A Millionaire For Molly

She heard the note of caring in his voice and it made her blink back tears.

Drat the man. He had the capacity to get under her skin. And why? Because he was big and handsome and gentle and….

And a millionaire—or even a billionaire! And as such he was right out of her league, even as a friend. Men like Jackson weren’t friends. If they were anything at all, then they were trouble.

Marion Lennox was born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on—mostly because the cows weren’t interested in her stories!

In her nonwriting life Marion cares (haphazardly) for her husband, teenagers, dogs, cats, chickens and anyone else who lines up at her dinner table. She fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost). She also travels, which she finds seriously addictive.

As a teenager Marion was told she’d never get anywhere reading romance. Now romance is the basis of her stories. Her stories allow her to travel, and if ever there was an advertisement for following your dream, she’d be it!

A Millionaire for Molly

Marion Lennox

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

OF ALL the times for Lionel to escape…

The reception area at Bayside Property was crowded and it was very, very noisy. Molly’s cleaning team had declared an owner’s wolfhounds were dangerous and they wouldn’t go near her properties. Sophia, one of Molly’s most valued landladies, was noisily furious that anyone could criticise her dogs. Jackson Baird was closeted with Molly’s boss. And now…

‘Lionel’s gone,’ Molly said in a voice that caused an instant hush. She was staring at her empty box in horror. ‘Angela, did you…?’

And Angela had. ‘I just showed Guy.’ Molly’s fellow realtor stared down at the empty box and her face reflected Molly’s dismay. ‘I swear that’s all I did. Guy dropped in for coffee and he didn’t believe you had a frog in your desk.’

‘But you put the top back on, right?’

Angela caught her breath, thinking it through and becoming more appalled by the minute. ‘I was just showing him when Jackson Baird walked in. Well, it was Jackson Baird!’

Enough said. Jackson Baird… The guy just had to enter the room and half the women present would forget their own names! What was it about the man?

Oh, sure, he was good-looking. He was tall, superbly fit and deeply tanned. And his face… You’d expect arrogance with Jackson’s stature and reputation, but the man’s face was almost Labrador-puppyish. It was a take-me-home-and-love-me sort of face, with laughing grey eyes and a wonderful white smile.

Take-me-home-and-love-me? Molly read the society pages enough to know that women did just that. With inherited millions from Australia’s copper mines, and a fierce business acumen of his own, the man had a reputation almost as vast as the number of zeros in his bank account.

So this morning he’d arrived and the whole office had stopped dead. Molly had just returned from inspecting Sophia’s property, and even that voluble lady had been silenced as Jackson and his lawyer were ushered through.

‘That’s Jackson Baird,’ Sophia had breathed as the entourage swept past into Trevor’s inner sanctum. ‘I’ve never seen him in the flesh. Is he a client of yours?’ The elderly landlady had clearly been immensely impressed.

If he was a client it’d do the place an enormous amount of good, Molly had thought, and wondered which of their properties Jackson could possibly be interested in. They had some lovely bayside properties for sale, but surely none palatial enough to suit a man of his wealth.

‘Jackson made me forget your frog,’ Angela admitted. ‘Well, you have to admit he’s gorgeous.’

‘Sure he’s gorgeous,’ Molly acknowledged, and then, more frantically, ‘But where’s my frog?’

‘He must be here somewhere.’ Angela dropped to her knees, her fair curls merging with Molly’s dark ones as they met under the desk. They were both in their late twenties, and they were both extremely attractive, but there the resemblance ended. Angela treated the world as if it was there to give her a good time whereas Molly knew it would do no such thing. ‘I mean, where can he have gone?’

Plenty of places. Trevor Farr’s real estate agency was a small firm, and its owner, Molly’s cousin, was a muddler. The place was crammed with files almost to the ceiling. Somewhere among them was one green frog.

‘Sam will kill me,’ Molly wailed.

‘We’ll find him.’

‘I should never have brought him to work.’

‘You hardly had a choice,’ Angela retorted.

No. She hadn’t had a choice. Molly and Sam travelled on the same train—her eight-year-old nephew to Cove Park Elementary and Molly to Bayside Property. Their journey had almost been complete this morning before she’d realised why Sam’s school bag was bulging, and she’d been horrified.

‘You can’t take Lionel to school.’

