MEET THE … FORTUNES?

Fortune (?) of the Month: Ben Robinson. Ben Fortune?

Age: 33

Vital statistics: Six foot two, eyes of blue, and nerves of steel. You don’t want to get in his way.

Claim to Fame: He is COO of Robinson Tech— and quite possibly a legitimate heir to the Fortune dynasty.

Romantic prospects: He could have almost any woman he wants … except the one he wants.

“I knew Ella would make the perfect assistant, even when she was mixing lousy drinks at Kate Fortune’s birthday party. Ella is bright, sensitive and discreet. She’s also gorgeous and sweet and all wrong for me. I am a work-obsessed, bottomline man—and I’m selfish. Maybe too selfish to walk away, even when I know I should …”

* * *

The Fortunes of Texas: All Fortune’s Children— Money. Family. Cowboys. Meet the Austin Fortunes!

Fortune’s Secret Heir

Allison Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ALLISON LEIGH, a frequent name on bestseller lists, claims her high point as a writer is hearing from readers that they laughed, cried or lost sleep while reading her books. She credits her family with great patience for the time she’s parked at her computer, and for blessing her with the kind of love she wants her readers to share with the characters living in the pages of her books. Contact her at www.allisonleigh.com.

For handsome young Koda Kole. Welcome to the world, my love.

A beautiful adventure awaits.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

A strong arm came around her from behind, sliding comfortingly and familiarly around her waist. “Are you sure about this, sweetheart?”

She smoothed her hand over his and the charms on her bracelet jangled softly. Also familiar. Also comforting. Seeming to remind her of all that had gone before.

She leaned her head back against her husband’s chest and nodded. “Absolutely certain.”

She felt, more than heard, his low laugh. “I needn’t have asked. When are you ever uncertain?”

Her lips twitched. She pulled his warm hand up to kiss before moving out of his arms. Careful not to disturb any of the wrapped gifts piled high around its base, she stepped close to the massive Christmas tree—nearly fifteen feet of perfectly fresh Fraser fir—and automatically adjusted the hang of one of the glass globes. Custom-made during one of her trips abroad, it was gloriously beautiful. But the angel hanging above the globe that had been handmade by one of her great-grandchildren just a few years ago meant just as much to her. So many memories. Every ornament on the fragrant tree held a memory. A history. And in her family, there was a lot of history.

For a moment—only a moment—a sliver of uncertainty burrowed under her skin. That wasn’t familiar at all. Whether her plan would be greeted by cheers or jeers when her family soon arrived and she shared it with them, it nevertheless had a purpose. And given everything they’d lived through, accomplished and triumphed over, particularly in the past twenty years, she knew there was no point in hesitation. She’d been on this earth nine decades.

She touched the handmade angel, marveling a little at that very fact.

Definitely no point in hesitation. Not at her age.

So, regardless of their reactions, it was time to act. Time to move forward. It was the right thing for the family. The right thing for the company. If she had any dissenters, they’d soon see things her way.

Uncertainty yanked out by mental tweezers as if the sliver had never been, she continued to the side table, where she’d left the invitations. She didn’t bother fanning through the elegantly addressed linen envelopes. She’d already checked them, twice, against her carefully prepared list. She could only imagine the responses they’d elicit when they were opened by their intended recipients.

If she was in the same position as her guests, she wasn’t sure she would bother to attend a gala if she didn’t know its purpose or even the identity of the person who’d issued the invitation. Why should they? But then, everyone was usually intrigued by a little mystery. On that, she was counting. That, and the financial incentive of donations being made to their favorite charities if they intended to attend. And at this point, it was paramount that word not get out. Lord only knew the chaos that could ensue.

She left the stack of invitations untouched and picked up the two plane tickets sitting beside them, then looked over her shoulder at her husband. A day never went by when she didn’t take pleasure in the sight of him. So dear. So distinguished. Her other half, though she’d lived two thirds of her lifetime before realizing it. “You with me?”

He gave her a look. “Always.”

She smiled fully then. Not just because she couldn’t resist the way his eyes crinkled when he gave her a smile like that, but because she heard the sound of a door opening followed by voices and laughter and excited footsteps racing across the marble-floored entry.

After all this time of thinking and preparing, her plan was finally going to be set in motion.

“Well, then, darling—” she set the plane tickets beside the invitations “—Texas, here we come!”

Chapter One

The line of people waiting to get past the security guard was finally dwindling. It had definitely taken long enough.

Ben Robinson stepped into the sphere of golden light bathing one of the stone pillars leading toward the entrance of the house and joined the line, nodding briefly to the man in front of him as he glanced back.

“Long line,” the guy said ruefully, waving the ivory invitation in his hand. He was dressed in a tuxedo that sat uneasily on his shoulders. The woman in a cashmere shawl beside him seemed equally nervous about the diamonds circling her neck, considering the way she kept checking them.

“Yes.” Ben’s black suit was Tom Ford. Not a tux, but not exactly off-the-rack, either. And he was comfortable in it. The only difference that mattered between him and the line of guests in front of him was that they all held one of those ivory invitations that allowed them entry to this highly exclusive event.

An invitation he himself did not possess.

The man in front of him hadn’t turned his attention forward yet. “Suppose it’ll be worth it?”

Ben shrugged. He was counting on it, but the invited man in front of him didn’t need to know that. “Guess we’ll find out.”

“Honey.” Diamond Necklace touched her mate’s arm excitedly. “That woman getting out of the limo?” She discreetly waved toward the long vehicle that had just stopped nearby in the circular drive fronting the opulent house. “That’s Lady Josephine Fortune Chesterfield,” she said under her breath. “I’d recognize her anywhere. You know she spends a lot of time in Texas now. Her daughter, Lady Amelia, got married in Horseback Hollow—that’s where they opened Cowboy Country last year. Remember? Oh, my goodness, she’s here right now! Doesn’t she remind you of a young Audrey Hepburn? It’s so romantic that she chose a rancher to marry, but she was engaged to an earl. I wonder if her sister, Lady Lucie, is—”

The guy gave Ben a wry look and focused again on his companion, cutting off her excited chatter. “Let me guess. You read all about them in those magazines you love.”

“Don’t make fun of me, Mr. Smarty Pants,” she warned. She waved her hand at the palatial estate and the line of guests still in front of them. “You’re worried this whole thing was a recipe for disaster. But I’m more convinced than ever that this is some big deal about the Fortune Foundation. Maybe they’re going to open an office in Austin.”

“Who sends an invitation like this without saying who they are? And why would the Fortune Foundation keep quiet if this was their doing?” The guy flipped his invitation lightly against her nose, sending Ben a look, as if expecting agreement.

Ben shrugged again. He hadn’t seen the actual invitation. But he had damn sure done his research. He, at least, knew who the chef was of this particular dish. And it was not the Fortune Foundation, which was a nonprofit headquartered out of Red Rock, Texas, a few hours away.

The line moved again then, and Necklace didn’t entirely succeed in holding back a squeal as she grabbed Smarty Pants’s sleeve and pulled him up to the guard, whose suit didn’t disguise either the muscles or the sidearm beneath. Ben moved more leisurely, but soon enough he was in front of the guard. With the dwindling line, there was only one now. When Ben had first arrived and begun scoping out the situation in person, there had been three guards at the door.

“Your invitation, sir?”

Everyone had always told Ben he was just like his father. He didn’t need times like this to know how damned true that was. Gerald Robinson had nerve to spare. And so did Ben. He smiled smoothly and pulled his Robinson Tech ID from his lapel and held it out with an expectant look.

The guard returned it with one caught halfway between surprise and suspicion. “Uh, Mr. Robinson.” He obviously recognized the badge. And Ben’s name. “I don’t have you on—”

“The list. There hasn’t been enough time. When I heard there might be a computer breach between the ranch here and the headquarters in Minnesota—”

The guard paled a little, stealing a quick look at the state-of-the-art Robinson model computer propped on a stand beside him. “Breach?”

Ben clapped the guard reassuringly on the shoulder while returning his company ID back to his lapel pocket with his other hand. “Don’t worry, man. I’ll have it ironed out in no time.” He could feel the guard’s tension and smiled confidently, even though he was lying through his teeth. “I know the system is secure. My own people put it in. But you know how your boss is. Never entirely trusting someone outside the network without a few tests slipped in along the way.”

