Fortune's Secret Heir Page 6
“And you are.”
“I think I would have been, even if he was an accountant or lawyer or doctor.”
“Do you like accounting?”
She realized she’d finished her scallops and pasta. Something about the man made her forget everything but him. “I like everything to add up. It’s satisfying to me.”
“I’m with you on that.” He’d finished, too, and he pushed aside his plate, folding his elbows on the table. “What’s more important? Security or truth?”
The question surprised her, but she didn’t hesitate. “Truth.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure where you’re heading, but as important as security is to me, I think if it’s based on a lie, it’s really not any sort of security at all. Is this about your father having another name?”
“It’s more than having another name. He had another life he’s never told any of us about. But no. I wasn’t thinking of him.” He pushed back from the table and she knew that he wasn’t going to say what it was he had been thinking about. “As pleasant as this has been, if I don’t get back to my office, my secretary will have a stroke.”
It had been pleasant. More so than she wanted to admit.
She watched him pull on his suit coat. It was such a cliché, wasn’t it? Having a crush on your boss.
She got up from the table, as well, and followed him toward the doorway. “I’ll leave you a report on what I find out about Randy Phillips.”
“Thanks.” He gave her a brief smile before striding across what she’d come to think of as his family room and heading down the stairs.
The sudden appearance of Mrs. Stone wiped the bemused smile off her face. The woman must have been behind one of the closed doors that Ella had assumed were closets. And while the woman was odd, Ella doubted she’d been hiding out in one. Maybe the kitchen was behind one of the doors.
Moving out of her way, she returned to Ben’s desk. She’d learned the day before not to try assisting the older woman with placing the lunch dishes on her tray. She’d only earned herself a withering glare. But she couldn’t let the woman depart again without saying something. “The lunch was delicious, Mrs. Stone. I’ve never had scallops before, but I thought they were wonderful.”
Mrs. Stone made a sound that at least acknowledged she’d heard Ella’s words, without divulging whether she appreciated them or not.
The woman sort of reminded Ella of her next-door neighbor, Bernie. It had taken almost ten years of living next door to the sternly silent old man before he’d even returned a wave or a smile. Ella certainly wouldn’t have ten years to make progress with Mrs. Stone. She figured the job Ben had hired her to do would take a month.
Tops.
And that limited time was probably a good thing. She wouldn’t have a chance to become even more infatuated with the ridiculously handsome man.
She turned back to the computer and picked up her search for Randy Phillips. For good or ill, the increasing popularity of social media definitely helped. While she didn’t find a Facebook page for the guy, she did find over four hundred listings for his name on a business-oriented site. She refined her search, cutting down the field as much as she could based on professions relating to his education, and settled in for a lot of reading.
It was nearly six by the time she closed down the computer. She’d made note of three men named Randy Phillips who met the basic requirements and left it on top of the spotless desk with a sticky note on it for Ben saying that she’d continue wading through the remaining Randy Phillipses tomorrow.
Shouldering her messenger bag, she carried her coat with her and headed out of the office. “I’m leaving, Mrs. Stone,” she said in a loud voice, feeling a little silly because she didn’t know if the woman was behind one of the doors or on another floor entirely. She repeated herself when she got to the second floor, and to the first, still earning no response, before letting herself out the front door. It locked automatically behind her.
The afternoon had grown cloudy and chillier while she’d worked, and she wished her vanity hadn’t prompted her to leave her ancient jacket at home that day. Fortunately, she didn’t have long to wait for the bus once she walked to the stop, but by the time she got home, she felt chilled to the bone.
Her mother was sitting at the dining room table with Rory, and Ella dumped her messenger bag on the couch. “Smells good in here.”
Elaine smiled. “Thank goodness for spaghetti. I kept a plate warm for you in the oven.” She started to get up but Ella waved her back.
“I’ll get it.” She grabbed a sweater from the coat tree by the door and pulled it on before going into the kitchen. She retrieved the warm plate, which felt wonderful against her cold hands, and carried it to the table. “Feels like it might rain out there.”
“You should have had your jacket with you.” Elaine pushed the basket of garlic bread toward her.
“Did you get any free stuff from Mr. Robinson?”
Ella gave her brother a look. “No. And I told you I’m not asking him. I didn’t even expect to see him today.”
Elaine’s brows rose. “Sounds like you did.”
“He stopped by for lunch. Mrs. Stone—she’s so much like Bernie, Mom, you’d swear they came out of the same mold. Anyway, she fixed scallops and pasta with this really light cream sauce and we ate at the table he has right by the windows in his office. The view he has of the river is spectacular.”
“Scallops, hmm?”
Ella nodded, twirling her fork in her spaghetti. “They were really good.”
“Puts my plain ol’ spaghetti and marinara to shame.”
Ella shook her head and popped the fork into her mouth. “Never,” she said when she could speak again. Her mom had once told her they had spaghetti so often because it was cheap and fit in the food budget. Happily for Ella and Rory, they loved the stuff and always had.