‘I can.’ Sam’s bespectacled face creased into defiance. ‘He misses me at home.’

‘But the other kids…’ Molly sighed. She knew only too well the social structure of the school. Hadn’t she been in to see the headmaster only last week?

‘Sam’s being bullied,’ she’d told him, and the man had spread his hands.

‘We do our best,’ he told her. ‘Most kids in Sam’s position would keep their heads down and stay out of trouble. But, even though Sam’s about half the size of most third-graders, he matches it with the best of them. I’m afraid some of the children retaliate rather brutally. But of course you’re right. The kid has pluck and we’ll see what we can do.’

Which wasn’t much, as Molly had thought when Sam had come home with yet another set of bruises. He laid himself open to pain, and if he took his frog to school there were kids there who’d delight in taking his pet from him. Who knew what would happen after that?

‘It’s too late to take him home now,’ Sam told her, his chin jutting forward in the Sam-against-the-world look she knew only too well.

It had been too late, so she’d brought Sam’s frog to work.

Molly’s job was very new. Her cousin had been reluctant to take her on in the first place, she’d had an appointment with Sophia at ten and was in no position to arrive late. So she’d arrived with Lionel’s cardboard box under her arm and this was the result.

‘Sam’ll never forgive me.’ Both girls were scrambling under the desk, oblivious to those above.

‘Excuse me?’ Sophia’s tones from above the desk declared she was clearly not amused. ‘Do I understand you’re looking for a frog?’

‘It’s Sam’s frog.’ Molly’s voice was almost a sob. She pushed her dark curls out of her face and started hauling the filing case from the wall. ‘Help us.’

‘I refuse to wait because of a frog. And as for helping…’

Angela reacted then. Molly was hauling furniture as if her life depended on it but Angela rose and put her hands on her hips. In the weeks Molly had worked for the agency she and Angela had become fast friends, and Angela would defend her friend to the death. ‘Do you know who Sam is?’ she demanded.

‘Of course I don’t, girl. Why should I?’

‘Do you remember that awful accident about six months back?’ Angela demanded. ‘A truck came off the overpass and there were people in the car below. The adults were killed outright but there was a little boy trapped for hours.’

The woman’s jaw dropped in horrified memory. ‘Was that Sam?’

‘Yes. And he’s Molly’s nephew.’

‘Oh, no.’

‘And now we’ve lost his frog.’

There was deathly silence. The three cleaners and Sophia all let the enormity of this sink in, and then cleaners, landlady, Molly and Angela—everybody started searching.

Unaware of the drama being played out in his outer office, Trevor Farr was growing more flustered by the minute.

At first he’d been delighted. He hadn’t been able to believe his luck. Hannah Copeland had telephoned this morning and her call had stunned him.

‘I’ve heard Jackson Baird is thinking of buying a property on the coast. There aren’t many people I’d consider selling Birraginbil to, but Jackson may be one of them. My father used to deal with your grandfather, I believe—so you may contact Mr Baird on my behalf and if he’s interested then I’ll sell. That is, if you want the commission?’

If he wanted the commission? Birraginbil… Such a sale would set him up for life, Trevor had thought, dazed, and he’d made a phone call to Jackson’s lawyer at once. He still hardly believed it, but now here was Jackson Baird in person, dressed for business in an Italian suit that screamed expensive, his eagle eyes cool and calculating, and waiting with polite patience for details.

The only trouble was, Trevor didn’t yet have details.

So he did the best he could with what he had and tried to buy time. ‘The property is on the coast, two hundred miles south of Sydney,’ he told Jackson and his lawyer. ‘It’s Friday today. I’m otherwise engaged at the weekend, but would it be convenient if we drove down together on Monday?’

‘I would have thought you’d at least have photographs.’ Jackson’s lawyer seemed deeply displeased. Like Trevor, Roger Francis had been caught on the hop, and the lawyer had reason to be unhappy. He’d had a property in the Blue Mountains lined up for Jackson’s inspection, one where he’d pocket the sizeable commission himself and a bit more on the side. Unfortunately his secretary had taken the call about the Copeland place when he was out and the girl had taken it on herself to ring Jackson. Stupid woman! Now the lawyer was in a foul temper and Trevor’s delaying tactics didn’t help.

