“So, that’s why the receptionist was having a hard time helping us.” Toby gestured with his thumb toward the reception area. “It’s true, then? They don’t even know who Chris Jones is?”
“Don’t take it personally, Toby,” Christopher said. “I just needed to make a fresh start.”
“How can I not take it personally? I mean, I get that you and Dad don’t see eye to eye on your moving to Red Rock and working here at the Foundation, but come on, Chris. What the hell? Aren’t you taking this a little too far?”
“Is that a question or an accusation?” Christopher challenged, holding his brother’s gaze until Toby leaned forward again and put the card back where he’d found it.
This life was exactly what he wanted.
He wanted what the Fortunes had: money, power, respect. He had gotten none of that back in Horseback Hollow. What was wrong with claiming it now?
“I figure the family can’t be any more disappointed in me now than they’ve always been. I never was any good to anyone around the ranch, anyway. Don’t you think they’d consider the new and improved Christopher Fortune a vast improvement over Chris Jones, the son who couldn’t do anything right?”
Toby looked down at his hands, then back up at Christopher. A somber expression crept into his eyes. “I don’t even know what to say to that, except that Mom asked me to tell you she loves you.”
Touché.
That was just about the only thing that Toby could’ve said to hit Christopher where he’d feel it.
The thing was, he didn’t even sound mad. Just...disappointed. A look that said, remember where you came from and don’t let the Fortunes change you into something you’re not.
He hadn’t forgotten and the Fortunes hadn’t changed him. He would be the first to admit that embracing the Fortunes’ world and starting on a desk job had taken some getting used to. He was surprised by how he sometimes missed not getting outside between the hours of nine and five. This indoor, sedentary job has been a challenge, but every time he looked at the view outside the windows of his executive’s office or at his bank account balance, it got easier and easier.
“Y’all must be hungry,” Christopher said. “Come on, let’s go get a bite to eat. I’ll treat you to lunch.”
* * *
“Excuse me, darlin’.” Kinsley Aaron frowned as she looked up from the notes she was taking while manning the third-floor reception desk for Bev. Christopher Fortune stood outside his office door, smiling broadly, no doubt thinking he was God’s gift to women.
Darlin’? Excuse me?
Had they somehow time traveled back to the 1960s?
“My name is Kinsley,” she said, doing her best to keep the bristle out of her voice. He may have been young and good-looking and a Fortune, but how dare he call her that?
“I know what your name is,” Christopher said.
“Then why did you call me darlin’?” She didn’t smile.
The man and woman who were with him looked a bit sheepish, perhaps a little embarrassed for him, before they ducked back inside his office. Actually, Christopher should’ve been embarrassed for himself. But did the guy do anything for himself?
The only reason he worked at the Foundation was because his uncle was James Marshall Fortune.
“Where is Betsy?” he asked
“Who is Betsy?” she returned.
“The new receptionist?” he answered with a tone better suited for talking to a small child.
Well, Mr. Man, two could play that game. “Nobody by the name of Betsy works here. Do you mean Beverly?”
Christopher shrugged. “Yes, the one who was here earlier.” He motioned to the desk where Kinsley was sitting. “Where is she?”
If Bev was smart, she’d handed in her resignation and left.
Kinsley blinked away the snotty thought. She hadn’t meant it. The Fortune Foundation was a fabulous place to work. Even though Christopher Fortune was full of himself, other members of the Fortune family had been very good to her. Not only did they pay her a decent salary to work as an outreach coordinator, a position she considered her life’s work, but also she would be forever grateful that they had taken a chance on her.
She’d come to them with little experience, having not yet earned her degree. She was working on it, but with a full-time job and going to school part-time at night, it was going to take her a while before she completed her coursework.
“I’m covering for Beverly while she’s on her break,” Kinsley said. “She should be back in about fifteen minutes. In the meantime, is there something I can help you with?”
Christopher smiled and looked at her in that wolfish way he had that made her want to squirm. But she didn’t. No way. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
What was with this guy? Better question, what was with her? Kinsley had always subscribed to the Eleanor Roosevelt philosophy: nobody could make you feel anything unless you gave them permission. Actually, the quote was nobody could make you feel inferior, but this adaptation felt just as authentic.
“Yes, will you please call and make a lunch reservation for three at Red for 1:15?”
At first Kinsley thought he was kidding. But as she squinted at him, it became quite clear that he was indeed serious.
News flash! She had not been hired as Christopher Fortune’s personal secretary! And why did he want to eat at Red, of all places, today? She rarely went out to lunch, but today she had a 12:45 business lunch at the restaurant. She was meeting Meg Tyler, the Red Rock High School PTA president, to discuss the school’s Cornerstone Club, an extracurricular student leadership organization, and to talk about the role the kids could play in implementing an anti-bullying program.
For a split second, Kinsley thought about calling Meg and asking if they could change restaurants, but then quickly decided against it. She’d been looking forward to lunch at Red. Why should she deny herself her favorite Mexican place just because he was going to be there?
Yeah, what was up with that? Why was she still feeling so shy around him? He’d started working with the Foundation about two months ago. They hadn’t had much contact until recently, when Emmett Jamison had asked them to work together to establish a stronger online presence for the Foundation’s community outreach program.
Why did she allow him to make her feel twelve years old? Worse yet, why did she shrink every time Christopher walked into the room? She didn’t need his approval. So what if he was charismatic and good-looking? He skated through life on his looks and charm, much like her father had done when he was sober. At least she did her job better than he did.
Fighting the riptide of emotions that threatened to sweep her under, Kinsley stared unseeing at the notes she’d been writing before Christopher had come out of his office. She wasn’t going to allow herself to be drowned by the past. Her father had been dead for six years, and she certainly wasn’t twelve anymore. In all fairness, despite Christopher’s bravado, he really didn’t have the mean streak that had possessed her father when he had been drunk. That was when her dad had drummed it into her soul that she would never amount to anything. That she wouldn’t be good enough, strong enough, smart enough, pretty enough. No man in his right mind would ever want her.
But that was then and this was now. She was well on her way to proving him wrong. She had a good job, and she was making her own way in the world. No matter how the scarred memories of her bastard of a father tried to convince her that she would never be enough, she needed to muster the strength to exorcise his ghost and set herself free. She needed to quit projecting her father and his twisted ways onto Christopher, who, like so