“Does Mr. Robinson always have lunch at his home?”
“I don’t think so. He’s just really anxious about the project I’m working on for him.” She’d told her mother about it, knowing that Elaine would never breathe a word to anyone. But she didn’t want to get into the details in front of Rory. He wouldn’t knowingly divulge anyone’s private business, but when he got excited about something, he’d been known to blurt out whatever was in his thoughts.
“Are you sure he wasn’t just interested in your company?”
She broke a crusty piece of garlic bread in half, avoiding her mother’s eyes. “There’s no reason why he would be.” Just because she was finding herself intensely interested in his? “He runs a multimillion—billion—dollar company. I’m a college student. He dates brain surgeons and beauty-pageant winners, for heaven’s sake. Trust me. I won’t lose my head over working for him. I honestly doubt I’ll see that much of him, anyway.”
She nodded, convincing herself of that fact as much as she intended to convince her mother.
“So—” she focused on her brother “—how was chess club?”
* * *
“Your messages.” Ben’s secretary set a stack of pink message slips on his desk.
He barely gave them a glance. “Thanks, Bonita.” It was almost eight in the evening and the rest of the executive offices had already cleared out. But Bonita had stayed on to take notes from another conference call he’d had with Japan regarding a software-design firm Gerald wanted to acquire. “Sorry you had to stay so late.”
Her comfortable, middle-aged face creased wryly. “That’s why you pay me the big bucks,” she said as she left his office. “See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” He started to turn his attention back to the monthly departmental reports he’d been reviewing, but his interest kept wandering. The way it had been wandering ever since he hired Ella Thomas.
He finally shoved
the reports aside and reached for the message slips, leafing through them. He’d left two messages for Kate Fortune to arrange her meeting with his father, but so far she’d ignored him. Which was somewhat of a surprise, because he’d believed she’d meant what she said the night of her party.
He wouldn’t be put off forever, though. He’d show up on her doorstep again if he had to.
With none of the messages holding anything of import, he set them aside, too, turning instead to look out the wall of windows behind his desk. It was dark, giving him nothing back but his own reflection, and he got up from the desk altogether, grabbing his suit coat on his way out. He strode through the corridors of the business his father had built and took the elevator down to R&D. The lights were on in Wes’s office and he stuck his head in long enough to see that his twin had his attention typically buried in his computer. “Want to grab a beer?”
Almost belatedly, Wes looked up. He didn’t always wear glasses, but tonight he did, and Ben could see in his brother’s distracted eyes that the interruption wasn’t particularly welcome. Then Wes pulled off his glasses and tossed them on his desk. “What’d you say?”
Looking at him was almost like looking in a mirror. “Want to grab a beer?” he repeated.
Wes’s eyes narrowed slightly before he shook his head. “I’m testing the security on the dating app we’re expecting to roll out next month.”
Wes might have been pissed off about Ben being chosen as COO over him, but there’d never been a doubt in Ben’s mind that research and development was exactly where his brother belonged. If a person could split Gerald’s brain into two, Ben had gotten the brashness and business drive. But Wes had gotten the creative and technological brilliance. And fortunately, none of their father’s worst characteristics. The ones that Ben was trying to outrun himself.
“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He thumped his hand on the doorjamb. “Don’t work all night. All work and no play make a dull man.”
“You’d know,” his brother returned, deadpan, and slid his glasses back on his nose. A moment later, he was once again immersed in his work, oblivious to everything around him.
It started raining as Ben drove home, and once again, he found his thoughts turning back to Ella.
Before he thought twice about it, he thumbed his phone. “Call Ella,” he directed, and a moment later, the line was ringing.
She picked up after the second ring.
“If it’s still raining in the morning, I’ll send a car for you,” he said.
Her silent hesitation came through the line loud and clear.
“No argument, Ella.”
“Ah. You must be Mr. Robinson,” said the voice he quickly realized was not Ella’s. “This is Elaine Thomas,” she said humorously. “Ella’s mother.”
If anything was to remind him just how damned young Ella was, it was being faced head-on with the fact that she still lived at home. “Mrs. Thomas. I apologize.”
“No need for that,” she assured him. “I’ll get Ella for you.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and slowed at a stoplight as he listened to her call her daughter’s name. A moment later, Ella came on, sounding breathless. “Ben?”
He ruthlessly shut down the pleasure brought about just from hearing her say his name. “I’m sending a car for you in the morning if it’s still raining.”
“Oh. I—” She broke off. “That’s very nice of you.”
He’d expected an argument. He told himself he was glad she’d saved him the effort. He would have told her he was sending a car for her regardless of the weather, but knew it would never fly. Not with her.
“Did you see my notes on Randy?”
He felt another surge of adrenaline, this one entirely nonsexual. “I haven’t been home yet. Did you find him?”
“Not yet, but I’m narrowing the field. Turns out there are a lot of Randy Phillipses.”
And only one Ella Thomas.
