Catch Me a Cowboy (Wattle Valley, #1) Read online

  Wil didn’t want to admit that he’d seen a few episodes of shows like that and could attest to the beauty of the contestants. But that didn’t change his mind. Wil shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Come on. Sandy will help you fill out the application. At the end of the day, you’ll get to spend some quality time with the opposite sex, which I think you need. What have you got to lose?’

  Wil lifted his face to the darkening sky overhead and groaned. ‘I agree, there are worse ways to spend a couple of months than with beautiful women. But I’m not going to waste my time on people looking for their fifteen minutes. I’m not sure anyone who would apply for a show like this would be the type I’d like to settle down with.’

  ‘Don’t be so shallow. You’ve no idea what type of woman would apply. And like I mentioned, this show’s success rate is solid.’

  Wil huffed out a breath. ‘Why do I feel like I’ll regret this?’

  Alec’s eyes widened. ‘So you’re going to do it?’

  ‘I’ll give it some thought.’

  Alec nodded, his grin as wide as his face. ‘That’s what I wanted to hear.’

  ‘What do you think Mum and Dad will say, though?’

  Alec slapped Wil’s back. ‘Already taken care of. Ran it by them earlier and they’re more than happy. Hell, I think Dad was delirious at the thought of having the farm overrun with gorgeous girls.’

  Chapter 3

  Emily raced down the street to meet with her client. She wasn’t late, but if she didn’t get there in the next five minutes, she would be. Winter had settled in Melbourne, and an icy gust was blowing off the harbour, whipping against her face and tangling in her long brown hair.

  Her phone rang and vibrated from inside her handbag. She pulled it out, never one to miss a call if she could help it.

  ‘I’ve got an idea.’ It was Xanthi. She sounded chirpier than usual. The hubbub of children echoed in the background and Emily’s heart warmed—one day, she definitely wanted children, but that was two steps ahead of where she was now. Firstly, she was concentrating on finding a husband.

  ‘Hi, Xanthi. I’m meeting with a client in three minutes, so we’ll have to keep it brief.’

  ‘How about a dating game show?’

  ‘What do you mean a dating game show? You know I don’t have time for television.’

  ‘Not watching one. Going on a dating game show to meet your husband.’

  Emily stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. A man ran into the back of her and she jogged forward two paces to stop from falling over. Lucky she was skilled in stilettos; she could run for blocks in these babies.

  ‘Sorry,’ said the man as he side-stepped around her. She lifted her hand and shook her head, saying in the recognised sign language—don’t worry about it. She refocused on what Xanthi had asked of her, the absurdity of the suggestion, then threw her head back and laughed and laughed, until her eyes watered. ‘Not going to happen,’ she finally managed to say, picking up the pace again towards the bar.

  ‘It’s not that funny.’

  ‘It really is.’

  ‘It’s an option you haven’t tried before. It could be fun.’

  ‘No. Definitely no.’

  ‘Okay,’ Xanthi said, disappointment thick in her tone. ‘I thought I’d let you know about it just in case.’

  Emily was at the bar already. She looked down at her watch—one minute to spare. ‘I better go, or this client is going to freak out. Talk to you later.’

  ‘Okay. Talk soon.’

  Emily hung up, shoved her phone in her bag, and pushed through the door of the restaurant. A fireplace warmed the dim, expansive room with its dark panelled walls and highly polished floor. Emily pulled her coat and scarf off and handed them to the maître d’, who then took her to Mike. He was waiting for her at a table.

  He stood as she approached. ‘I hope you have good news,’ he said, shaking her hand across the table.

  Her answer would wait until they were comfortable and had alcohol in arms reach. What she thought was good news, he may think different.

  Emily smiled and took the seat opposite.

  Mike was a property developer from New York and had contracted her to sell four bespoke apartment buildings in South Yarra, worth a combined listed price of twelve million dollars. He came up to her chin, but he had the presence of a giant. He was tough talking, demanding and ruthless. So far, that hadn’t been a problem. And besides, men like Mike came with the profession—the power trip hit hard, especially at this end of the market.

