sitting motionless at the dining table with a stack of documents spread before her? As unforeseeable as Cash’s girlfriend-for-a-week proposal.
‘Gram, what’s wrong?’ Lucy pulled up a chair next to her grandmother and reached for her hand, its icy clamminess making foreboding slither through her.
Gram shook her head, the tears trickling down her cheeks as terrifying as her dazed stare fixed on the documents.
Lucy reached for the top one, surprised when Gram’s fingers clamped on her wrist and dug in with surprising strength.
‘Don’t.’
That one word held so much sorrow and pain and devastation, Lucy felt tears burn her eyes.
‘Gram, please, you’re scaring me—’
‘I could lose everything,’ Gram murmured, pushing the papers away so fast they scattered on the kitchen floor. ‘I loved your grandfather but by goodness he was a selfish bastard.’
Lucy stared, shock rendering her incapable of speech. Gram had adored Pops, who’d died twelve months ago. And in all the years they’d raised her, she’d never heard Gram utter one bad word about him.
Lucy had been amazed at how well Gram had handled his death, how pragmatic she’d been. And while she’d seen Gram shed tears at the funeral and afterwards, she’d never seen her look so fiercely angry or blatantly upset.
Lucy laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘Tell me what’s happened.’
Gram finally raised grief-stricken eyes to meet hers. ‘I could lose the house.’
Lucy heard the five words but couldn’t comprehend them. She’d lived most of her life in this house, since her parents had been killed in a car crash when she’d been a toddler.
This cosy cottage in Footscray, one of Melbourne’s working-class suburbs, had been filled with love and laughter and food. Her friends had flocked once news of Gram’s lamingtons and jam tarts and lemon slices had spread, and her grandparents enjoyed being surrounded by young people as much as she revelled in the attention of being smothered with love.
Gram had often told her the story of how Pops had surprised her with the house as a wedding present and Lucy loved the romance of it all. Probably why she’d fallen for her own version of Prince Charming, with Adrian whisking her to live in his palace after they’d married. Pity her prince turned into a toad. But Gram had lived here for almost fifty years. How could she lose the only home she’d ever known?
‘I don’t understand.’ In fact, Lucy didn’t understand much of what had happened today. Tears blurred Gram’s eyes again and she blinked several times before continuing. ‘I’d hoped to avoid telling you any of this, love, but I don’t know who else to turn to.’
Lucy gripped Gram’s hand tight. ‘You’re starting to really worry me, Gram. Tell me everything.’
Gram dragged in a breath and let it out slowly. ‘Your grandfather had a gambling addiction. I didn’t know ’til after he died and the debts started rolling in.’
For the second time in as many minutes, Lucy stared at Gram, dumbstruck.
‘I paid off most of them from our life savings and his small superannuation payout, but now this...’ She picked up the sole remaining document on the table. ‘Your grandfather remortgaged the house to the tune of fifty thousand dollars. And unless I can start making repayments...’
Gram ended on a sob that galvanised Lucy into action. She wrapped her arms around Gram and hung on for dear life, letting her own tears fall. Tears of betrayal, of sadness, of disappointment.
Pops had been her idol. The kind of man she wished Adrian had been like. Moral. Upstanding. Dependable.
To discover it was all a lie was almost as devastating as learning the truth about Adrian’s indiscretions.
When Gram’s sobs petered out, Lucy gently disengaged. ‘It’s okay, Gram, I’ll help.’
‘I’m not taking money from you,’ Gram said, her frown fierce. ‘You’ve got your own mortgage and business. I won’t have you running into financial troubles because of me.’
‘Then we’ll sell this place and you can live with me—’
‘No. A young woman needs her independence and how will you find your own happiness with an old woman crowding your space?’ Gram’s mouth twisted in a mutinous grimace. ‘I have my pride and I’m not leaving this house ’til I’m taken out in a wooden box.’
Lucy only just caught her added, ‘Which may be my only option.’