The light turned green and he shot through the intersection as if he could outrun the thought while she told him about her progress. By the time she finished, he was pulling into his parking garage beneath his building. He transferred the call from his car to his cell. “Good work.”
He climbed from the Porsche, tucking the phone against his shoulder while he reached back in to grab his briefcase. “I’ll take a look at the three names you left.” He didn’t expect anything to pop for him, but a person never knew. His phone vibrated and he glanced at the display. Finally. Kate Fortune was calling him back.
“Ella? Hold on a sec.” He could have just ended the call, but for reasons he didn’t examine, he didn’t. Not waiting for her response, he switched over to the other call.
“Kate,” he greeted.
“Not Kate, I’m afraid,” a male voice said. “This is Sterling Foster. My wife insisted I phone.”
Judging by Sterling’s tone, it was clear he hadn’t agreed. “Mr. Foster,” he said blandly.
“She’s not going to be able to meet with you this week as planned,” Sterling said bluntly.
Ben kept his temper under wraps. “I’m sorry to hear that. And next week?”
“We’ll have to see.”
He set his briefcase on his Audi, which was parked next to the Porsche. “I am a very determined man, Mr. Foster. Assure your wife that neither I nor this issue are going to disappear into the woodwork just because she’d prefer it that way.”
“At the moment, what my wife prefers or doesn’t prefer regarding your so-far unsubstantiated claim is immaterial,” Sterling said flatly. “Kate is in the hospital.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Ben shoved his free hand in his pocket, staring blindly at the well-appointed garage surrounding him. It had been built to his specifications, able to hold all three of his cars, the Harley that he never had time to ride anymore and his speedboat, with space to spare. It had meant excavating another two stories beneath the existing historic house he’d been determined to save, but he was a Robinson, which, at the time, had been the end of the story as far as he’d been concerned. But it was a reminder that all the wealth in the world couldn’t prevent some things.
It hadn’t convinced Stephanie six months ago to let Ben remain Henry’s father—not once the toddler’s real father proved his claim—and it wouldn’t stop age from hitting them all. Even Kate Fortune, who’d looked so much younger than her ninety years.
“I hope it’s not serious,” he said truthfully, even though frustration bubbled inside him. “Is she here in Austin, or have you gone back to Minnesota?”
“Austin. She’s not well enough to travel.”
And that statement could mean just about anything, Ben figured. He didn’t bother asking for details because he knew the other man wouldn’t divulge them. Not until Kate believed the truth about Gerald, and maybe not even then. “I know you won’t believe me, but if there is anything I can do, just ask. Give your wife my regards.”
Finally, Sterling’s voice showed some warmth. And a strong edge of irony. “Knowing my wife, I imagine she’ll be in touch soon enough. Good night, Mr. Robinson,” he said and ended the call.
But he remembered Ella still waiting on the other line. He thumbed his phone. “Still there?”
“Yes.”
“That was Sterling Foster on my other line.” Briefcase in hand, he entered the elevator that he’d installed more for the convenience of moving large pieces of furniture and the like than to save on steps.
“Kate Fortune’s husband?”
He wasn’t surprised that she knew that fact, even though it wasn’t one they’d specifically discussed. She’d been at the same party; she’d heard Kate’s speech, too. “Yes. She’d promised to meet my father this week, but she’s in the hospital.”
“Oh, dear. I hope she’s all right.”
“Would that be the end of the world?” Her voice was soft. Tentative. “After all, it doesn’t change the fact that he is. Nor does it change the fact that you and your brothers and sisters are Fortunes, too, regardless of the Robinson name. I mean, blood is blood. Isn’t it?”
Talking to Ella had eased his irritation, but she had no way of knowing the bite her last comment contained. And it had nothing to do with the Fortune mess and everything to do with losing Henry. “That’s what I hear.”
He stepped off the elevator on the fourth floor that was completely occupied by his master suite. Nearly two walls of the floor were windows, and without turning on any lights he could see rivulets of rain running down them. “You wait until the car comes for you in the morning,” he reminded her.
“If it’s raining, I will.” She waited a beat. “Ben? Are—are you all right?”
He looked at his wide bed, instantly imagining her vibrant hair spread across the steel-gray sheets, and closed his eyes.
But it didn’t make it any better.
He opened his eyes and carried his briefcase to the sleek built-in rosewood dresser and set his briefcase on top, next to the only framed picture of Henry he had. He kept putting the damn thing in the trash, but Mrs. Stone kept retrieving it and setting it back on his dresser.
He turned the photo facedown.
“I’m fine.” His tone was abrupt. He was her employer. Period. He could imagine anything he wanted about her, but that was as far as it would ever go. “Good night, Ella.”
Chapter Five
The rain stopped long before morning.
Ella told herself she wasn’t disappointed when she awakened to a dry, clear sky. It was so clear, in fact, that she decided to bicycle to work.
She also returned to her usual blue jeans and thermal shirt.
The tone in her boss’s voice when he’d ended his strange call the night before had strongly reminded her that she was only an employee. And a temporary one, at that.