  The tables and the length of the bar were packed with patrons garbed in business suits and designer dresses, catching a drink or two after work. Emily ordered wine. Mike a scotch on the rocks—a hard drink for a hard man.

  Only small talk passed between them until their drinks arrived. Emily would need some bravado before she let Mike know the offers she achieved on his apartments. They were great offers, but he was adamant he didn’t want to talk about anything under the asking price. Already, she sensed, by the rigid set of his jaw, an aggressive undercurrent, stating clearly that she better not be wasting his time.

  Emily took a long sip of her wine and smiled warmly at the dark-haired man with equally dark eyes and hard features. ‘I got three separate offers on three of the apartments.’

  He leant back in his chair, swallowed a mouthful of scotch. ‘Have you done your job?’

  She nodded. Of course, she’d done her job—to the utmost of her ability. Like she did everything in her life. She got three great offers, despite the glut of apartments in the market, but they were below asking price. Still above what she determined as the realistic price, but not what Mike wanted. By law, though, she had to bring all offers to the table.

  ‘Three offers but they are slightly below what you wanted.’

  Mike pressed his lips together hard and leant closer across the table. He cupped his glass. ‘Then you can go back and tell them all no.’

  She forced a smile. ‘Don’t you even want to hear the offers? They’re great offers.’

  He shook his head. His eyes seemed to darken with his obvious descent into anger. ‘Are the offers asking price?’

  ‘No, but they are above what I would have predicted—’

  ‘Above what you predicted, but below the asking price? All that tells me is your knowledge of the market is lacking and you haven’t done what you promised me you’d do.’

  She was finding his New York accent annoying now. ‘Let me run through the offers, then we can talk about them.’

  He leant back against his chair again and huffed. ‘Fine. Tell me about these amazing offers.’

  His sarcasm wasn’t lost on her, but she ignored it. ‘Apartment one—two million, six hundred thousand.’

  He shook his head adamantly. ‘That’s four hundred thousand below what I demand.’

  She nodded, sipped her wine. ‘True. But, like I said at the beginning, I think your asking price is too high. No properties, especially apartments, are getting above ten thousand dollars a square metre. But with this offer on the table right now, I got you ten-and-a-half. That’s unheard of, ever, in Melbourne.’ And that all came down to her being damn good at her job.

  Mike’s apartments were big, situated in a great location, but they had cheap finishings. People in this market knew what quality was. He should be ecstatic with this result, but he was too head-strong and, quite frankly, greedy to see it.

  His fist slammed down on the table with a loud clank. She flinched, her heart stuttered. Her wine shook and tipped, spilling over her white Bloomsbury dress and dripped into her Gucci handbag before she could catch it. Emily gasped and pushed her chair back to escape the carnage of red wine attempting to drown everything she wore.

  Her veins flooded with anger when she looked back at Mike’s unapologetic face. He was glaring with black eyes. Such fury pulsed from him. ‘You’re incompetent,’ he yelled, his deep, gruff voice hushing the surrounding tables of people. Emily looked aroun
d, meeting many stunned gazes. ‘You promised me you’d get a result. And now you come to me, wasting my time, with these so-called offers!’

  A waitress rushed to the table and offered Emily a napkin. ‘Sir, you need to lower your voice or you’ll be asked to leave.’

  ‘I’m leaving anyway,’ Mike said, emptying his glass and slamming it onto the table, splashing more of the red wine that had pooled. ‘You’re fired.’

  Emily gaped, speechless. He was firing her after three weeks? There was not one other real estate agent in Melbourne who could get him the offers she had and in the time frame she achieved it. She had even taken on the advertising costs herself, to make him happy. Seven thousand dollars of her own money was now wasted on this arrogant arsehole. She would not stand for it. He was not going to yell, spill wine on her, and get away with it.