‘Phone us when you have the details,’ the lawyer snapped. ‘If I’d known you had so little information we would never have come this far. You’re wasting Mr Baird’s valuable time.’

And then he paused. He stared down at the plush carpet in time to see a small green object. It jumped.

It was a small green tree frog—nature personified—and the lawyer knew exactly what to do with nature trying to edge its way into civilisation.

He lifted his foot.

‘Do you think he could have jumped into Trevor’s office when they opened the door?’ Molly was staring in despair at the frogless back of the filing cabinet. ‘Where else could he be?’

‘I suppose he might have,’ Angela said doubtfully, sitting back on her heels. ‘I mean…everyone was staring at Jackson.’

Of course. Idiots. ‘I’ll look.’ Molly rose.

‘Trevor will kill you if you interrupt, Molly. He has Jackson Baird in his office.’

‘I don’t care if he has the Queen of Sheba in there. I’m going to look.’ Molly put her nose against the glass pane in Trevor’s door. And what she saw made her move faster than she’d ever moved in her life.

And Jackson?

One minute he was sitting between an irate lawyer and a confused realtor, trying to get some sense out of the pair of them. The next there was a flash of green against the beige carpet, his lawyer’s polished brogue raised to strike—and a mop-headed, mini-skirted young woman launched herself through the door and down at the carpet in what he could only describe as a rugby tackle.

His lawyer’s foot fell, but there was no longer a frog underneath—instead there was a pair of hands, grasping and cradling and protecting one small green frog as Roger’s foot stamped down.

‘Ow!’

‘Molly!’

‘What the—?’

‘Did you get him?’

‘He stomped on him. He stomped on Sam’s frog. Oh, you brute!’ Sophia Cincotta, breathing fire, was first into the room after Molly, and she took one look at what was happening and raised her handbag. She swiped at Roger Francis. ‘Murderer!’

Angela came next, gazing down in horror. Molly was lying full-length on the carpet, clutching Lionel as if her life depended on it. ‘Molly—your hand. Your hand’s bleeding.’

‘He’s broken her fingers!’ Sophia’s handbag swiped again, and the lawyer retreated fast to the other side of Trevor’s desk.

‘Is Lionel okay?’ Angela demanded.

‘He’s squashed,’ Sophia retorted, bearing down on the hapless lawyer. ‘Of course he’s not okay. Didn’t you see this brute step on him?’

‘I thought those things were protected,’ one of the cleaners volunteered.

‘It’ll be a toad, stupid,’ someone else retorted. ‘You’re supposed to kill them.’

‘Not on my carpet.’ Trevor’s voice rose in bewilderment. ‘Is this a frog? A frog? Molly, is this your doing?’

‘Of course it’s my doing,’ Molly managed, peering between her bleeding fingers. ‘And it’s not a cane toad. Oh, heck, his leg looks… His leg looks broken.’

‘Your fingers look broken,’ Angela retorted, kneeling beside her and casting a murderous glance up at Roger Francis. ‘It’s him who’s the toad.’

‘Of all the unprofessional…’ Roger was practically spluttering as he backed away from the handbag-wielding Sophia. ‘Mr Baird, I suggest we look for a property elsewhere.’

Trevor collected himself at that, and moved between Molly and Jackson. He could see thousands of dollars worth of commission going up in smoke here. ‘Mr Baird, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. This is normally the most efficient of offices.’ He glared down at Molly. ‘My father persuaded me to employ my cousin because he felt sorry for her. But if she’s going to offend major clients…’ He tried for bluster, a weak man attempting importance. ‘Molly, get up. You can collect your severance pay and leave.’

But Molly wasn’t listening. She was still staring between her fingers. Lionel’s leg was indeed hanging at an odd angle. It must be broken. She thought of the impossibility of mending broken legs on frogs.

What on earth was she going to tell Sam?

‘Molly, get out.’ This time Trevor’s desperation broke through.

‘You mean my frog’s going to die and now I’ve been given the sack?’ she managed, her voice a distressed whisper. Oh, great. How would they manage now?

‘If you’re going to upset Mr Baird—’

‘She deserves to be sacked,’ the lawyer hissed from the other side of the desk, and Sophia’s handbag was raised again.