It was a calculated and accurate assessment, and almost immediately, the tension Ben felt under his hand eased. Knowing he’d succeeded, he let his hand drop from the guard’s shoulder and stepped through the opened doorway into the house, even before the guard waved him along. He wasn’t surprised at being passed through.

Whether a result of being Gerald’s firstborn or being the chief operating officer of the company his father had founded, there were few people Ben encountered who didn’t tend to see things the way he wanted them to.

He bypassed the long table set to one side of the high-ceilinged foyer, where guests were finding their name tags, breaking up the tidy rows in which they’d been arranged, despite the efforts of the two young women dressed in plain black dresses who were clearly assigned the job of assisting.

The tags were fancy. Gold. Preprinted. But even so, they looked wholly prosaic among the proliferation of tuxes and jewels. Nevertheless, he found them handy as he made his way deeper into the palatial house, following the directions provided by even more party attendants. Because the tags assigned faces to names that, up until now, had been only that.

Names.

James Marshall Fortune of JMF Financial out of Atlanta. His older brother, John Michael Fortune, who’d founded the telecommunications giant, FortuneSouth. One of their sisters, Ben knew, was the Lady Josephine whom Diamond Necklace had been so excited to spot. There were power brokers, movers and shakers in attendance, as well as folks like Mr. Smarty Pants and Diamond Necklace, who’d struck him as pretty salt of the earth.

Yet all of them—save the help—had been invited because in one way or another they were part of the Fortune family.

His lips tightened and he tamped down the resentment that had been seething inside him for longer than he wanted to think about.

Invited.

But not Ben. And none of his seven siblings, either. He’d only learned about the party in the first place because he’d had the family under a microscope ever since his sister Rachel dropped her little bombshell.

He finally arrived in a soaring room cleared of typical furniture in favor of round banquet tables draped in heavy gold silk and topped with crystal and candles. He wound through the exalted invitees, who’d begun clustering in small groups of twos and threes around the open areas of marble floor, and stopped near one of the three bars set up in the corners of the room. He chose the bar at the far rear because, from that position, he had a good view of all entrances into the room.

He’d been intent on gaining access.

Now that he’d done so, he was pretty much flying by the seat of his pants. He intended to speak to the party’s hostess. One way or another. How he accomplished that...well, that was yet to be decided.

“Good evening, sir. What can I get you?”

He hadn’t been interested in a drink. Just the right spot. He glanced over his shoulder at the young woman behind the bar. She was dressed in the same nondescript tailored black sheath all the other female party attendants wore, yet he found his attention lingering on her. The display of bottles on the table behind her slender hips said there was no limit to what libation a person might desire.

He might as well fit in. There didn’t seem to be a guest there who didn’t have a glass in their hands, either obtained from one of the bars or from one of the attendants circulating through the room with gold trays and crystal flute glasses. “Dry Manhattan.”

He caught the quick dismay in her expression before she nodded. “Certainly.” She quickly turned to face the array of liquor bottles, her hand hovering but not exactly reaching.

She had auburn hair. And once upon a time he’d had a weakness for redheads.

But no more, he reminded himself. Plus, no matter how her curves filled the dress, she looked like she wasn’t even old enough to be serving alcohol, anyway. The dark red tresses were pulled back in a high, youthful ponytail that revealed the pale skin at her nape above the collarless black dress. She had a cluster of faint freckles there that struck him as ridiculously young.

And she was wearing a Mickey Mouse watch.

“Use the Bushmills,” he advised. “Two bottles to your right. There. The twenty-one year.” Some might consider using that fine a whiskey in a cocktail a waste, but Ben took perverse pleasure in doing so.

The bartender sent him a grateful smile and plucked the bottle from its neighbors, turning back to face him and the bar again. Her cheeks were a little flushed, her guileless blue eyes chagrined. “I don’t usually tend bar,” she admitted softly. “I was actually supposed to be doing valet tonight but the usual bartender had a family emergency. I’ve done all sorts of things for the temp agency, but this one is new territory. Please don’t hold that against anyone but me.”

It had been too long since he’d been amused by anything a female said, redheaded or not, and he leaned his elbow on the bar and watched her slender fingers uncap the bottle, trying not to imagine how their light touch would feel. “Like the host? Is she as terrifying as everyone claims?”

The girl’s eyes met his for a millisecond before flitting away. “I haven’t met her, actually. I just meant—” she lifted a shoulder left bare by her dress and the long tail of her ponytail slid behind her back “—you know. The catering company hired for the party.”

It was clear as day that she didn’t have a clue what to do with the whiskey. He could have taken pity and told her to just pour him a shot and be done with it. Whiskey like that was meant to be sipped, anyway. Perhaps with a drop of water, but nothing else. Or he could have changed his order to a beer; there was a healthy display of good labels on that score, too.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured her. He reached across the bar top and picked up a clean pilsner glass. “This’ll do to mix it in. Fill it with ice.”

Her fingers brushed his as she took the glass and she sucked in her full lower lip, leaning to one side to scoop ice from some hidden source beneath the bar into the glass. He dragged his eyes away from the smooth skin of her throat, revealed when her collar pulled slightly to one side.

“Now a shot of whiskey,” he directed when she straightened and looked expectantly at him again. “Half as much of vermouth. Dry.”

That bottle she clearly knew.

“Dash of bitters.” He pointed and she quickly reached.

“Now stir. Gently,” he added, reaching over to guide her hand. Her gaze met his again in a here-and-gone second and the long crystal stirrer she’d snatched up immediately slowed.

He smiled slightly and let go of her hand.

“I use a martini glass, right?”

“Right. Just strain out the ice.” He glanced over his shoulder, surveying the room quickly to verify he wasn’t missing anything or anyone. When he looked back, she was pouring the last drop into the glass. “And a lemon twist.”

She quickly dropped a curl of lemon rind inside the cocktail and set the glass atop a small napkin in front of him. “My first Manhattan.”

He lifted the glass. “Firsts are always memorable.”

Her eyes skated over his again and her cheeks went red. He reminded himself that she wasn’t responsible for the animosity he’d developed of late to women in general, and he lifted the glass in a silent toast before moving away a few feet. The spot he left was soon filled with more customers, most of whom didn’t request anything more complicated than wine. White. Red. An occasional gin and tonic. Even though he found himself lingering, she was more than capable of dealing with the requests.

Pretty soon, that line dwindled, too, and Ben’s Manhattan was rapidly becoming a memory. There was a quartet of musicians playing old standards and the small clusters of party guests were migrating, growing larger as more family connections were drawn and discovered.

His lips tightened and he turned away from the sight, his focus colliding with the pretty bartender, who jumped guiltily as if she’d been caught staring.

In appearance and apparent guilelessness, she seemed the antithesis of the women with whom he’d been dealing lately, and he exhaled, giving up the notion of disinterest. He finished off the drink and headed back to the bar.

Her eyes followed the glass when he set it, empty, in front of her. “Would you like another, sir?”

He had a company of people who called him “sir.” “Call me Ben.”

Her eyes flicked up to his and her lips pressed softly together.

“And no,” he answered. “But I’ll take a mineral water.”

She leaned sideways again and retrieved a small bottle, which she opened and poured the contents into a clean glass. She set it atop a fresh cocktail napkin and began sliding it toward him. “Firsts might be memorable, but I guess they’re not always successful.”

He wrapped his hand around the highball glass before she could withdraw her hand, and his fingers brushed hers. “The Manhattan was perfect,” he assured. “But I’m driving.” It was only an excuse. He wanted his head clear for an entirely different purpose.

“The party’s expected to last hours.”

He leaned his elbow on the bar again. “What else do you know about the party?”

Her gaze flicked past him, then back again. “Nothing, sir.”

“Ben,” he reminded her.

The corners of her full lips twitched. “Sir,” she repeated.

He felt his own lips twitch despite himself. “Name badges tonight seem reserved for guests. What’s your name?”

“Ella Thomas.”

“How old are you, Ella Thomas?”

Her full lips parted a little in apparent surprise. She had the faintest of spaces between her perfectly white two front teeth. It added a distinct interest to an already interesting face. Her brows were dark slashes above those translucent blue eyes; her nose was a little long and her smile was disproportionately wide.

Interesting. Mesmerizing.

If he’d been interested in being interested, of course.

“We’re not really supposed to fraternize with the guests,” she was saying.