  She lurched to her feet and put a hand to his chest as he tried to shoulder past. Looking him square in the eyes, she said, ‘Your apartments are cheap! You’ll never get the asking price you want because the product is not good enough. Just like you.’ Her gaze darted around. She found a glass of red wine standing on the table next her. She grabbed for it, despite the shocked gasp from the owner, and threw it at Mike’s face. Slamming the glass down, she said, ‘Good luck finding an agent as good as me. You’ve just lost the one person who could have made you money.’

  A growl rumbled from Mike’s chest, but it was barely audible over the noise from the rest of the patrons. They were clapping and cheering. She may have even heard, ‘You go, sister,’ from the back corner.

  She didn’t wait, nor look, for his response. Instead picked up her wine-stained bag and marched out of the bar. By the time she stepped out onto the sidewalk, she was trembling and not just from the icy wind that needled at her bare arms. Damn it, she’d left her coat and scarf inside, but she was not going back in there. Another grand down the drain. With her dress, bag, and advertising, today had cost her ten thousand dollars. On an arsehole like that. Her blood was boiling at the injustice of it.

  She rushed along the street, weaving in and out of the pedestrians who didn’t hide their curiosity as to the big red stain down the front of her dress. Her breaths were coming hard like she was a crazed bull. Her chest was heaving.

  After five minutes, she was at her Mercedes in the parking garage. She climbed into the car and rested her head on the steering wheel. Tears fell onto her cheeks; she scorned them because they meant that Mike’s behaviour had affected her. She didn’t want to admit to that. But who wouldn’t feel hurt and angry after the way he humiliated her in front of all those people?

  Maybe his behaviour would be justified if she hadn’t done her best, nor achieved a damn good result, but she had. She had worked day and night on selling those apartments. She’d even forgone her husband-finding project to land those deals. And it was all for nothing.

  Her breaths were harder to suck in. She sat up and breathed faster, trying to drag as much air into her lungs as she could. Her heart hurt as it beat erratically against her ribs—a deep throbbing.

  God, I’m having a heart attack. I’m going to die and the last face I’ve seen will have been Mike’s.

  The pain in her chest amplified until her entire body ached. She reached for her mobile and called triple zero. She needed a hospital. Fast. She would not die after such a terrible incident. She would not die with Mike being the last name on her lips.

  With a weak voice, she told the operator where the paramedics would find her. Within five minutes they were lifting her onto a gurney, strapping an oxygen mask to her face, and wheeling her into the back of the ambulance.

  The doctor stood at the end of the hospital bed, dressed in his white coat. His expression was light. A good sign, Emily thought as he perused her chart. The pains in her chest had stopped three hours ago, but the doctor insisted on monitoring her heart beat.

  ‘The good news is that your heart’s fine.’

  If she was fine, then why did she nearly die in her car? ‘Then what?’

  He stepped closer and lowered his voice. ‘I believe you had a panic attack. Have you been under a lot of stress lately?’

  A panic attack? She shook her head. ‘No more than usual. A client yelled at me earlier, but I deal with aggressive clients all the time.’

  ‘And that doesn’t stress you?’

  Emily shook her head again. ‘Not that I know of.’

  Doc sighed. ‘You must take time each day to relax. Meditation, yoga, walking. I’m going to give you a referral to the hospital psychologist before you go. I advise, in the meantime, you take a break from work. ‘

  ‘Take a break?’

  Doc smiled. ‘You do know what that is, don’t you?’

  Emily rolled her eyes. ‘Of course. But it’s hardly possible—’

  ‘Then I’ll be meeting you again soon.’

  Her chest deflated and her shoulders rolled forwards with her long exhalation.

  ‘Your body is telling you to slow down, Emily. You need to listen to it, or it could end up being a lot worse than a panic attack next time.’ He lifted her chart, looking for something, then met her gaze again. ‘You don’t have a husband or partner you’d like me to talk to?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nope. It’s just me and the cat.’

  He offered her a warm smile. ‘Don’t underestimate the benefits a cat can provide. But, seriously, Emily, you must start taking better care of yourself. We’ll give you some information on how to do that on your way out. Okay?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He nodded, put the chart back, and headed out the room.

