was any plausible excuse she could come up with in order to gain access to the man. All she needed was about ten minutes. She knew that these days he led a fairly low-key, quiet life, hardly ever leaving his home. He was cared for and looked after by his very long-suffering wife.
It had to be hell for both of them, Ramona thought. Emily Stanton Armstrong came from a good family and had a high social standing in the community when she married the up-and-coming pioneering doctor. The woman spent her days planning charitable events and her evenings attending them.
From her research, Ramona knew that the good doctor had made sure that he got his share of mileage out of the successes the institute achieved. Handsome, dynamic and blessed with the gift of gab, rumor had it that Gerald Armstrong had more than one illicit relationship. Mrs. Armstrong cast a blind eye to his dealings and partied harder.
Now they were almost like two shut-ins—he, more often than not, relegated to his wheelchair, she to nursing a man she had quite possibly learned to loathe.
Not exactly the type of people she wanted to have anything to do with, Ramona thought. Still, she was not above using any means, fair or foul, to achieve her main goal: finding out if her mother’s desperate action had ultimately resulted in a child who could save her life.
For now, though, Ramona had no choice but to stay in her office and wait for Armstrong—be it Paul or Derek, or perhaps even Lisa—to come and tell her whether or not she was to stay on as PR manager.
Because she wasn’t the type to waste time by aimlessly surfing the Web, Ramona decided to do exactly what she’d told Paul she was going to do: draft a press release about the research team who had recently been enticed to add their names to the fertility institute’s roster.
Even though she was only twenty-five, she already had established several strong connections within the media world. Pulling a few strings, she was certain that she could get sufficient coverage for Demetrios and Bonner’s shift from working at a teaching hospital to bringing their research program to the Armstrong Fertility Institute.
And as for the public, she’d already learned that they were mercurial, as fast to revere as to condemn. All it took were the right words in the right place to achieve either reaction. For the time being, it served her purpose to give the Armstrongs a little something to put in the plus column.
Her mouth curved as she thought about it. If everything went according to plan, this would amount to the calm before the storm. Because, if her information turned out to be correct, she intended to bring the Armstrong Fertility Institute down so fast, the pompous family would wind up choking on the dust that was kicked up.
She crossed back to the desk and sat down to work. Pausing just for a moment to find the right first word, her fingers soon flew across the keyboard, trying to keep up with her racing brain and coming in a close second.
Engrossed in wording the release so that it would pop as a whole, Ramona didn’t hear the knock on her door. She also wasn’t aware of that same door being opened a beat later.
Paul slipped in unobtrusively, a considerable feat for a man who measured six foot one. But then, he had the kind of quiet, easygoing manner that allowed him to blend in with the scenery at will. Unlike his outgoing brother, who had never been known to fade into the background, even for a moment, in his entire life. The very act would have been against everything that Derek stood for.
She looked diligent, Paul observed, completely involved in her work. She was obviously intent on doing a good job.
Maybe Derek had been right in hiring this young woman after all, he mused. Maybe a public-relations spokesperson was exactly what they needed to give them that much-needed shot in the arm. Good works didn’t count for very much if no one knew you did them, and the public, fickle at best in their loyalties, couldn’t exactly be expected to embrace something if they didn’t know about it.
Paul took a step forward and cleared his throat.
The sound caught her attention and Ramona raised her eyes. The next moment she was clamping her lips together, stifling a gasp. When had Armstrong come in? “How long have you been standing there?”
A slight smile curved his mouth. “Long enough to discover that you nibble on your lower lip when you’re thinking—or was that fretting?”
Fretting. Now, there was a word she hadn’t heard in—well, maybe forever. This man definitely had stepped out of the last century. Quite possibly the first half of the last century, she speculated.
“No, no ‘fretting,’” she answered with a straight face. “You were right the first time. I was just thinking something through. Don’t worry. There’s nothing in what I’m writing that should stir up any kind of concern.” She gestured toward the screen, which, given its position, only she could see right now. “It’s just the institute doctors’ backgrounds, plus I’ve added a little family history for each of them.”
Personal histories had never really interested him all that much. They were just fillers, padding that was easily eliminated. It was what a person did, not who their parents were, that mattered. Though he had to admit that maybe his own background tainted his view of things.
Still, he asked, “Do you think that’s really necessary?”
As far as she was concerned, a person’s history was the most interesting part. She always wanted to know what made people tick, how they got to be the way they were. She sincerely doubted that she was alone in this.
“People like to know who they’re dealing with. It makes the whole challenging process of fertility treatment a little more down-to-earth for them—and a little less like science fiction.”
Leaning back in what she hoped would continue to be her chair for at least a modest amount of time, Ramona did her best to appear relaxed. The very act belied the knots in her stomach. She laced her fingers before her and tried to sound cheerful as she asked, “So, what’s the verdict?”
Technically, there was no official verdict yet. He told her what was happening. “I managed to send Derek to Lisa to apologize.”
Well, that didn’t sound very heartening. “For hiring me?” she asked. This would be the part where she would have gotten up and told him what he could do with his apology. But she wasn’t being herself, she was being a subservient employee. She assumed that was what Paul Armstrong wanted and she was willing to go along with it, as long as it eventually got her access to the archives.
“For hiring you without consulting with the rest of us,” Paul corrected.
That still didn’t give her the answer she was hoping for. “So you’re letting me go?” she guessed. She had trouble envisioning the woman who belonged to that cold voice over the phone giving her a thumbs-up. Even so, there was absolutely no way she was going to go without a fight. “Because if you are, Dr. Armstrong, you’re going to regret it.”
“Are you threatening me, Miss Tate?” he asked quietly.
“No, I’m telling you that you need me,” she responded with feeling. “I’m very good at my job.” Ramona straightened and squared her shoulders.
She made him think of a warrior princess. He had no idea where that had come from, only that it seemed like a very appropriate description.
“I’d like you to read what I’ve been writing before you have security eject me.”