“No problem.” He gestured at his name-tag-free lapel. “Not a guest. On the job.” He stuck his hand across the bar toward her. “Ben Robinson. Robinson Tech.” It was strange using the name. As recently as a few months ago, the company had still been called Robinson Computers.

Such was progress.

And regardless of the new moniker, Ella’s lush lips parted even more, clearly recognizing both the company name and his.

Without seeming to realize she’d done so, she placed her hand in his. “You’re the COO,” she said faintly. “My brother was just reading an article about your company in Wired. He’s a, um, a computer fiend.” She seemed to realize he was still clasping her hand and quickly tugged it free.

“And you? What are you a fiend about?”

Her dark lashes dropped and she shook her head, smiling slightly. “Nothing except finishing school.”

God help him. “High school?”

At that, she looked up again, a little outraged. “I’m twenty-three!” She shook her head. “College, of course.”

Still, God help him. He had ten years on her. “What are you studying?”

“Accounting.”

“Dry, dry, dry.”

“Some might say that about computer technology, too.”

“Computers make the world go ’round.”

“And that all started out based on two little numbers,” she returned immediately. “Zero and one. Both of which have existed long, long before computers.”

He realized he was smiling. “So what else do you do besides study zeroes and ones, and fill in at the last minute for missing bartenders?”

Her smooth cheeks flushed again, which only made her blue eyes bluer. “Not much. There’s just my mom and my brother and me. I pick up as much temp work as I can to pay tuition. It’s one of the reasons why it’s taking me this long to get my degree. Never enough time or money in the day. I can only manage school part-time.”

Ben and his brothers and sisters had been raised with every conceivable advantage. It was the one luxury of being Gerald Robinson’s offspring. They’d never once had to worry about earning money to pay tuition. Or anything else, for that matter.

But when it came to other things? Their genius father was predictable in only one thing: being unpredictable.

The latest of which was the reason for Ben’s presence at this damned fete of La Queen Fortune’s in the first place.

“Are you all right?” Ella was looking at him, her dark brows pulling slightly together.

He nodded and looked away from her to face the rest of the room, where a hum of excitement was suddenly filling the air.

The hostess herself had finally made her appearance.

And even if her identity wasn’t a surprise to Ben, it was clear by the whispers flying around the room that it was to all the legitimate guests there.

The pictures he’d seen of her had told him she was small and slim. But in person, dressed in a pale silver suit with diamond jewelry glinting under the light, she seemed even more so. Then she spread her arms and smiled as brilliantly as her jewels, and her commanding voice filled the hall as the music died away.

“Welcome, everyone, to the Silver Spur Ranch and my ninetieth birthday celebration. I am Kate Fortune.”

All around Ben, the whispers went up a notch. Someone even gasped.

Kate Fortune.

Billionaire. Head of the internationally successful Fortune Cosmetics.

And, Ben thought bitterly, the self-proclaimed matriarch of the vast and widespread Fortune clan.

“Talk about a walking advertisement for Fortune’s Youth Serum,” Ella murmured behind him.

On that score, Ella was dead-on. Because even though Kate herself had just confessed her age, she looked a good twenty years younger. Maybe more.

The hostess was still smiling vivaciously. “I cannot express how much I appreciate everyone’s willingness to overlook a bit of...vagueness...and join my husband, Sterling, and me here tonight.”

Only then did Ben notice the older, distinguished-looking man standing off to one side of the petite powerhouse. He was smiling, but his gaze was unquestionably watchful.

“But as I said, I’m celebrating ninety years on this earth, and I thought it was high time that I do that with all of the Fortune family around me. Since so many of you seem to have found your way to Texas, it seemed only sensible that I find my way here, too.” She laughed lightly. “And I must admit that is no hardship, since spending January in Austin, Texas, provides a much friendlier climate at this time of year than my home in Minnesota.”

Ben’s fingers tightened around his glass.

Kate was stepping farther into the room. “Please, everyone. Take a seat.” She gestured at the expensively laid-out tables around her, and those who’d still been standing found their way to empty seats.

Ben didn’t bother. He hadn’t been on the guest list to begin with, so there was no fancily prepared card marking a spot for him.

When the sounds of chair legs scraping on marble finally subsided, Kate clasped her hands in front of her. “That’s so much better, isn’t it?” Her smile took in everyone with a skill that Ben could almost admire. “It’s a regret of mine that there hasn’t been more contact among our families over the years.” She gestured toward a table to her right. “John Michael, you’ve no excuse, either,” she said lightly. “You own a good portion of the telecommunications in this great country of ours. You, too, could have picked up a phone.”

Laughter skittered across the room, though as far as Ben could tell, John Michael didn’t show a helluva lot of humor over it.

And if Kate noticed, she didn’t show it as she looked next to her left. “And Lily, darling, it’s been much too long since I’ve seen you. Ryan was still with us, then. Such a tragedy to lose him.”

The striking woman Kate was addressing was nodding. “He was a good man,” she agreed.

“And I can’t tell you how much I’ve admired the work you’ve all done with the Fortune Foundation since his death. Ryan’s memory truly lives on throughout all of Texas in the foundation’s good works. But—” Kate’s smile turned humorous “—I know you’ve also learned what I learned many years ago. That the heart has no age. And you found happiness again with William, just as I found it with my Sterling.” Her gaze encompassed the room again. “I could go on and on, but none of you want to sit here and listen to an old woman talk forever. As your invitations indicated, this isn’t merely a one-night party. We’ll have ample time at the events over the next several days to get to know one another—either again, or for the first time. And I cannot tell you how happy that makes me. Because beyond all of the successes I have seen in my lifetime, I know that family is the most important thing there is.”

Ben buried his grimace in the glass he lifted to his lips.

“But as my husband and my children would be the first to attest, I don’t do anything without reason,” Kate continued. “And I want to ensure the success of my legacy for the future generations of this great Fortune family we all share.”

She slowly made her way around the tables. “And the first step in that direction is by choosing someone from among you to take the helm of part of Fortune Cosmetics.” She patted the air soothingly at the shocked eruption that ensued. “It doesn’t matter your background,” she said. “I don’t care if you are Harvard-educated or if you’ve made your way courtesy of a GED and gutsy determination. If your experience is in a boardroom—” she touched one dark-haired man on the shoulder lightly “—or in a mechanics’ shop.” She smiled at Mr. Smarty Pants, who looked like he wanted to squirm in his seat. “It’s not what you’ve done that will influence my choice, but who you are. I’m looking for a particular ingenuity and strength of character, and I know I’m going to find that ideal individual within our extended Fortune family.” She smiled broadly and spread her arms wide. “It could be any one of you!”

It was too much.

Too...freaking...much.

Ben slammed his glass down on the bar, noticing with one portion of his infuriated mind the concerned look that the pretty bartender gave him.

“Not anyone.”

Chapter Two

Every head in the house seemed to swivel toward him.

Ben didn’t care. He stared down Kate Fortune, who was giving him a steely look from the middle of the room.

“And who might you be?”

He had steely looks of his own and he was not going to be cowed by anyone’s demands, least of all hers. “Benjamin Fortune.”

For about a millisecond, the woman appeared shocked. But then the look on her face was wiped out by one of confident authority. “I sincerely doubt that. I would have remembered putting that name on my guest list, since the real Benjamin Fortune was my first husband, may he rest in peace.”

“Oh, I am real enough.”

Kate waved off Sterling, who—along with the guard Ben had gotten past so easily—had joined her. “My Ben may have had all nature of illegitimate heirs,” she said coolly, “but they were identified years ago. So I’ll warn you, young man, that I know how to ferret out an imposter.”

“Warn away, ma’am,” he said flatly. “I’m no imposter. Any more than Jerome Fortune was.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Jerome died years ago.”

It was nothing more than he’d expected. “He’s alive and well and living right here in Austin. And if you cared as much as you claim to about family, you’d already know that.”

“Sweetheart,” Sterling suggested firmly, sliding his arm around Kate’s narrow waist, “maybe this discussion can wait.”

“Of course.” Kate’s smile widened once more, but the steel in her eyes didn’t soften as she looked around at her guests again. “This is a birthday party, after all, and what is a party without food and music and drinks? Please. Carry on!” On cue, the quartet began playing again and waiters bearing trays of food suddenly marched into the room in time to the music.