  Emily crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. A panic attack. There was no way that’s what it was. She was Miss Always-Professional. Even in the face of arseholes like Mike. You threw a glass of wine at his face, her conscience chimed in. Okay, fine, she may have slipped up once, but he really deserved it.

  Emily pushed through her front door, dropped her bag to the floor then kicked it hard across the living room. The red stain looked like a big blob of blood, especially against the stark white backdrop of the walls and floor of her apartment. It was the only thing out of place.

  She slammed the door shut and placed her keys in the bowl she kept on a side table for that exact purpose. A meow echoed throughout the space, growing louder as her Siamese cat, Fifi, scampered out to greet her. She was cream coloured with pale brown socks, ears and tail. Her eyes were a crisp blue.

  ‘Come here,’ Emily said, bending over to pick her petite cat up into her arms. Fifi purred and rubbed her cheek against Emily’s. ‘Let’s get you some dinner. Are you hungry?’

  She carried Fifi across the living room towards the kitchen, her heels clacking against the shiny white tiles. She stopped halfway and looked around her apartment. Big, empty and silent. No personality existed between these walls—all sharp corners, pallid colours and hospital clean. Everything in this place, even the cat in her arms, reminded her how alone she was. Yes, she had friends, a rewarding job, and plenty of social events to keep her busy, but she always came home to an empty house.

  Emily placed Fifi on the floor. She was finding it hard to breathe again. Her chest grew tighter and tighter. What had the doctor said? To take time out and relax. Relax? Emily wasn’t sure if she knew what that was anymore.

  Since she finished high school twelve years ago, she had worked hard. If there was one piece of advice she took from her mother, it was to never be dependent on a man. Her mum had learnt that the hard way when Emily’s dad abandoned her to pursue younger pastures. After twenty years of marriage, that was soul destroying. Then to have to go out and clean offices at night just to make ends meet, had been tough on her mother.

  Emily saw how one selfish act from a man could destroy an entire family. So when her mother told her to make sure she was financially secure in her own right, so a similar situation, should it occur, would never break her, she sat up and listened. She was never letting any man destroy her, emotionally
or financially, like her father had done to her mother.

  Moisture blurred her vision. She didn’t want to succumb to the sadness threatening to overwhelm her completely, but the more she resisted the tears, the more she couldn’t breathe, the more her chest ached, and the more the tears demanded their exit onto her cheeks.

  Emily knew deep down that being financially independent wasn’t the be all and end all, though. The sad echo in this apartment and Emily’s overwhelming loneliness was a testament to that. Relaxing wasn’t what she needed to do, she simply needed someone here to talk to other than a cat. Someone who would listen and tell her everything was going to be fine. Ensure her that one itsy bitsy panic attack was nothing to worry about and that she wasn’t losing her mind, she just had a bad day.

  Fifi meowed at her feet, snapping Emily out of her wallowing. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s not your fault you can’t talk. You’re otherwise great company. Demanding, sure. But still cuddly and attentive.’ The cat was going to have to do for now. At least, until Emily found her husband.

  Chapter 4

  Wil’s mother cheered and clapped when he told her the news. On the upcoming season of Catch Me a Cowboy, he would be starring as none other than The Cowboy. Mum came around the dining table, a huge smile on her face, and cuddled Wil tightly. Meanwhile, his father slapped him on the back and congratulated him.

  ‘Mum, it’s not like I’m getting married. I don’t have high hopes that any of the contestants will be … serious.’ He was going to say “my type”, but how conceited did that sound? At the end of the day, he too was going to be appearing on a reality dating show, so that made him no better or worse than the women who would be signing up.

  Wil’s stomach tensed with nerves. The last thing he wanted was to be known as the next sleazebag trying to catch himself a beauty. He would strangle Alec for roping him into this if that was how it played out. He would never be able to find himself a partner if he earned the title of Country Casanova.