‘Just a moment.’ Jackson Baird rose and raised one hand. His voice was a soft and lazy drawl, but it had the capacity to halt everyone in their tracks. It was a voice of one born to command. He rose from where he’d been sitting and knelt by Molly, gently moving Angela out of the way. Immaculately dressed in his superbly fitted business suit, his night-black hair just casual enough for effect, his presence took over the room.

‘What is he—a tree frog?’ he asked Molly gently, and Molly wiped angry tears away with the back of her free hand. She sniffed and nodded.

‘Yes.’

‘And Mr Francis, here—my lawyer—has injured it?’

‘I don’t like insects,’ Roger muttered.

‘He’s not an insect—’ Molly started, but Jackson was still in control. Once again his voice cut through. ‘It does seem hard that Miss Farr should injure her hand, see her pet hurt and lose her job all on the one day.’

Carefully he opened Molly’s hand and took the frog into his own. Then he stood, solidly big, immaculately groomed—with a tiny green tree frog cradled in his palm.

A swipe of black hair flicked over his eyes and he brushed it back. The man needed a haircut—or maybe he didn’t. There weren’t many women who’d complain about how Jackson Baird looked.

And he looked amazing now. The tiny green frog, gazing upward with frog-like incomprehension, accentuated the sheer size and raw strength of the man. And yet he was all gentleness as his fingers carefully examined the tiny creature.

Trevor stared down at the frog in disgust, his expression squeamish. Wildlife had never been his strong point. ‘Of all the ridiculous… Give it to me, Mr Baird, and I’ll find a brick.’

But Jackson was concentrating entirely on the frog. ‘You know, it looks a simple break, and there doesn’t appear to be any more damage. I think we can fix this.’

Molly took a deep breath. And then another. She sat up, pulled her skirt down over her tights until she was almost respectable, and gazed up at Jackson in disbelief. ‘You’re kidding.’

He looked down at her… And then looked again.

She really was extraordinary, Jackson thought, taking her in for the first time. She had pale, almost translucent skin, a mop of glossy dark curls that clung around her face, huge brown eyes…

Frog! Concentrate on the frog, Baird, he reminded himself.

‘Really,’ he told her. ‘We can’t put it in a cast—’

‘That’d be something!’ Ever the clown, Angela interrupted from behind. Now that Lionel looked as if he might live, Molly’s fellow realtor was appreciating the humour of the situation. ‘We could make him crutches like Tiny Tim carries in the Muppet Christmas Carol.’

‘Shut up, Angela.’ Molly glowered as she struggled to her feet, and she hardly noticed as Jackson’s free hand came out to steady her. This was serious. ‘You were saying, Mr Baird?’

‘I’m sure he can be fixed.’ Two heads were now bent over one tiny green tree frog, and had no thoughts of anything else.

‘We need to splint it,’ Jackson told her.

‘Crutches!’ Angela chortled. ‘I won’t be content with anything less.’ Then her laughter died. ‘Molly, you’re dripping blood on the carpet.’

‘It’s nothing.’ Molly shoved her fist into her skirt but Jackson’s hand came out and grasped hers. He held it up.

The skin had split over the knuckles and it was sluggishly bleeding. His face darkened.

‘Damn you, Roger.’

‘I was stamping on the frog. I didn’t expect the stupid girl to—’

‘It needs attention.’

‘It does not.’ Molly snatched her hand away and shoved it behind her back before he could see it further. ‘It’s only grazed. If Lionel can really be fixed—’

‘Lionel?’

‘My frog,’ she told him, and he nodded with all the gravity in the world.

‘Of course. Lionel. I see. And, yes, he can really be fixed.’

Molly looked up at Jackson as if he might be trying to trick her. ‘How do you know?’

‘There was a dam on our property when I was a kid,’ he told her, taking in the look of strain around her eyes and puzzling a little over it. ‘I spent my holidays raising tadpoles.’ And escaping his parents. ‘Anything you need to know about frogs, ask me.’

‘It can heal?’

‘It can heal.’

She took a deep breath and some of the tension eased. ‘Then I’ll take him to the vet.’

‘I can splint it here, if you’ll let me. But I can’t fix your hand.’

‘I’ll take her to the hospital to fix that,’ Angela said, putting in her two bobs’ worth again and moving to hug her friend. ‘If you fix the frog, then I’ll fix Molly.’

‘Angela!’ Trevor’s voice was an angry whisper, but Angela directed him one of her very nicest smiles.

