tomorrow night, Damian was sure he’d need to store up all his energy. Parties weren’t really his thing, but getting an invite was akin to being accepted by people who mattered. And while everyone would be in masquerade dress, he’d been told a lot of business was conducted if you knew the right people and asked the right questions.
It all sounded a little secret society to him.
He grunted. “Don’t ask.”
“That good, huh?”
Damian tossed back his drink, trying to drown the sick feeling in his stomach. Tonight’s meeting was supposed to have been the start of a new era for his management consulting business. Another rung climbed toward the shining carrot dangling a hairbreadth out of reach. Validation. Retribution.
Instead he’d gotten a big fat face-to-face rejection. In under five minutes, which was salt in the wound. Not that Damian had ever been frightened of the word no. People had knocked him back left, right and centre when he’d first struck out on his own. But this client was different.
This client was personal.
“He said he didn’t want to have his family-friendly image associated with someone like me. Like I’m a fucking social pariah. It was one reality show, for Chrissakes.”
He regretted going on Australia’s Most Eligible more than any other cock-up he’d ever made in his career. He hadn’t been looking for love, like the show proclaimed—none of the contestants were. They wanted publicity. Name recognition. At the time, his PR person had assured him it would bring his fledgling Melbourne-based business to a national level...and it had. Damian had come across well on-screen, and his business had seen a hearty boost in attention after the show aired.
But mostly it was small stuff. And Damian wasn’t happy with bread crumbs—he wanted the whole damn loaf.
Only hard work had allowed him to take his business to the next level. He’d put in long hours and hustled to get clients. Now he was operating at a level most people could only aspire to, but his reality TV show days still hung around like a bad smell.
“And the damn thing is scripted. They turn you into a character—everyone knows that.” Damian shook his head. “But he said people who used ‘cheap tricks’ to get ahead were not the kind of people he wants to do business with. Oh, and apparently those kinds of shows are the reason our society is falling to pieces. Because nobody has ‘good, old-fashioned values’ anymore.”
“He sounds like a dick. Anyway, you always land on your feet,” Aaron replied with a shrug. “You’ll get another client.”
“Of course I will. But I want this one.” He turned the empty whisky glass over in his hands. “I just need to figure out how to look more family friendly.”
“You?” Aaron laughed. “No offence, mate, but you’re not exactly the family-friendly type.”
Irritation prickled under Damian’s skin. He knew that. Getting divorced six months before he turned thirty had put a sour taste in his mouth when it came to families. And relationships. Which meant he dated with an immovable expiry. It worked for him, kept things mess-free, but after his TV stint, more people took notice of his dating habits. Potential clients included.
“What company is it?” Aaron asked.
“McPartlin & Co.”
The company had started out with a single restaurant and now owned seven fine dining establishments across the country, plus another recently launched in New Zealand. The owner had also signed a lucrative deal with Coles supermarkets. They even had plans for expansion into Singapore, Hong Kong and Dubai, all within the next five years.
But the owner of the company was notoriously uptight and traditional. Hell, he’d fired one of the best chefs in the world for swearing in the kitchen, because “foul language” shouldn’t be tolerated. Given it wasn’t unusual for chefs to have a colourful vernacular, the news had made headlines.
“Jerry McPartlin’s company.” Realisation seeped into Aaron’s features. “Your old boss’s client?”
“That would be the one.”
“Okay, buddy. You need to take a breath and think about this.” Aaron put his drink down and planted a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “I know you’re pissed about what happened, but—”
“He was screwing my wife, Aaron.”
That was what this was about. Revenge. The McPartlin & Co. deal had launched Ben’s boutique consulting firm into the big leagues. They were his flagship client.
And Damian was going to do everything in his power to take the business from him, the way Ben had taken something precious from Damian.
The memory made red flash before his eyes like a matador’s cape. “Then he had the audacity to tell me I’d never make it. That I’d never even come close to playing at his level.”
“He’s a prick, that’s a fact well established.” Aaron shook his head. “But you need to let it go. It was four years ago. It’s not healthy to hang on to this shit for so long.”
“Are you done, Oprah?”
“Sticks and stones, mate. I’m only saying this because you’re like a brother to me.” He sighed. “Have a few drinks, find a woman and forget about Ben. Forget about Jenny while you’re at it. They’re not worth the energy.”
Aaron was the only person outside his family who knew what’d happened with his divorce and his abrupt departure from Ben’s firm. Trust wasn’t something Damian had in large supply, especially these days, but he’d put his life in Aaron’s hands if the situation called for it.
However, the guy had married his teenage sweetheart and lived a life of sunshine and roses. He didn’t understand Damian’s need to settle the score.
“Having a few drinks and finding a woman is exactly why McPartlin & Co. thinks I’m wrong for them. I need a change of image.”
“And how are you going to do that?”
“Maybe I should get engaged. That’ll make me look like family material.” Damian drummed his fingers on the bar, his mind whirring. Searching for a solution. “I could be the guy who finally settled down for the right woman.”
Aaron looked at him like he was crazy. “And who would you get engaged to?”
“Someone I don’t care about.” In other words, someone who wouldn’t be able to screw him over.
* * *
“I’d always assumed if I was going to be in a barn naked, there’d at least be a sexy cowboy involved.” Lainey shimmied on the spot, pulling the dress over her hips. It was a touch too tight, but it was a loaner, so she’d have to make do.
“Are you saying I’m not good enough for a roll in the hay?” Imogen grinned. “Now, quit complaining and zip me up.”
Both dresses had come from a friend of Imogen’s who owned a boutique in Malvern. The sizing options for borrowed dresses had been limited. But since Lainey couldn’t afford to shell out a few thousand dollars for a fancy