Ben wasn’t interested in food. Or music. He was only interested in having his say with this woman, once and for all.

Nor was Kate distracted from him. She spoke briefly to Sterling, who didn’t look particularly happy, before approaching Ben by herself.

“Jerome Fortune,” she said when she reached him.

“Yes.”

“We’ll see.” Her smile didn’t extend to her eyes, but she regally took Ben’s arm and headed out of the room. When Ben happened to glance back toward the bar, it seemed to him that the only person in the room who wasn’t watching and whispering was Ella from behind her bar.

When they reached a narrow hallway, Kate spoke again, her voice calm. Maybe even genuinely curious. “How did you get in this evening?”

“Courtesy of your lax security guard.”

“Hmm.” She gestured at a closed door when they approached it and he pushed it open, following her through to another hallway. The door swung closed behind them, muting the sounds of the party. “I’ve never been a fan of gate-crashers.”

“Then you should’ve done better due diligence in rounding up all your precious Fortunes when you decided to dangle this whole Fortune Cosmetics deal in front of them,” he said evenly.

She stopped next to another closed door and looked up at him, her expression calculating. “Is that what you want, Benjamin?” It was clear she didn’t believe that was actually his name. “You want a chance at running part of my company?”

He laughed abruptly, even though the only bit of humor he’d felt in months had been courtesy of Ella Thomas just a few minutes earlier. “I don’t need to run anything of yours,” he assured her. “Nor do any others in my family. We’re not money-grubbing imposters. We have no need of your wealth.”

Kate lifted a brow. “For most of my life, people have been trying to get a piece of my wealth by fair means or foul.”

His jaw tightened. “Gerald Robinson. Robinson Computers. Robinson Tech. Names mean anything to you?”

She gave him an impatient look. “Everyone in the free world has heard of them. What’s that to do with—”

“I’m Ben Robinson. I’m COO of Robinson Tech and Gerald Robinson is my father. And he is Jerome Fortune.”

“Jerome died in a boating accident.”

“And I’m telling you he didn’t. After leaving the Fortune family—” or getting kicked out, which Ben considered likely, knowing Gerald the way he did “—my father obviously reinvented himself. Rather well,” he added ironically. “Gerald Robinson is a creative visionary who went on to make his own fortune. No pun intended. What possible reason would we have for lying about anything to you?”

“If it isn’t money, then what do you want?”

Henry.

The name flashed through his mind like quicksilver, too smooth and too rapid to stop.

“Respect. Acknowledgment.” His lips twisted.

“If what you say is...accurate—”

Her hesitation made Ben wonder what word she’d originally thought to use. True?

“—then why doesn’t your father contact me directly? A man of his standing? He certainly could have done so without need of a simple party invitation.”

“There was nothing simple about your party invitation.”

She inclined her head a few inches, ceding the point. “Why wait all this time to reach out? If he’s really Jerome Fortune, why leave his family to grieve his death in the first place?” She folded her arms, giving him a chilly, expectant smile.

If he’d had an answer for her, he’d have given it.

But the truth was, he’d only recently learned that “Gerald Robinson” had never really existed. Not since his little sister, Rachel, confronted Gerald with her discovery of his true identity. And for reasons known only to their father, he was insistent on leaving the past buried.

Ben was sick to death of people lying to him, and in this one thing, he would get the truth out. Even if he had to drag the Robinsons into the light kicking and screaming.

“You and I actually do have something in common,” he finally said to Kate instead of answering. “We believe in family.”

She pursed her lips, studying him. “I’m not going to say I believe you. But I’m curious enough to want to meet your father for myself.”

“I can arrange that.” His father would have a fit, but Ben would handle it. He’d lie, if he had to, to get Gerald to the meeting.

And that thought just showed again how like his old man he really was.

“Come to the Robinson estate next week.” He realized he sounded as autocratic as her. “After your events this weekend have concluded, of course.”

Her arms were still crossed and she tapped one finger against her silver sleeve. Then she finally inclined her head. “Make the arrangements. I won’t tell you how to get the information to me. Clearly you already know how to reach me.” She opened the door beside them and cool night air rushed in. “Now, I’ll just say good-night, Mr. Robinson. Because, as you know, I have guests waiting.”

Summarily dismissing him, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Ben figured it was only a matter of time before the security guards came to check that he’d exited. But having gotten what he’d come for, he had no reason to stay.

He went out the door and it closed automatically behind him. When he tested it out of curiosity, it was locked.

“Crazy old bat,” he muttered under his breath.

But he didn’t really believe it.

Kate Fortune was many things. Of that he was certain.

But crazy wasn’t one of them.

He looked around, getting his bearings before setting off to his left. It was dark, only a few lights situated here and there to show off some landscape feature. But he soon made his way around the side of the enormous house and to the front, which was not just well lit, but magnificently so. He stopped at the valet and handed over his ticket to a skinny kid in black shirt and trousers.

He tried to imagine Ella dashing off the way this kid was to retrieve his car, parked somewhere on the vast property. He couldn’t quite picture it.

But in his head, he could picture her quite clearly.

Not the red hair. That just reminded him of Stephanie. But the faint gap in her toothy smile and the clear light shining from her pretty eyes.

That was all Ella.

A moment later, when the valet returned with his Porsche, Ben got in and drove away.

* * *

Ella Thomas checked the address she’d been given by the temp agency against the small black address printed on the side of the tall building. She hadn’t made a mistake.

She moistened her lips and stepped back a few paces on the sidewalk to look up again at the narrow, four-story building sandwiched between one of Austin’s newer skyscrapers and a decades-old deli. Aside from the doorbell next to the paneled door and a pair of chairs she could see on the narrow, second-floor balcony, there was nothing about the building’s exterior to indicate it was a home. The door was a solid slab of dark gray and there were two oversized, frosted windows, through which she could see nothing.

Rosa at the agency had told Ella the personal-assistant job was for a well-to-do, reclusive client. And if things worked out, it could translate into a long-term position.

And that would definitely suit Ella.

Working for the temp agency provided a lot of variety to Ella’s days—she’d done everything from dog-walking to bookkeeping—but a more predictable stream of income would definitely be welcome. When she’d first started with the temp agency four years ago, she’d needed the flexibility in her schedule to help her mother care for her brother. But Rory had been doing so well over the past few years that her mother had been able to go back to work full-time. Elaine kept telling Ella it was time to focus more on herself and her goals. Finish her degree. Get a steadier job.

A steady job wouldn’t have put you in the same room as Ben Robinson.

She shook off the silly thought and swiped her damp palms down the sides of her navy blue skirt. She’d paired it with her usual white blouse, but had left the blazer that matched it at home. She figured an interview for a personal assistant didn’t necessitate the whole aspiring-accountant ensemble.

Straightening her shoulders, she stepped across the sidewalk and pushed her finger against the buzzer next to the door. The only thing she could hear was the traffic on the busy street behind her. She could only assume that the doorbell was working. At least she hoped.

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been sent out for a job such as this that didn’t pan out past the interview stage.

But a moment later, the door swung open to reveal a dour-faced woman with gray hair.

Ella smiled brightly. “I’m Ella Thomas. I was sent by Spare Parts Temporary Agency.”

The woman stepped back, opening the door wider. “You’re late.”

Dismayed, Ella quickly glanced at her watch that told her she was right on time. But she didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot, either. “I’m so sorry. My watch must have stopped,” she lied, considering the second hand was ticking right along as usual.

“The Mister likes people to be prompt.”

The client was a man? “I agree wholeheartedly.” The woman had turned and Ella could either stand in the doorway or follow.

She followed, quickly closing the door behind her. The second she did, all sounds of the traffic outside disappeared.

“He’s waiting for you in his study.”

Trying not to gape at her surroundings, Ella followed the woman out of a foyer that was bigger than Ella’s bedroom and around a slanted wall of smoky glass that would have obscured the luxurious living area on the other side from outside view, even if the frosted windows hadn’t. She didn’t know where to look first. At the amazing collection of art hanging on the roughly textured ivory walls, the stylishly modern furnishings, or the metal staircase hugging one wall that the woman had begun ascending. To Ella, it looked like the stairs were suspended in midair.

Failing miserably on the gaping score, she quickened her step and was glad to realize that while it appeared the steps had no banister, there was one of nearly invisible glass.

