‘I’m going to take care of Merlina instead,’ his grandfather declared extravagantly. ‘We’re off shopping tomorrow.’ He grinned at her in delighted anticipation. ‘There are some splendid boutiques in Double Bay. And we can have a marvellous seafood lunch at Doyle’s. The maître d’ can always find a table for me.’
‘Oh, goody!’ the femme fatale cried, snuggling closer to her sugar daddy.
Enough was more than enough!
Jake departed in a simmering rage, dragging Vanessa along with him. ‘Don’t walk so fast,’ she protested. ‘I’m wearing very high heels, you know.’
‘You can be barefoot in the park for all I care,’ he growled, having completely lost any semblance of playboy charm.
Vanessa came to a dead halt, spitting mad. ‘You had her lined up for yourself, didn’t you?’
The accusation pulled Jake up, too. ‘No, I didn’t,’ he bit out.
‘You hung around her after she came out of the cake and a moment ago you wanted to take her home,’ came the peevish argument. ‘What’s more, you’re now in a pet because she prefers to be with Byron.’
‘In a pet?’ Jake repeated incredulously.
‘Don’t bother denying it! And don’t think I’m going to play second fiddle to a birthday cake bimbo. Goodbye, Jake! I’ll leave with Tim and Fiona.’
Having slapped him with her rejection, she turned her back on him, strutted several haughty paces, then half-turned to hurl a piece of spite at him. ‘I hope she becomes your step-grandmother!’
Over my dead body!
Jake stood stock-still as the thought crashed through his mind with stunning violence.
For once in his life he didn’t know what to do.
He didn’t have a plan.
Running after Vanessa made no sense. He didn’t want to hang onto her. Best that their relationship be severed and it didn’t matter who’d done the severing. Let Vanessa have the satisfaction of being the one to walk away.
But Mel Rossi’s defection was something else.
That was definitely a blow below the belt.
He had to fight back.
He had to win.
She was using his grandfather as a weapon and a shield but once she was on her own…
Tonight, when she returned to her apartment at Chatswood, he’d be waiting for her, and no way was he about to let Mel Rossi close her door on him!
Midnight…and she hadn’t come home!
Jake’s frustration knew no bounds. She had to be staying overnight at the Vaucluse mansion. In any event, there was no point in camping here any longer. Even if she turned up now, he’d look like a jealous fool for waiting to confront her at this hour, and he was not—not—a jealous fool. He knew what she was up to, playing a one-upmanship end-game, and if nothing else, he was determined to get in the last word.
He drove home to Milson’s Point with that resolution burning in his mind.
However, opening up the opportunity to get in the last word proved difficult. Mel did not answer her telephone on Sunday and Jake seethed over the possibility that she was, indeed, out shopping and lunching with his grandfather. He told himself to calm down. It was only a matter of waiting out some more time before he caught up with her.
Monday was filled with more frustration. He found it increasingly wearing to be civil to his temporary assistant because she wasn’t Mel. She was a skinny blonde who kept transmitting availability signals which sparked no interest whatsoever. In fact, he suspected Mel had gone out of her way to find a woman who fitted the type he usually dated. Another slap in the face!
And still he was only getting the answering machine when he telephoned her apartment. Had she already left on her vacation? Or…no, it was beyond belief that she really was cosying up to his grandfather. That had only been a game…hadn’t it?
He called the Vaucluse mansion.
The butler answered.
‘It’s Jake,’ he said quickly. ‘Is my grandfather in, Harold?’
‘Mr Byron is out today.’
Jake hesitated, but the need to know drove the question. ‘What about Ms Rossi?’
‘Ms Rossi accompanied Mr Byron.’
Jake’s stomach clenched. ‘When will they be home?’ shot out of his mouth.
‘Dinner is to be served at the usual hour so I’m expecting them to return before then.’
Them! Not just his grandfather!
Jake forced himself to say, ‘Thank you, Harold. I’ll call later.’
‘Any message, sir?’
‘No. Thank you.’
It was impossible to apply himself to any work. His mind kept churning over the situation with Mel. Was it going beyond a game? His grandfather had the wealth to wrap a woman in however much luxury she desired but surely Mel wouldn’t consider marrying an eighty-year-old man.
Maybe she’d taken up the position of his personal assistant, with the promise of lots of perks on the side. His grandfather would spoil her rotten and enjoy every minute of doing it. And Mel would perform brilliantly as she always did.
Damn them both!
That scenario was almost as hard to swallow as marriage. But what could he do about it? He chewed over the problem and was still chewing it over when his temporary assistant alerted him to a call from Vanessa Hall. With considerable effort he reset his mind to dealing with the other fallout from his grandfather’s party. It was now late afternoon and he hoped she didn’t want to press for a reconciliation.
‘Vanessa…what can I do for you?’ he asked blandly.
‘I’ve just come home from doing a charity luncheon fashion parade…’
Reminding him she was a queen of the catwalk and should be valued accordingly.
‘Guess who was there, Jake,’ she prompted silkily.
His spine crawled. ‘Do tell,’ he drawled, knowing instantly what this call was about and resolving to sound uncaring.
‘Byron and your cake bimbo,’ she crowed.
‘No doubt they were enjoying themselves.’
‘Oh, yes! The champagne was flowing. For good reason. She’s now wearing a huge, flashy, diamond solitaire ring on her engagement finger. Happy days, Jake! You might get to kiss the bride.’
CHAPTER SIX
MERLINA was beginning to appreciate how very seductive the lifestyle of the mega-wealthy could be. The bedroom suite she was currently occupying was absolute luxury, and from the moment she’d stepped into Byron’s amazing mansion, she hadn’t done a single chore—no cooking, no cleaning, no washing, ironing or tidying up. Her only job was to look good and be ready to do whatever Byron decided they should, which invariably involved the pursuit of pleasure in one form or another.