The Heir From Nowhere. Trish Morey

been unable to conceive. Even success through their last resort, IVF, had eluded her, cycle after futile cycle. He put a hand to his brow, felt the shock of events thunder in the beat of blood at his temples, tasted the bitter taste of bile in the back of his throat.

      And yet this woman—this stranger—had succeeded where Carla had failed so very many times.

       Why?

      Who was this woman that she could turn his life upside down? Who was she that she could stir up the ghosts of his past? Who gave her the right to mess with his life?

      All he knew was that he couldn’t do this over the phone. He had to meet her. Had to deal with this face to face.

      He tugged on his tie, undid his top button, but still the room felt sticky and overheated. And still his voice, when it came, felt like gravel in his throat. It sounded worse. ‘What did you say your name was again?’

      ‘It’s Angie. Angie Cameron.’

      ‘Look, Miss Cameron—’

      ‘It’s Mrs, actually, but just Angie is fine.’

      Of course. He pushed back in his chair. She might sound like some nervous teenager over the phone, but she would have to be married and for some years to be undergoing fertility treatment. ‘Look, Mrs Cameron,’ he said, ignoring her invitation for informality when he was still having trouble believing her story, ‘this isn’t something I can discuss over the phone.’

      ‘I understand.’

      He sucked air into his lungs and shook his head. God, did she have to sound like some kind of therapist? If she was so upset about carrying his child, then why didn’t she rant and scream and rail about injustice in the world like he wanted to? Didn’t she realise his world was tearing apart—the world he’d taken years to rebuild?

      He could so not do this!

      ‘We should meet,’ he said somehow through near-gritted teeth as he wheeled around in his chair, his finger resting over a button on the phone that would connect him to Simone. ‘As soon as possible. I’ll put you back to my PA. She’ll organise the details.’

      If she had anything else to say, he didn’t hear it before he punched that button and slammed the receiver down, lungs burning as if he’d just run ten kilometres along the cliffs, his brow studded with sweat. Simone could deal with it. Simone was good with tidying up after him while he worked out what came next.

      And what did come next? What followed the disbelief?

      Anger, he recognised, as the blood pounded loud in his ears and fire burned hot in his gut. Right now anger boiled up inside him like lava looking for an exit—lava ready to burst him apart like a volcano set to erupt.

      Because the impossible had happened.

      The unthinkable.

      And somebody was going to pay!

      CHAPTER TWO

      ANGIE set the receiver down, her hand still trembling, her cheeks damp with tears. But what had she expected? That the man would welcome the news she was carrying his child as if it was some kind of miracle?

      Hardly. She swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, pulled a tissue from a box and blew her nose. After all, it hadn’t felt like any kind of miracle when she’d been given the news. Far from it.

      Still, did he have to sound so angry? Anyone would think it was all her fault.

      She put a guilty hand over her still flat stomach, home to the child she’d never really wanted, the child she’d only agreed to have because Shayne had so desperately wanted a son, the child that had turned out not to be his.

      Maybe it was her fault.

      Unnatural, Shayne had called her. A real woman would want babies, he’d said, saving the most hurtful for when they had to cancel a holiday in order to scrape together the money for the procedures because he’d managed to get a subsidised place in the Carmichael Clinic, the best fertility clinic in Australia.

       A real woman wouldn’t need IVF to get pregnant.

      And then, when finally the IVF had succeeded and she was pregnant and it looked like Shayne would have the child he’d wanted so desperately, the clinic had called with the news of their terrible mix-up and she was a failure once again.

      Because a real woman wouldn’t want to carry another man’s baby. Because a real woman would take the clinic up on their generous offer to fix it.

      Maybe Shayne was right.

      Maybe this was her punishment for not being a real woman. Cursed with a child she’d never really wanted and that wasn’t even hers, and yet unable to bring herself, as Shayne had so eloquently put it, to fix it.

       Fix it.

      He’d made it sound so simple, like taking out the rubbish or tossing away old clothes. But this wasn’t about a bag of trash. She wasn’t carrying around a bag of old clothes. Whether or not she’d wanted it, there was a baby growing inside her belly. A life. Someone else’s child.

      And after all the effort the clinic had gone to, all the tests and injections and procedures and hand-holding to get her pregnant, they thought they could just turn around and somehow make it better?

      It was never going to happen.

      Besides, it wasn’t only her decision to make. Not when there was a couple out there who’d put their heart and soul into creating this new life. Not when this child was rightfully theirs. Whatever happened now, whatever they decided, at the very least they deserved to know of this baby’s existence.

      She squeezed her eyes shut as her fingers curled into the denim of her shorts. Poor baby, to end up with her of all people, the woman who never really wanted a child in the first place, the woman who’d only agreed in order to save her marriage.

      What a joke!

      ‘I’m sorry, baby. But we’ll meet your dad soon. Maybe even your mum too. They’ll want you, I’m sure.’

      And if they didn’t?

      A solitary tear slid down her cheek as she thought back to the phone call, remembering the deep and damning tones of the man’s voice, as if she’d been to blame for visiting upon him some momentous disaster. Then again, it probably felt like some momentous disaster to him right now. She’d gone through the same stages herself. The shock. The disbelief. The sheer bewilderment that came with discovering that a mistake so fundamental could have occurred in a medical facility, a place that was supposed to specialize in making dreams come true, not in creating nightmares.

      And then she’d borne the full brunt of Shayne’s reactions. He’d gone from shock to fury in the space of a heartbeat. Fury that the baby he’d been bragging about to family and friends for a month wasn’t his at all. Fury with the clinic for messing with his plans. Fury that had changed direction and headed straight for her when she’d refused point-blank to have the abortion the clinic had offered and that he’d demanded.

      Oh, yes, she understood full well how shell-shocked Mr Pirelli would be feeling right now. But for all his aggravation, for all his strident accusation, he could have hung up on her. He could have simply denied the child was his.

      But he had taken her call and he had agreed to meet her tomorrow. And right now that was the best she could bequeath to the tiny baby growing deep inside her—the chance for it to be with its real parents, the people who had gone through hell and back to create it, the people who had first rights to this child.

      A car slowed outside. She glanced up at the clock on the wall above her head, saw that it was almost six and for just a moment imagined it must be Shayne home from the foundry, and for just a moment panicked that she hadn’t started dinner yet.

      Before a pain still jagged and raw ripped through her as she remembered.

      Shayne