The thought of Gram doing anything drastic chilled her blood and she grabbed Gram’s upper arms and gave a little shake. ‘I don’t ever want to hear you talking like that. You’re a fighter. You inspired me to fight for what was right with Adrian. You taught me how to survive upheaval and sadness.’
Lucy swallowed the huge lump of emotion clogging her throat. ‘You’re all I have left.’
Guilt clouded Gram’s watery gaze. ‘I’m sorry, love, that was a stupid thing to say. ’Course I’d never do anything silly.’
‘You better not.’ Lucy glared at her for good measure. ‘So if you’re too bloody stubborn to move in with me and you won’t let me help pay your mortgage, what are we going to do?’
‘Got a spare fifty grand lying around?’ Gram joked, trying to alleviate the hopelessness of the situation.
And in that moment, Lucy remembered where she could get her hands on a sizable amount of cash, almost enough to clear Gram’s debt and keep her house safe.
‘Actually, I just might.’
Gram started, then waggled her finger. ‘Don’t you dare even think of approaching that no-good son-of-a-bitch ex-husband of yours to ask for the money.’
Lucy snorted. ‘Gram, we’re desperate, but not that desperate. It’s been nine years since I’ve seen Adrian and I intend to keep it that way.’
‘Good.’ Gram tilted her head to one side, studying her. ‘Then where are you going to get that kind of money?’
‘I’ve got a plan,’ Lucy said, with a sinking heart.
Sadly, it involved backtracking on her adamant stance to not be Cash Burgess’s fake girlfriend for a week, and seeing if she could coerce him into throwing another twenty grand into the coffers to remodel his garden.
‘Is it legal?’
‘Barely,’ Lucy said, with a wry grin.
‘Luce...’ She’d heard Gram’s warning tone so many times as a teenager, it made her feel gooey inside to hear it now.
‘Gram, trust me. You’ll be the first to know what’s going on once I get everything sorted.’
‘You’re a good girl, Luce, always have been.’ Gram patted her cheek. ‘I just wish I could’ve preserved the memory of your grandfather for you.’
Touched by her grandmother’s concern considering the betrayal she must be feeling, Lucy smiled. ‘Nobody’s perfect, Gram. Pops must’ve loved you, and me, very much to try and hide his addiction from us. Does it hurt? You bet. Was he selfish in dumping all this trouble on you? Absolutely. But nothing can taint how much he loved us.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He taught me so much. You both did, and I love you for it.’
Gram swiped at her eyes again. ‘Damn waterworks. You’ve set me off again.’
Lucy sniffled. ‘Dry your eyes. I have a hankering for your signature lemon tart when I return so start baking.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To see a man about a plan.’
And a garden.
And a pact that would see her pose as Cash Burgess’s girlfriend for a long seven days.
Desperate times indeed.
THREE
Lucy spied Cash sitting on the back patio the moment she rounded the side of the house.
He had a stack of manila folders scattered on the table, an open laptop and a mobile phone. But he wasn’t working. Instead, he stared into space, a frown grooving his brows.
Gone was the über-confident air he wore like the finest designer suit. He looked like a guy with mega problems.
She knew the feeling.
Even now, thirty minutes later, she was still reeling from the news of her grandfather’s gambling addiction.
Not once had she suspected he had a problem. He’d worked hard his entire life at the local paper-mill factory, had given her and Gram a secure home, food on the table and the occasional holiday to Sydney.
Hers hadn’t been a Spartan upbringing but they hadn’t been flush with cash either. She wondered later, after her marriage went pear-shaped, if that had been a major attraction with Adrian. Not that she married him for his money. In fact, she hadn’t known the extent of his wealth until they’d been dating a few months and by then she was head over heels. But the money had been a welcome bonus after her frugal family life.
After he’d retired Pops had played lawn bowls, hung out at the pub with his mates to watch the horse racing on a Saturday arvo and gone into town weekly for lunch with his poker club.
