CHAPTER ONE
LOITER. SKULK. PANIC. Who knew it was possible to do all three at once? Ruby Hampton shoved her hands into the pockets of the overlong padded coat, worn for the purpose of disguise as well as to keep the bite of the December wind out.
This was nuts. All she had to do was cross the bustling London street and enter the impressive skyscraper that housed Caversham Holiday Adventures HQ. Easy, right? Clearly not, because her feet remained adhered to the pavement.
On the plus side, at least there didn’t seem to be any reporters around. Unless they were camouflaged as one of the Christmas vendors touting anything from chestnuts to reindeer-daubed jumpers. Not that she’d studied them too closely as she’d walked through Knightsbridge, head down, in desperate hope that her furry hood and sunglasses would save her from recognition and the mortification of a public lynching.
But so far so good, and maybe the fact there were no paps in hot pursuit meant they had finally got the message and realised that not a single comment would fall from her zipped lips, effectively sewn shut by Hugh’s threats.
His American drawl still echoed in her ears.
‘One wrong word and my publicity machine will chew you up, spit you out and leave your remains for my lawyers to kick.’
So the paps were better off camping on Hugh’s doorstep, where comments flowed in a stream of lies from his glamorous Hollywood lips. No change there. Mind you, she couldn’t even blame his legions of fans for their implicit belief in him. After all, she had fallen hook, line and sinker for every honeyed word he’d conned her with. And now...
Now the headlines screamed across her brain.
Ruby Hampton—exposed as two-timing gold-digger!
Hugh Farlane: Hollywood megastar. Heartbroken!
Christmas Engagement Extravaganza off!
Ruby Hampton vilified by Farlane’s adoring public!
‘Vilified’ was an understatement—Hugh’s besotted fans were baying for her blood. No one believed in her innocence—instead they believed she had broken Hugh’s heart whilst in hot pursuit of filthy lucre. The idea made her toes curl in abhorrence—she’d vowed in childhood never to exist on someone else’s handouts and it was a promise she’d faithfully kept. Her parents had produced child after child to reap state benefits to fuel their addictions—had cadged and lied and cheated. No way could she do that.
For a moment shades of the past threatened. Tom... Edie... Philippa... Siblings she’d never see again.
Whoa, Ruby.
The past was over. Done with.
Right now she needed to haul ass and get herself to this job interview—it was time to do what she did best: pick up the pieces and move on. Put Hugh Ratbag Farlane and the past firmly behind her.
Ah...
Therein lay a cracker of a problem—an explanation for her skulk, loiter and panic manoeuvre in blustery December on a London kerbside.
A piece of her past awaited her inside Caversham HQ—a veritable blast from the past was about to interview her.
Ethan Caversham.
The syllables unleashed another onslaught of nerves. The last man she’d ever expected to lay eyes on ever again. The last man she’d wanted to lay eyes on ever again.
Get a grip, Ruby—Ethan was so far in her past he was history. She was no longer that wide-eyed teenager with a ginormous crush. Ginormous and short-lived. She still cringed at the memory of that crush exploding into smithereens, bombed by Ethan’s words.
‘Stop following me around. I don’t want your gratitude. I don’t want your help. I don’t want you. So please just leave me alone.’
; Clearly times had changed, because fast-forward ten years and Ethan had contacted her to offer her an interview. His email, via a business media site, had been short and to the point—no hint of whether he remembered her, not much clue as to what the job even entailed. But that didn’t matter. Right now she needed a job—any job.
She had been a fool to quit her previous job, but she had believed Hugh.
Frustration at her own idiocy clogged her throat—she’d free fallen for Hugh’s persuasive words—had let him mess with her head, believed he needed her by his side. As a result she had given up an incredible job. Idiot.
Work was her lifeline—her salvation, her security—and right now no one else would give her so much as an opportunity to ask the time of day. They didn’t want to be tainted by all the negative publicity, and she didn’t want to sit around and wait until the public furore died down. Not her style.
So... Time to walk the walk, talk the talk and nail this role.
Ethan Caversham meant nothing to her any more—he had walked out on their friendship and as far as Ruby was concerned he was simply a prospective employer with the potential to offer her a job that would enhance her CV.
It would do more than that—crystal-clear determination solidified in her gut. This job would provide her with money and security...the wherewithal to start the adoption process—to have a family. By herself.
Pulling her hands out of her pockets, she urged her feet into walk mode, crossed the street and entered the glass revolving door of the sleek glass-plated building. An elevator ride to the third floor allowed her just enough time to take off her coat and check that the severe professional chignon was still in place, the subtle make-up intact.
The doors slid open, and with a deep in-haul of breath Ruby entered the lobby of Caversham Holiday Adventures.
She braced herself as the receptionist looked up, and on cue there was the expected glare of condemnation. Clearly the svelte blonde woman was yet another of Hugh’s legion of fans.
No way would she cower—instead she smiled, and took courage from her carefully chosen outfit: a grey woollen jacket that nipped in at her waist over a tailored black jersey dress. Severe, smooth, professional.
‘I have an interview with Ethan Caversham.’
The receptionist nodded, tight-lipped. ‘I’ll let him know you’re here.’
‘Thank you.’
Adrenalin started to spike and Ruby focused on her surroundings. It was an old childhood trick that had always grounded her in tricky times—helped her concentrate on reality and the importance of the tasks ahead—how to convince social workers that all was well, how to angle a bottle of milk so that the baby didn’t cough it up, how to keep her siblings safe...
This backdrop was way different from the squalid environment of her youth—here there was marble flooring, lush green exotic plants, and a lustrous glass reception desk. Imposing photographs graced the walls. Glorious rugged mountains. The turquoise-blue of the sea. A surfer cresting the swell of a wave. The pictures exuded energy and exhilaration.
After a brief telephone conversation the receptionist rose to her considerable height. ‘I’ll take you to him,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’