“Mister has parking below the building. If you have a car, he’ll give you the code to enter.” The woman—Ella had no clue if she was a housekeeper or even “Mister’s” wife—had reached the top of the stairs and paused long enough for Ella to catch up, before walking past a dining room table that sat ten and heading up another staircase. It was a twin to the first one directly below it; only this time, there were solid walls on both sides.

“I don’t have a car,” Ella admitted. “I got here by the bus.”

The woman gave her a deadpan stare over her shoulder. “No doubt the reason you are late.”

Ella’s smile slipped a hair, though she managed to keep it in place. “I’ll take an earlier bus next time.” If there was a next time. Despite the woman’s apparent assumption that Ella would get the job, she wasn’t going to count her chickens just yet.

Seeming satisfied, though, the other woman nodded her gray head and continued up the stairs. At the top, she turned to her left and gestured toward an opened doorway Ella could see at the far end of the floor. This floor was more casual, but no less luxuriously appointed than the main floor. There was still an eye-popping collection of paintings hanging on the walls—everything from landscapes and seascapes to still life—but the leather furniture looked more comfortable and lived-in.

“Mister’s study?”

The woman nodded and immediately began descending the stairs once more.

Feeling a fresh surge of nervousness, Ella moistened her lips and crossed the thick area rug that covered a good portion of the gleaming wood floor. She stopped in the wide doorway, prepared to knock on the thick doorjamb.

But there was no need.

“Mister” had already spotted her.

“Come on in, Ella,” Ben Robinson greeted from behind the desk situated opposite the doorway.

“You!” Had she thought about him so often over the past three days—since that party—that she’d imagined him now?

“Yes, me.” He lifted a hand, indicating the leather barrel chair in front of the massive desk. “Have a seat.”

The strap of her purse slipped off her shoulder and she grabbed her bag before it fell...and was reminded of the copy of her résumé she’d brought.

Shaking off her sense of surrealism, she entered the study, awkwardly pulling the sheet out of the protective folder she’d crammed inside her purse. The only items on top of his desk were a computer monitor and a small lamp. She set the résumé between them, then twisted her purse strap between her fists and sat in the chair.

He didn’t so much as glance at the paper. Instead, he continued watching her with the same blue-eyed intensity that had so unnerved her at the party three nights ago.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said for lack of anything better.

He had an ancient-looking clock hanging on the wall behind him. It reflected the same time as her watch. “You’re not late.”

“The woman who let me in—” definitely not his wife “—said I was late.”

“Mrs. Stone.”

Appropriate, Ella thought.

“My housekeeper. She thinks everyone is late unless they arrive fifteen minutes early.”

He was still watching her steadily and she had to work hard not to squirm. Instead, she crossed her ankles demurely and twisted the purse strap even tighter. “That explains it, then,” she murmured, feeling inane. “I, um, I suppose I’m the last person you expected to see from Spare Parts.”

“I specifically asked for you.”

She moved her lips, but nothing came out at first. She cleared her throat. “Well...here I am.” Warmth started climbing up her throat.

His lips twitched a little. “Yes. Here you are.”

She shifted, angling her ankles to the opposite side of the chair. “We barely said two words the other night. Why would you ask for me?”

“More than two words, I think.” He turned his chair to one side, but angled his dark head, keeping his gaze on hers. “You told me you’d done all sorts of things for your temp agency. And I need someone who can do all sorts of things.”

Ben Robinson was an intensely handsome man. She couldn’t be held responsible if her mind sort of short-circuited a little bit at that, could she?

She swallowed hard. “Like what?” She made herself envision walking his dog—if he had one—or picking up his dry cleaning. Simple, prosaic tasks, that even six-foot-plus men with wavy black-brown hair and laser-blue eyes needed.

“Being discreet, for starters.”

Her mouth went dry all over again. “About?”

“About what I want you to do for me.”

She realized her fingertips were turning blue from the tourniquet her purse strap had become around her hand. “I think maybe you need to be more specific,” she said faintly.

“What do you know about Kate Fortune?”

“That she had to have dropped a fortune on that party the other night.” She surreptitiously unwound the purse strap and flexed her stiff fingers. “Why?”

He turned his chair to face forward again. “You were there. You heard.”

“I heard you say you were Benjamin Fortune.”

“And?”

And when she’d gotten home that night, she’d looked up both Ben Robinson and Benjamin Fortune online.

She’d gotten a computer screen full of images of handsome Ben Robinson, either from the cover of some tech magazine or another, or from the gossip pages, of him escorting one beautiful woman after another to some fancy event. “And nothing.” Just because she’d wasted precious time fantasizing over those photographs when she should have been studying didn’t mean he had to know. “Benjamin Fortune was Kate Fortune’s husband and he died a long time ago.” The here-and-now Ben was clearly waiting for more, and she lifted a shoulder. “And I assume you’re related in some way,” she offered.

His lips twisted, this time without amusement. “Yes. In some way, I and my seven siblings are.”

“Seven!” She couldn’t help exclaiming a bit over that and quickly shook her head in apology. “Sorry.”

“We are a large family,” he admitted. “And, I believe, we are just the tip of the Fortune iceberg.”

She shifted again. “Mr. Robinson, I—”

“That’s as bad as ‘sir.’ Ben.”

She hesitated.

“If I’m paying your salary, I can tell you to check the ‘Mister’ at the door with Mrs. Stone.”

“And what on earth would I do to earn that salary?” She sounded as bewildered as she felt. “Mr....Ben.” His name felt oddly exciting on her lips. “I can’t imagine you’d go to a temporary agency like Spare Parts to hire an assistant when you have an entire human resources department at Robinson Computers at your disposal.”

“Robinson Tech, now.”

“Right,” she said faintly. The renaming of the company during the past year had seemed to be a major media event. Television commercials. Radio spots. Magazine ads. There had even been signs on the side of the city buses.

“And I’m looking for a personal assistant.”

“Whatever. I’m sure there’s a line a block long of eager minds willing to pick up your dry cleaning just so they can say they work for a genius like you.”

“My father’s the genius.” He rose from his chair, suddenly looking restless as he paced across the room to the tall window that overlooked the high-rises across the river. He peeled off the jacket of his charcoal suit and dropped it carelessly over the back of one of the four chairs that circled a small table.

The white shirt he wore beneath fit his broad shoulders like it had been made for him.

She dragged her eyes away, mentally rolling her eyes at herself. Well, duh. He undoubtedly had his shirts tailor-made.

“I’ve also come to learn that my father has been less than honest with us.” He clasped his hand behind his neck, which pulled the fine white fabric taut against his long, tapered back.

Safe in the knowledge that he was facing out the window and away from her, she puffed her cheeks and blew out a silent breath. The intense man gave the word gorgeous new meaning.

“Not only has he kept the fact that he’s a Fortune a secret, but I believe he’s kept the results of his past indiscretions a secret, too.”

He turned suddenly and she schooled her expression into what she hoped was polite interest.

“That’s where you come in.” He prowled—there just was no other word for the way he moved—back to his desk, but he didn’t take the chair. Instead, he hitched his thigh over the front corner of the desk and leaned over his folded arms toward her. “If you’re willing, I want you to help me find them.”

Dear heaven, he smelled amazing, too. “Find who?”

“Any illegitimate brothers and sisters I might have out there. Half brothers and half sisters, I suppose I should say. Products of my father’s frequent and irredeemable infidelities.”

His words were finally penetrating the fog caused by his sheer masculinity, and she sat up a little straighter. “I don’t understand what you think I can do,” she said. “I’ve done all sorts of things, Mr. Robinson, but I’m hardly equipped to find... I don’t know. Missing persons.”

“Not missing. But likely as unaware of their true heritage as I and my brothers and sisters have found ourselves.” He straightened again and moved around to sit in his chair. “And I told you, it’s Ben. Do you dislike the name for some reason?”

She felt herself flush again. “Of course not. But you...you run Robinson Co—Robinson Tech, and I’m just—” She broke off. “Why don’t you hire an investigator?”

“Because I want to keep this under the radar for now. I don’t want any red flags raised. My father won’t be pleased once he learns what I’m doing. About a year ago, my sister Rachel discovered that our father—the man we’ve always known as Gerald Robinson—was actually named Jerome Fortune. At first, he denied it outright. Now, he just refuses to explain what it all means. Why...when...he changed his name. His entire identity.” His face was grim. “According to the records, Jerome Fortune died in a boating accident. God only knows what else my father’s lied about over the years.”

