Catch Me A Cowboy (3 page)

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 around, 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.

‘You can't make that assumption,' said Mum in a scolding tone. ‘You never know, some lovely girl might turn up on your doorstep and you'll fall at her knees.' She giggled. ‘At least, that's what I'm hoping for.'

Wil shook his head but grinned.

‘See, look at you. You're a handsome man and would make someone very happy.'

Wil laughed. ‘You have to say that. You're my mother.'

‘It's true. Lots of people stop me on the street for a chat and tell me exactly that.'

‘Like who?' asked Dad, shaking his head as he took a seat beside Wil at the kitchen table.

‘Rose Lanfrey at the bakery. She always asks after Wil. Says he's a handsome man. And Julie Tucker, the receptionist at the medical centre, asks if he's still single all the time.'

Wil rubbed his face. ‘Okay. Enough talk about that. All I'm saying is, don't expect too much. I'm not going into this with any prospects of finding lasting love.'

Mum pressed her hands to her hips, narrowed her eyes. ‘You better not be using this show as an opportunity to … to … sleep around. I raised you to have respect—'

Wil groaned and waved at his mother to stop. ‘I never said that—'

‘Yes, you did. You implied it. You're going on a dating show, but you're not taking it seriously.'

Wil sighed. ‘I am taking it seriously. I will be polite. And no, I won't use these women for sex.' God, he was twenty-nine years old, he did not wish to still be having these conversations with his mother. Surely, if he hadn't used women for his own gratification all this time, he wasn't going to start now. He loved his parents to bits. And he loved working with them, but he really needed to start a family of his own. This conversation proved it more than anything. They didn't hover over him. They gave him space and let him be his own man. He had his own place on his own land, but his parents were not shy of adding their two cents on matters. Especially matters of love. ‘All I'm saying is that I don't expect the girls will be taking this seriously.'

Dad shrugged in his easy-come-easy-go manner. ‘You never know.'

‘If I've taught you anything, Wil Andrew Parker, it's to be positive,' said Mum. ‘Life's hard enough as it is without a wasted dose of pessimism thrown in.'

Wil nodded. The best thing to do was to simply nod and agree with his mother sometimes. She was a good two heads shorter than Dad and even more where Wil was concerned, yet she wielded a strength and power unparalleled in this household. In farm speak, she ruled the roost. But Wil had enough life experience to know that no amount of positivity could change certain circumstances. His ex-wife running off with an urban cowboy who wrangled managed funds, Mercedes SUVs, and platinum credit cards instead of cattle was one glaring example.

Dad patted his son's back. ‘Wil, all is forgiven here. You've got to move on from this. You can't keep holding back out of fear.'

Wil sighed. ‘We nearly lost the farm because of my stupid error in judgement.'