Memoirs of a Millionaire's Mistress

‘I wasn’t interested in academia, Dad. I wanted to create.’ Come back when you’re serious.

‘Yes. We know.’ The only sounds were cutlery scraping china. ‘So we let you stand on your own feet and waited for you to come back.’ Another silence. ‘It’s taken this long. Always were a stubborn little thing.’ Wistfulness laced his gruff words. ‘This is your home,’ he went on. ‘Always was, always will be, for as long as you want. I hope you see that now.’

Emotion was washing through her—guilt, regret. Love. ‘I do, Dad. I know I was a disappointment to you. I wished I could be like Veronica, but I just couldn’t.’

‘Not a disappointment, Didi. A puzzle maybe, but never a disappointment. Until you left. You walked away in anger, and you held onto it. That anger tainted your perception of what family is all about.’ He shook his head. ‘It was never give-and-take with you, was it?’

‘I think I’m learning how to do that now, Dad.’

He raised one bushy grey eyebrow. ‘Well, that’s good to hear.’ He wasn’t done, she noted as he set his cutlery on his plate and his elbows on the table. She just knew he was going to—

‘Now,’ he said. ‘About this man Veronica spoke about. Cameron Black, isn’t it?’

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CAM took in the view through the reinforced gate designed to keep lesser people out. Old money. The wealth you inherited and enjoyed and never truly appreciated. And there it basked in all its glory in Sydney’s spring sunshine. The James O’Flanagan Residence.

He wasn’t impressed. Cam had the assets to build better, and he’d earned every cent of that wealth himself with his own blood, sweat and tears. In spite of the low-life he was biologically descended from.

He’d done a lot of soul-searching over the past long torturous and lonely week. Katrina’s prejudiced perception of others was wrong, and dangerous. The people Cam wanted to know judged others by their words and actions, not where they came from.

People like Didi.

She was smart and clever, caring and beautiful, inside and out. One of a kind. And he wanted her in his life.

He sucked in a deep breath. The woman he’d come to convince was somewhere behind yonder stone façade.

But first he had to convince her father. Adjusting his jacket, he gritted his teeth against a sudden turmoil in his gut and buzzed the intercom. An employee, he assumed, answered with a hint of an Italian accent.

‘My name’s Cameron Black and I’m here to see Mr O’Flanagan.’

No, he wasn’t expected, and yes, it was personal. He drummed his fingers against the pillar and waited. And waited.

Finally the gates swung open. He shouldered his bag and followed the smooth paved drive and its neatly trimmed hedge, aware that his movements were being tracked from one of those large glinting windows.

It wasn’t the prospect of meeting James O’Flanagan that had his gut cramping, his mouth turning dry—he could face any man on an equal footing. But the thought of facing one small woman had him sweating inside his shirt in the chilly salt breeze blowing off the harbour.

Determination added extra length to his stride. He wasn’t leaving until he’d seen Didi and said what he needed to say.

A middle-aged woman with long black hair tied back in a black ribbon showed him to a formal lounge room. She wore black trousers and a plain white blouse. He didn’t sit as invited, but stood to attention looking out at a statue of Venus surrounded by never-ending lawn. A blue Sydney Harbour gleamed in the distance.

‘Mr Black. Good morning.’

Cam swivelled to face the man with the crisp-edged voice. James O’Flanagan stood equal to Cam’s own height with greying hair and a day’s worth of stubble. For such a distinguished man he looked remarkably casual in a faded navy tracksuit.

His expression was anything but. Cool astute eyes studied Cam. His mouth remained firm but relaxed; a man in full control of the situation. Unlike Cam, who’d grown unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of such powerful scrutiny—and it all had to do with the woman he’d come to see.

‘Cameron.’ Cam stepped forward, hand extended, feeling as if he were facing his own execution. ‘Good morning.’

James’s handshake was brief and firm. ‘If you’re expecting to see Didi, she and her mother are out shopping at present.’

‘It’s you I wanted to talk to. My apologies—I didn’t inform you I was coming. Frankly, I wasn’t certain you’d see me.’

James indicated a hard-backed brocade chair, then seated himself in a silk-covered recliner. ‘Why’s that?’