“Do you know that some woman has just ripped him off?”
“No.” Sarah leaned back in her chair, a cynical little smile tugging at her mouth. “But it has to be always on the cards with that much wealth on the table. Remember what happened with his sister.”
Erin shook her head. “I don’t know anything about his sister.”
Sarah looked surprised. “The story ran in the media for weeks. It was huge.”
“When?”
“Oh—” she waved her hand as though trying to grasp the time element “—must be almost three years ago.”
Erin thought back. “I was travelling through Asia then.”
“Always off somewhere,” Sarah remarked with a sigh of exasperation at her niece’s footloose life. “You should stay home more often, Erin.”
The cynical thought instantly slid through her mind—What home? Her mother had remarried and made a home with her second husband—no room for her daughter. Her father…fat chance of being welcomed for more than an hour or two in his household! The house she’d bought at Byron Bay was her writing base but it was always lonely there, not what a home should mean.
Out loud she said, “So what about Peter Ramsey’s sister?”
“Big scandal!” her aunt answered with relish. “Charlotte Ramsey was about to marry one guy and just before the wedding he refused to sign the prenuptial agreement her father had drawn up. She turned around on the spot and married the British billionaire, Damien Wynter, instead. Her former fiancé proceeded to sue for ownership of the apartment they’d shared—hers, of course—in a de facto relationship. He got it, too. Didn’t go to court. She signed off on it. The point is…”
“He was in it for a slice of the Ramsey billions.”
Sarah tapped the desk with her finger to emphasise the train of reasoning in her mind. “He was going to rip her off.”
“And she didn’t have that problem with Damien Wynter,” Erin concluded. “Which is rather sad when you think about it, finding out you’re only being married for your money. I wonder if Charlotte Ramsey is happy with her British billionaire.”
“Erin, you might write happy endings for your stories, but there’s no way you can guarantee them in true life,” her aunt said dryly.
“True. But for whatever reason, Peter Ramsey seems intent on underwriting a happier ending for Thomas and his father.” She raised an appealing eyebrow. “Mind if I stick around to see how Mrs Harper takes that news?”
It drew a curious look. “Why so interested?”
“The power of a name,” Erin tossed off casually. “I just want to see it in action.”
“She doesn’t pick him up until five o’clock.”
“That’s okay. I’ll go for a walk in the meantime.”
“Mmm…” Sarah pondered the request. “It might be wise to have a sit-in witness.”
“Absolutely,” Erin pressed, hopping off the desk and waving a goodbye before her aunt had second thoughts. “See you later.”
She didn’t walk far. Her feet automatically took her back to the bench-seat Peter Ramsey had occupied in the park. She sat precisely where he had sat, her mind running hot with thoughts about him. He hadn’t acted like a playboy. He had seemed serious and caring. Though she had to admit the serious caring had been directed at a father and his son, both of whom were apparently being short-changed by a woman.
Maybe his attitude towards women fell into an entirely different category. What experiences had shaped the man who had stepped in to make a difference—a positive difference—to a man and boy he didn’t even know? Erin knew she was too intrigued to turn her back on learning more of Peter Ramsey. She’d promised to report back to him on Thomas’s mother and she would make the call.
If she had imagined a personal interest in herself, he wouldn’t set up a further meeting with her. But if she hadn’t imagined it…if he did want another face-to-face encounter…a surge of strong resolution tossed caution—or wisdom—aside.
She wanted to be with him.
How many times in her life had she felt like this about a man?
None!
Seize the day, she fiercely told herself.
If she got the chance to seize it.
CHAPTER THREE
“PETER RAMSEY.”
His voice held a clipped self-assurance, demanding an efficient reply.
Erin took a deep breath to calm her jiggling heart. Speak to the man. Reach out to him, she told herself. You have this one chance!
“Hi! It’s Erin Lavelle.” The words spilled out in a breathy rush. Oh great! she thought. He’s probably hearing the pant of a gold-digger who hopes she’s onto a good thing with this call.