“Like having another family?”

“Or two or five. Maybe he’s been a regular Johnny Appleseed, spreading his seed all over the world.”

She thought about the slight, ninety-year-old hostess of the party the other night. “And Kate Fortune knows him?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But there was a boatload of legitimate Fortune family members there that night. We should have been part of that.”

She couldn’t hide her confusion. “Because of that offer she made? About choosing someone to run part of Fortune Cosmetics?”

“I don’t give a damn about Fortune Cosmetics,” he said flatly. “I’ve got all the money I’ll ever need. I care about the truth. Whatever the reason he put behind the name change, my father is still a Fortune. That makes all of us Fortunes, too. And if there are other sons and daughters of his, I’m damn sure going to find out.”

She looked around the posh study. From the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves loaded with what were probably rare first editions, to the million-dollar view out the terraced window. “If you do find any, aren’t you worried about them wanting a piece of all this? What if they make a claim on your inheritance? On the Robinson name?”

His eyes darkened for a moment. “That’s why I want to approach this from a different angle. I don’t want to attract the liars and cheats who’ll be the first in line if word about what I’m doing gets out. I’m not in the mood to deal with gold diggers. Not again. But everyone has a right to know his or her roots. Don’t you agree?”

She nodded slowly, uncomfortably curious about the gold diggers with whom he’d already dealt. “I do agree, but I’m not sure how I’m qualified to help you in your search.”

“You’re intelligent. You’re quick on your feet. You’re discreet, and there’s something about you that makes people want to confide in you. Look how I just did.”

She let out a nervous, breathless laugh. “You got all that out of teaching me to mix a Manhattan?”

“I’ve done some research, too, Ella Thomas.” He clasped his hands on top of his desk and leaned forward. “You’re at the top of your class. You’ve never turned down an assignment from Spare Parts.”

“Because I can’t afford to.”

“You were the only one in the room the other night who wasn’t listening agog to every single word that Kate Fortune and I exchanged. And I want you.”

Before she could get dizzy over that, she reminded herself sternly that he was only referring to hiring her for this unusual quest of his.

“You’re putting yourself through college, right?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Then help me track down my family, and I’ll make sure you have enough money to pay not only for the rest of your education, but pay off the student loans you already have, as well.”

Chapter Three

Ella’s eyes went wide as she stared back at Ben and he could already taste success.

“I’m not a charity case.”

“I didn’t say you were,” he said truthfully.

“If my detective skills turn out to be as bad as my bartending skills, you can fire me.”

“Your bartending skills were fine.”

“And I reserve the right to quit, too, if...um...I decide the job doesn’t suit.”

“Why wouldn’t it suit?”

Her dark lashes fell and her auburn head dipped a little. She had her hair in a ponytail again. And even though there was nothing particularly attractive about the loosely fitted white shirt she wore tucked into a plain blue skirt, he had to remind himself again that she was off-limits. He’d put her there, square and fair, by the very act of employing her, even if it was through a temporary agency.

Ben never mixed business with pleasure. Ever. Especially with someone as young and seemingly wholesome as Ella Thomas. She was white picket fences and babies and happily-ever-afters. And he was anything but.

His mood effectively darkened, he pushed out of his chair again and paced across to the window. He didn’t see the view. In his head, he was picturing Henry. The two-year-old boy who, for the better part of the past year, Ben had let himself believe he’d fathered. Finding out that he hadn’t during the same time he’d learned his father wasn’t who he said he was had been sour icing on a bitter cake.

He pinched the bridge of his nose until Henry’s image in his mind faded. “Do we have an agreement or not, Ella?” He turned on his heel to face her.

“I guess you’re not interested in reviewing my résumé.” She sat forward and retrieved the sheet of ivory paper she’d set on his desk.

He doubted there was anything on it that he hadn’t already discovered for himself. He shook his head.

“And if I decline your generous offer?”

“Then I’ll figure something else out.” He wouldn’t want another prospect from Spare Parts, at any rate. His only interest in the temporary agency was the fact that Ella worked for them.

She pulled a manila folder out of her purse and tucked the résumé neatly inside it. Then she stood and seemed to brace herself before she approached him, her hand outstretched. “We have an agreement.”

He’d just as soon not touch her, because even though he’d put her out of his reach, he’d still spent too much time over the past few days thinking about touching her all over. But he shook her hand briefly. “You’ll work here,” he said. “Ordinarily, I’m not here during the day, so that—” he gestured at his desk and the computer there “—will be all yours. You can park under—”

“Mrs. Stone told me,” she interrupted quickly. “I don’t have a car.”

“I’ll arrange one for you.”

She looked pained. “I’m fine with the bus. And on nice days, I like to ride my bike, anyway.”

He wanted to pinch his nose again, because he didn’t want to be having lascivious thoughts about college girls who rode bicycles. Instead, he headed toward the stairs. He’d been prepared to have her start immediately, but he obviously needed another night to get his head on straight. “Suit yourself. You can have weekends off. I’ve already put together my notes and a list of women with whom my father might have been involved.” A task that had almost been enough to keep him occupied once he’d learned the truth about Henry. “You can start on that tomorrow, if you’re ready.”

“Okay.” Her footsteps sounded light on the stairs behind him.

“It’s a long list,” he added grimly.

Her steps slowed. “I’m sorry.”

He’d reached the second floor, where the kitchen and formal dining room were situated, and he glanced back at her. “For what?”

She lifted her shoulders in the cheaply fitting blouse. “My father died when I was eight. But I can only imagine how difficult a task this must be for you.”

“It’s your task,” he reminded her, deliberately overlooking the compassion in her open gaze. “That’s why I’ve hired you. Mrs. Stone,” he barked, and his housekeeper immediately appeared. She’d come with the house, having worked with the prior owners for twenty years. He figured that she tolerated his presence only because she had to, if she didn’t want to give up the house.

“Give Ms. Thomas the spare house key.” He ignored Ella’s surprised start as easily as he ignored Mrs. Stone’s emotionless stare. “She’ll be working in my office from now on, so make sure she has everything she needs.” He looked at Ella. “I have a conference call in a few minutes from Tokyo, so I’ll leave you with her.”

She gave him a bemused nod, not speaking until he started back up the stairs again. “What do I do if I, you know, make any finds?”

Call me. “Leave a daily report on my desk,” he said instead. “Nothing complicated. Just whether you’ve made any progress.”

Her expression cleared, making him wonder if she was relieved. Maybe she wanted to keep as much distance between them as he did. If that was the case, so much the better.

“Daily reports.” She nodded and clasped her purse to her narrow waist. Her eyes were sparkling, bluer than the Texas sky, and her wide smile showed off that faint space between her two front teeth. “I can do that.”

And he could keep his mind where it belonged.

He nodded once and headed upstairs to his office again, determined to put Ella Thomas out of his head, no matter how difficult a task that would be.

* * *

“You’re going to work for the Ben Robinson?” Ella’s brother, Rory, dumped his backpack on the small round kitchen table and eyed her with astonishment. “Robinson Tech, Robinson?” He barely waited for her nod. “You know his father, Gerald Robinson, was the first one to venture into hybrid—”

She lifted her hand, cutting him off before he could launch into another of his technical, mind-numbing descriptions. “I know. Gerald Robinson’s brilliant.” And according to his son Ben, a philanderer, as well. She finished wrapping the peanut butter sandwich she’d made for Rory’s lunch and tucked it in a paper sack, along with an apple and a few sticks of string cheese. “You have enough money to buy your milk for lunch?”

He made a face and shoved the sack into his backpack. “I’m too old to drink milk.”

“You’re sixteen. You’re not too old.” She’d made her own sack lunch, too. “At least don’t buy soda. Get fruit juice.”

“When’s Mom gonna switch back to days?”

“She’d tell you to drink fruit juice rather than soda, too.” The Thomases’ kitchen wasn’t overly large. In a matter of three short steps, Ella could reach the sink, the fridge and the stove. And Rory, even as horribly thin as he was, took up a good portion of space. She stepped around him, automatically avoiding knocking into his crutches after a lifetime of practice, and stuck her lunch into the messenger-style bag she used to carry her textbooks. “And I think she’s got another month on nights, before she gets to switch back to days.” Their mother was a medical technologist working at the hospital, and the only thing regular about her schedule was its irregularity. But the pay was enough to keep a modest roof over their heads, and the medical insurance that came with it was even more crucial, considering Rory’s cerebral palsy.