Now, those outings took on a whole new meaning. Rather than having a beer with his cronies, he’d probably been gambling heavily, losing his hard-earned savings, then borrowing on the house he’d paid off years earlier.
Poor Gram. Lucy admired her resilience. And her pride. She didn’t blame Gram for not wanting to move in with her. The small outer-city weatherboard house she’d bought after the divorce was cosy on a good day. She loved its quaintness and what the house lacked in size, the garden more than made up for.
It had been the major attraction when she’d been house hunting and she’d fallen in love with the English cottage garden gone wild and the massive veggie patch.
The house could’ve been a shack for all she cared once she’d seen the garden but, thankfully, the Californian-bungalow-styled house was perfect for her needs.
Having Gram sell her house and move in had seemed like the only option at the time when she’d heard of her grandfather’s treachery.
But there was another solution to Gram’s financial woes and Lucy was looking straight at him.
She bounded up the steps, intent on being friendlier. Because if Cash had found a replacement fake girlfriend in the last half-hour, she was screwed.
‘Sorry to interrupt, but do you have a minute?’
He glanced at her hands and raised an eyebrow. ‘No unspoken castration threats via gardening tools this time?’
‘My idea of a joke,’ she said, sitting in the wrought-iron chair opposite without waiting to be asked. ‘Probably a touch of sunstroke. Gardeners’ occupational hazard.’
The corners of his mouth eased into a smile that slugged her to the gut. ‘But it’s cloudy today.’
She smiled at him in return. ‘Can’t you give a girl a break?’
‘I will if you do that more often.’ He leaned forward and traced her mouth, his fingertip doing crazy things to her insides.
Considering they had to fake it for the next week, her reaction to the charmer? Not good.
She leaned back, out of touching reach. ‘Trust me, I’ll be all smiles if I’m your girlfriend for the week.’
His eyebrows shot up so fast she laughed.
‘Yeah, I changed my mind.’ She held up a finger. ‘With one stipulation. Your garden quote increases to fifty grand.’
His eyes narrowed in speculation. ‘For that price I could hire every PR firm on the eastern seaboard to make me look good.’
‘Yeah, but you wouldn’t have an amazing garden at the end of it or have me on your arm playing the devoted girlfriend doing whatever I’m supposed to be doing.’
She made it sound like an offer too good to refuse when in fact she’d be getting a lot more out of this bizarre arrangement than him.
Payment for the garden refurbishment would clear Gram’s debt and keep her cottage safe, while the huge boost to her profile in the landscaping business would ensure other wealthy clients would hire her. And that in turn would enable her to set up a healthy nest egg so Gram could see out her days in peace.
Gram deserved that safety net, after raising her.
He continued to study her, coolly assessing. ‘What made you change your mind?’
‘Would you believe a woman’s prerogative?’
‘No.’
‘I need the money.’ A half-truth that would have to suffice. She didn’t know Cash Burgess—had no intention of getting to know him. Theirs was a mutually beneficial business arrangement. End of story.
The fact she was a teensy-weensy bit attracted to him? Irrelevant. Besides, she had little doubt that spending a week in his obnoxiously superior company would cure her of that.
After what felt like an eternity, where he seemed to study every freckle on her nose, he nodded. ‘You pose as my girlfriend for a week. Attend a few PR functions. Boost my profile. No romantic entanglement whatsoever. And I’ll pay you fifty grand to remodel my garden. Deal?’
He held out his hand and she shook it. ‘Deal.’
But rather than let go of her hand, Cash held it firmly, tugged hard, and pulled her half across the table to meet his lips.
This was so not part of the plan.
* * *
Damn. Cash had wanted to rattle Lucy’s customary cool exterior. Had wanted to see if he could get a reaction out of her other than a smart-ass comeback.
The impulsive kiss had been about making a dent in her impenetrable armour.
It hadn’t been about making him want more, to the point where he could easily have devoured her.
He’d expected a rough shove away and a resounding slap. He hadn’t expected her lips to soften, to mould, to cling.