‘Mr Baird likes Molly’s frog,’ she said demurely. ‘And we’d hate to upset Mr Baird, now, wouldn’t we?’

At the look on her cousin’s face Molly almost choked. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake…’ She took a deep breath and moved out of the protective circle of Angela’s arm. ‘Thank you all very much, but I’ll take my frog to the vet and my hand just needs a sticking plaster. That’s all. So I can take care of everything myself. And it doesn’t matter if I leave.’ She looked at her cousin and sighed. The man really was an idiot. Maybe it would be better if she walked away. ‘After all, I’m sacked anyway.’

‘You can’t be sacked,’ Jackson growled, and once again there was the stillness that his voice seemed to engender. He turned to Trevor, his finger lazily stroking Lionel’s green back as he spoke. His eyes fixed Molly’s cousin, impaling him like an insect on a pin.

‘I came here to find out about a property. The information I have is tantalising, but it’s scarcely detailed. I need more. And I need to see it. You say you’re busy over the weekend?’

Trevor was totally flummoxed. ‘Yes, but—’

‘I’ve an option on another property until Monday, so I’d like to come to a decision before then. And I leave the country on Tuesday. Seeing the place for the first time on Monday hardly leaves time for negotiation.’

Trevor thought this through and backtracked fast. Negotiation—a wonderful word. It meant the man was a serious buyer. ‘Of course. I’ll just have to reschedule—’

‘I don’t believe I’ll bother you,’ Jackson told him, his voice cool and direct. ‘I don’t need you to show me the place. One of your employees will do just as well—’

‘You still have time for another tour of the Blue Mountain property,’ his lawyer interrupted, and was shot a look of dislike for his pains.

‘Thanks, but I’m more interested in the Copeland place. Now, seeing as Miss Farr has just suffered an injury and a shock, what better way to help her recover than to take her away for the weekend? Mr Farr, I assume you weren’t serious about sacking an employee for something so minor as bringing a frog to work?’

‘No…’ Trevor thought it through, and for Trevor thinking was a chore. ‘Yes. But—’

But Jackson was no longer listening. ‘Miss Farr, I would very much appreciate it if you could escort me to the property. Mr Farr, if your employee was to make such a sale I feel sure you’d be in a position to offer her her job back.’

Trevor gasped, but he wasn’t completely stupid. Once again he could see a fortune in commission flying out of the window, and he grabbed at it with both hands.

‘Maybe not. But I’ve just remembered I can come after all.’

‘I don’t wish to bother you.’ Jackson’s eyes were chilling. He turned to his lawyer. ‘Or Mr Francis, for that matter. If the Copeland place is the farm I’m thinking of, then frogs are the least of the temptations for Mr Francis’s ruthless shoe. So I believe Miss Farr and I will dispense with the middle men. Miss Farr, can you escort me to the Copeland property at the weekend?’

Molly took a deep breath. She stared wildly around—at Trevor—at the lawyer—and then at the tiny green frog sitting pathetically in Jackson Baird’s big hand.

Jackson’s eyes were gentle—kind, even—and she had no choice. Obnoxious cousin or not, she needed this job, and Jackson was offering her a way to keep it.

‘It’ll be my pleasure,’ she told him. And she couldn’t believe that she’d done it.

There was no disputing who was in charge. Ineffectual at the best of times, Trevor was completely overruled. Jackson was in organisational mode, and he hadn’t been declared Australia’s Businessman of the Year for nothing. The man exuded power.

‘I’ll meet you at Mascot Airport tomorrow at nine,’ he told her, and she blinked.

‘Um…we’re flying?’

‘I’ll charter a helicopter.’

Oh, of course.

‘You’ll have a Section Thirty-Two prepared?’

A Section Thirty-Two… It would be a miracle if their lawyer could finalise the title and bill of sale by tonight, Molly thought, but Jackson Baird was expecting expertise to match his. ‘Of course,’ she told him.

‘The house is set up so we can stay?’

‘I believe there’s a skeleton staff.’ Trevor was fighting to stay in charge of a situation he had no control over. ‘Mrs Copeland did say they’d welcome you, but I—’

Jackson wasn’t in the mood for buts. ‘Then that’s fine.’

‘I’m not happy about Molly going,’ Trevor blurted out, and Jackson raised a mobile eyebrow.