“I hate it when she’s gone all night.”

Ella rubbed his unruly hair. Unlike her, his dark hair didn’t have a hint of red. He looked more like their mother, while she took after their father. “I know, bud.”

Typically, he shrugged off any displays of affection from her. In that, he was a pretty normal teenage brother. “So what’re you gonna be doing at Robinson Tech? Can you get any good deals on equipment? Maybe you’ll even get a new computer. Or their latest phone. Or at least an upgrade on—”

She waved her hand, cutting him off. “Don’t get excited. I’m not going to be working at Robinson Tech and there won’t be any new stuff. I’m just doing a job for Mr. Robinson. And what do you need with more computer equipment, anyway? Your bedroom barely has room for a bed, you have so many gadgets.”

“Software doesn’t take up room, and they’ve got a new OS coming out that’s looking really sweet. You could always ask, you know.”

She didn’t know what an OS was and didn’t care. “No, I certainly could not ask. You have everything you need for school? You’ve got chess club afterward—” She broke off when he rolled his eyes.

“Geez, Ella. I’m not five. And you forget stuff more ’n I ever do,” he reminded her.

That was true enough. Beyond him, she could see out the kitchen’s lone window that looked out on the street. “Your bus is here.” She waited for him to pull on his hooded jacket, then helped him on with his backpack and followed him through the house to the front door. “I don’t know how long Mr. Robinson wants me to work today, so if I’m not home to start dinner, Mom’s got—”

He was already moving down the ramp that had replaced the three front porch steps years ago, before he’d graduated from his wheelchair. “I know, I know, Ella,” he said impatiently. “Lasagna in the freezer. ’Bye already!”

It was a chilly morning and even though Ella’s instinct was to linger and make sure her brother got on the bus all right, she didn’t. She waved good morning to their neighbor Bernie, who was fastidiously sweeping nonexistent leaves off his own porch, and went back inside. She turned off the gas fireplace that had been keeping the living room warm, made a mental note to get the Christmas tree undecorated and hauled out of the house—since Christmas had been two weeks ago—and pulled her own jacket out of the closet.

Riding her bicycle to work was a fine idea, and something she’d done many, many times. It was more convenient than the bus, actually, since there was no schedule to worry about. But with rain in the forecast, the bus was more sensible. With her jacket covering her jeans and flannel shirt, she pulled the messenger-bag strap across her shoulder and set out herself for the nearest bus stop, about eight blocks away.

It could have been worse. The Thomases could have lived farther away from the bus line than they did. And with all the walking and bicycling that Ella did every day, she’d never had to particularly worry about indulging in whatever food she wanted.

Genetics probably helped there, too. Elaine was the same height as Ella and slender. And before he’d died, Ella’s father had been tall and lanky.

Not unlike Ben Robinson.

She still couldn’t believe he’d wanted to hire her.

Frankly, the more she thought about it, the more she considered his quest a little odd. It certainly wasn’t a regular occurrence in the world she’d always occupied.

If her father had had extramarital affairs that produced other children, would she have wanted to know?

It wasn’t as if Ben didn’t have brothers and sisters already. Heavens. He had seven! A twin brother who also worked at Robinson Tech, two other brothers and four sisters. It boggled her mind imagining the chaos eight children would have provided in the Thomas household. It made her smile, just thinking about it.

But then the Robinsons and the Thomases had very little in common, besides both residing in Texas. When she’d indulged her curiosity about Ben on the internet, she’d seen the photographs of the sprawling Robinson estate. Well, photographs of the stone walls and iron gates surrounding it, at least. There’d been a few aerial shots that showed multiple wings and a sparkling pool and a whole lot of trees that hid pretty much everything else from sight.

Certainly there’d been no picture of Ben Robinson sprawled poolside.

She was smiling over that thought, too, when she boarded the bus.

“Looking fine today, missy,” the bus driver greeted her.

“Thanks, Del.” She swiped her bus pass over the reader. “How’s your grandson doing?” The teenager went to the same school as Rory.

“Oh, he’s fine. Just fine. His mama and him are hoping to buy their own place soon.”

Ella pocketed her pass again, grinning at the driver. “You’re not going to know what to do with yourself if they actually move out.”

The driver hacked out a laugh and put the bus into motion. “Reckon that’s true, missy.”

It was early yet, only a few other riders already on the bus, and she chose a seat midway back on the window. The trip to Ben’s house would take the better part of an hour, but she didn’t have to make any transfers to another route, and that meant she had a good forty-five minutes to study.

Unfortunately, when she pulled out her textbook for her Intro to Taxation course, she seemed incapable of focusing on it. Same way she’d seemed incapable of getting more than an hour of sleep at a stretch the night before.

All because she couldn’t get Ben Robinson out of her head.

Finally, she gave up on the textbook and put the heavy tome back in her messenger bag. She had nearly two weeks to go before the class started. Presumably she’d have her infatuated fascination with Ben under control by then. It wasn’t as if anything would ever happen between them. He was totally out of her league.

But a girl could daydream, couldn’t she?

Staring sightlessly out the window beside her, as the bus pulled up to one stop after another, letting people on and letting people off, that was exactly what she did.

* * *

“At least you’re not late this time.” Mrs. Stone greeted her at the front door again.

Ella almost wanted to ask the woman if she ever smiled but figured the question wouldn’t be taken well. So instead, she just offered a “good morning,” and followed the housekeeper inside. Even though Mrs. Stone had given Ella a spare key the afternoon before, Ella hadn’t been able to summon the nerve to actually use it. Instead, it remained unused on the key chain that held her own house key, tucked safely inside her bag.

Like the day before, the house was quiet as a tomb inside, and she followed Mrs. Stone up to the third-floor study.

“Mister has already left for the office,” the housekeeper finally said when she gestured at Ben’s empty desk. “I suppose you know what you’re supposed to do.”

Ella wondered if Mrs. Stone knew what Ella’s purpose there was. Not that it mattered. Mrs. Stone had a job to do, the same as Ella did.

She set her messenger bag on the floor behind the desk and tried to act as if she wasn’t totally intimidated simply pulling out the leather chair that Ben had occupied the afternoon before.

“Lunch will be at noon,” Mrs. Stone intoned. “I’ll bring you a tray.”

“Oh.” Surprised, she gestured toward the admittedly worn bag. “I didn’t know. I brought a sandwich.”

Mrs. Stone stared. “The Mister said to prepare lunch.”

“Which probably beats my PB and J all to pieces.”

“PB and J?”

“Never mind. Thank you. Lunch at noon will be great. But I can come down—” she realized she didn’t know where the kitchen was located because she’d never seen it “—or up,” she added ruefully, “to the kitchen. I don’t need waiting on.” The woman was still staring. Not quite a glare but definitely no humor there, either. Maybe she didn’t want interlopers in her kitchen. “But, whatever you’re used to,” she said weakly.

“Mister never has people working in his office,” Mrs. Stone said and turned to leave.

Presumably that meant she was delivering a lunch to Ella at noon just as she intended.

Nervously twisting her watch, Ella sat down in the leather chair. It was on casters. Surprisingly old-fashioned for a man who was firmly entrenched in a modern tech world. In fact, the entire study seemed steeped in old-fashioned touches. The clock on the wall behind her looked as if it had come out of an old railway station. The desk itself was gigantic, with warm inlaid wood on the top and worn metal corner braces that reminded her of a steamer trunk.

There was a manila folder sitting on the center of the desktop with her name scrawled on the front. When she hadn’t been stalking her new boss online the night before, she’d been reading whatever she could find on how to locate missing people. Not that his siblings—if there were any to begin with—were missing.

She’d decided the hunt wasn’t any different than doing a person’s genealogy. And these days, genealogy websites abounded.

She flipped open the folder. The notes inside were typed. Neat. Chronological. She had a hard time envisioning Ben preparing them himself. Probably had had a secretary do it.

There were also a couple of sticky notes stuck to the inside of the folder; handwritten in the same slashing style as her name on the front. That she had no trouble imagining as Ben’s. He’d written the password for his computer network on one. And on the other, a directive to make herself at home and help herself to drinks in the fridge.

She leaned back in the chair and looked around the study. If there was a refrigerator here, it was cleverly hidden. Besides, she had a bottle of water in her messenger bag.

She gingerly opened the center drawer of the desk and was glad to see it contained the computer keyboard and a few pens and pencils. The moment she tapped the keyboard, the sleek monitor on top of the desk leaped to life and she keyed in the password he’d left, opened an internet browser and turned back to read through all of Ben’s notes.

That task took longer than she’d expected, because there weren’t only notes about Gerald Robinson’s history. There were copious notes about the extensive Fortune family and the mysterious, supposedly deceased Jerome Fortune.

By the time she did finish, she decided she needed to make some of her own notes. Reading about Gerald Robinson’s life had been fascinating enough that she didn’t feel so odd when she began pulling open the drawers of Ben’s desk in search of a notepad. When she reached the last of the four drawers, she’d found everything from a bottle of Scotch and two crystal glasses to a single snapshot of a cute blond-haired toddler boy. But no blank paper. Rather than hunt through anything else of his, she retrieved the spiral notebook from her messenger bag that she used for school notes and flipped to a fresh page.

Ben’s material chronicled Gerald’s life from his founding of Robinson Tech, known until recently as Robinson Computers, his marriage to Charlotte Prendergast and the subsequent births of their children. It covered a lot of years. From the dates Ben had provided, Ella knew that Gerald and Charlotte had been married nearly three and a half decades. She drew out a visual time line of these known dates. On another sheet, she drew, contrastingly, the brief time line of Jerome Fortune’s life span. If Gerald was not Jerome, that young man had had a regrettably short life.

She idly traced her pen over Jerome’s time line, while studying Gerald’s. She hadn’t been hired to determine that the two men were one and the same. Ben already believed that they were. There wasn’t anything interesting of note on Gerald’s time line until he’d founded his computer company. Before that were just the basics. Birth date. The names of his supposed parents—both deceased.

“Lunch.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin when Mrs. Stone spoke.

Without asking, the housekeeper carried the tray she held over to the table near the windows. She set out the place setting, a plate with a silver dome covering it and a crystal glass filled with what look like iced tea. When she was done, she tucked the tray under her arm and headed back out the doorway. “I’ll collect everything in an hour,” she said as she left.

“Yes, ma’am,” Ella murmured under her breath. But curiosity as well as hunger pangs propelled her across the room to see what was under the dome. She was relieved to see a flaky croissant brimming with—she filched a tiny bit on her fingertip to taste—chicken salad, a steaming cup of some sort of soup and a glistening fruit tart.

Definitely beat out her poor little peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Knowing she’d spent more time that morning thinking about the Gerald/Jerome connection than hunting down any of his possible offspring, she carried the food back to the desk and ate while she began methodically searching the whereabouts of the women listed in Ben’s notes.

She was able to cross off the first two almost immediately. One had died childless in an automobile accident only a few months after the conference where she and Gerald had met. The other was now a United States senator with an eye toward the presidency, and Ella figured if there were any other children besides the high school–age twins she shared with her husband, the media would have ferreted them out long before now.

She made her notes next to their names and moved on to the third prospect. “You do get around, don’t you,” she commented and looked up to focus again on the computer monitor.

Ben was standing in the doorway, wearing an immaculate pinstriped suit and gray tie, and for the second time, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Who gets around?”

Over the course of the morning, she’d gotten comfortable sitting in his chair, but now she felt nothing but awkwardness and she hopped to her feet. “Sorry about the mess,” she muttered, quickly gathering the empty dishes that Mrs. Stone had yet to retrieve, and swiping croissant crumbs off the glorious desk onto the plate.

“What mess?” He rounded the desk from the other side and angled his dark head, studying her handwritten notes. Aside from Gerald’s time lines, which had numerous additions and comments jotted here and there, her notes were fairly neat. But nothing like his typed stack.

Rather than standing there, inhaling the intoxicating scent of him, she carried the dishes over to the table. She wondered if his thick, dark hair ever got mussed out of the severe way he combed it back from his face.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” he said. “Mrs. Stone taking care of you?”

She hovered near the table. “Yes. Lunch was unnecessary, but delicious. Thank you.”

“Thank her. She fixed it.” He glanced at the computer monitor, then back at her again. “You’ve found everything you needed?”

She nodded quickly. “I’ve already eliminated two women from your list. If it continues this quickly, you’re definitely overpaying me for the job.”

He picked up her spiral notebook and read what she’d written. “It won’t always go that quickly. Nothing involving my father ever does. Where’d the notebook come from?”

“What?”

He lifted the notebook slightly before tossing it on the desk.

“Oh.” She gestured at her messenger bag sitting on the floor against the wall behind his desk. “I had it with me.”

“Reminds me of my school days,” he murmured. He walked over to her and reached out his arm, but only to open one of the built-in cabinets near where she stood. “Plenty of supplies for you to use,” he said, and moved away again. “No need to use up your own stuff for school.”

“It was just a few pages,” she pointed out. But she pulled out a legal pad from the well-stocked shelf behind the cabinet door and closed it again.

“School’s not in session for you right now.”

“Classes start up again in about a week and a half.” She set the legal pad on the desk, but then didn’t really know what to do. It was his office. Taking the seat behind his desk while he was there seemed too strange. Instead, she ended up just hovering there beside the desk, folding and unfolding her arms. “I, um, I only have one class right now that’ll be on campus. Intro to Taxation. The last class I took was online only.”

“Handy.”

“Depends. Sometimes things are easier in a classroom. But—” she shrugged and unfolded her arms yet again “—it’s what’s been working.” It was also hard knowing where to focus her attention. If she looked at him, she was very much afraid she might stare. Or drool. The man was that handsome. But it was also awkward not looking at him.

God help her. You’d think she’d never been around a guy before. She wasn’t a virgin, for heaven’s sake. She’d had a few boyfriends. Nobody serious enough to stick around through her busy schedule and the demands of her family. But still...

“Well, looks like you’re doing fine. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Mister!” Mrs. Stone appeared, unable to hide her surprise. “I didn’t know you were here. I’ll prepare you lunch immediately.”

“No. I had a few spare minutes but I’m heading back to the office. Make sure Ella leaves in a few hours.” His eyes slid over Ella’s face, a sudden glint of amusement in them. “I’m not paying her overtime.”

With that, he departed as unexpectedly as he’d appeared.

“He never comes home during the workday.” Mrs. Stone glared at Ella as if she was to blame. “I would have had a proper lunch for him prepared.”

“I don’t think he expected lunch,” Ella offered. “It was all delicious, though. Thank you.”

Mrs. Stone didn’t look soothed. As rocky faced as always, she loaded up her tray with Ella’s lunch dishes and strode out of the room. Ella was fairly certain she’d have slammed the door if the doorway had possessed one.

Fortunately, it wasn’t Mrs. Stone’s opinion about Ella that mattered.

And Ben had said she was doing fine.

Chapter Four

He showed up shortly after lunch the next day, too.

This time, though, Mrs. Stone was prepared.

As if she’d been hovering somewhere, waiting and watching for Ben to “sneak” into his own home, two minutes after he walked into the study, the gray-haired housekeeper appeared with a second lunch tray, which she set next to Ella’s on the round table near the windows. “You don’t eat enough,” she said before striding out of the office once more.

Ella was still sitting at his desk. And if she had perhaps done a little of her own preparing, too, by choosing to wear a green turtleneck and black slacks instead of the jeans and shirt she’d worn the day before, she was the only one who had to know.

Now, Ben gave her a wry look. “If I don’t eat it, I’m afraid she might poison me in my sleep or something.”

Ella couldn’t keep from smiling. “I think she’s just trying to be—” she hunted for a suitable word “—nurturing.”

“I’m pretty sure she ate her young,” he returned, but pulled off his suit jacket—pale gray today—and hung it over the back of the table chair. “You haven’t had a chance to eat yours, yet.” He gestured at the second dome-covered plate. “Come and keep me company and fill me in on your progress.”

Since he’d made a point of telling her he was never at his home office during the day, she figured he was more anxious to make progress on his search than he’d admitted. She’d been there two days so far, and so far, he’d appeared twice. She pushed out of his desk chair and joined him at the little conference table. But thinking of this as an impromptu business meeting was hard, considering the way he rose and pulled out her chair for her before she could do it herself.

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