A Fortune in Waiting Page 4

  His thoughts were interrupted as the waitress brought their food. Keaton bit into his hamburger with little appetite. He hated to think other men and women had grown up feeling the lack of a father the same way he had. At the same time, if he could connect with them now, maybe he could ease some of that inherent loneliness.

  He wanted to believe he was doing it to help others, but it was as much for himself. His eight half siblings had grown up with Gerald Robinson as their father. Gerald was far from perfect, and had too many secrets, including his true identity, but Kieran, Graham, Ben, Wes, Rachel, Zoe, Olivia and Sophie had always known who they were and where they came from. Keaton longed to talk to someone who’d shared his experience of longing to know where he belonged.

  He and Ben discussed more specifics about how to track down the other half siblings as they ate, then Keaton headed across town to the office of Ariana Lamonte, a reporter at Weird Life Magazine, who had emailed him with an interview request regarding a story she was doing on the Fortune family.

  Ben had warned Keaton to check her out before he agreed to anything. The Fortunes were big news in Texas, which was why Keaton didn’t speak to many people about his relationship with the family. He had a well-honed protective streak, thanks to years of taking care of his mum. In fact, it still shocked him that he’d shared so much of his history last night with Francesca. Yet there was something about her that made him confident he could trust her.

  Whether he could trust the reporter remained to be seen. He walked the half dozen blocks to the magazine’s trendy office. Clouds had rolled in while he was having lunch and a brisk breeze was beginning to kick up.

  Ariana Lamonte met him in the lobby and led him to a small conference room. He wasn’t sure what he expected from the reporter, but the friendly woman with long brown hair, wearing a brightly patterned dress and chunky jewelry wasn’t it. He’d been skeptical as to the blogger’s motivations for wanting to interview him, but his gut told him he could trust this woman. As he lowered himself into the chair across from her, she opened the file folder and began to spread out photos on the table between them.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” she said, her smile genuine.

  “You realize I haven’t yet agreed to anything more?” he asked. He relied on his instincts about people but his own feelings about being a Fortune made him wary of discussing the family with anyone who wasn’t in his close circle of confidants. Interesting that Francesca had breached his walls in only one conversation. No one had done that in a long time, and he wasn’t sure what it meant about his connection to the plucky waitress.

  Ariana didn’t seem put off by his question. “I want to reassure you I intend to approach this series of blogs with the utmost respect to your family. The Fortunes are important in Texas, and the family’s history appeals to many readers even beyond Austin. I’m curious what it’s like to discover that you are part of such a venerable legacy.”

  He schooled his features as he thought of Gerald’s legacy. Yes, Ben and his siblings, the legitimate heirs to the Robinson name, were a big part of that. Each of them had dealt with their own issues since they’d learned that their father was really Jerome Fortune. There was also Charlotte Robinson to consider. Keaton couldn’t help but wonder how Gerald’s wife of more than thirty years was adjusting to this turn in her family’s dynamic. From the little he’d heard from his siblings about their mother, Charlotte was handling the changes with stoic poise, but it had to be acutely difficult for her.

  “There are those who have had a bigger adjustment than me,” he answered. “You seem to have done your research on the family.”

  Ariana smoothed a hand over the stack of files that sat in front of her. “I have.”

  “As I’m sure you know, I was raised by a single mother. That means I always knew there was a part of my history that was missing. For some of the Fortune heirs, I believe it’s been quite a shock to discover there is more to their family than they’d grown up knowing.”

  “But it must have been a shock for you to find out that the father you never knew was actually part of such a well-known and powerful family?”

  Keaton inclined his head. “Yes,” he admitted.

  “That’s the focus of this series. I want to profile some of the newer members of the Fortune family and share with readers the unique process of becoming a Fortune.”

  “Becoming a Fortune,” Keaton repeated.

  “That’s the title of the series,” Ariana told him. She slid several of the photos toward him, and he recognized the people in them as other recently minted Fortunes. There were several images of the children of Josephine Fortune Chesterfield. Unlike Gerald, Lady Josephine and her sister, Jeanne Marie Fortune Jones, hadn’t kept their status as Fortunes a secret. The women had both been put up for adoption as babies, two of a trio of triplets that also included family scion James Marshall Fortune.

  It was only a few years ago that Jeanne Marie and Josephine’s connection to the Fortunes was revealed and they and their children had made the transition to being part of the famous family. Keaton already knew of the Fortune Chesterfields, as their ties to the royal family made them celebrities in Britain. From what he’d learned of the Fortune Jones branch of the Fortune family, based in the small Texas town of Horseback Hollow, they’d been regular people who had a bigger adjustment to being part of the limelight that came from being a Fortune.

  “Which of the Fortunes have you spoken to already?”

  Ariana’s dark gaze didn’t waver. “You’re the first.”

  “Why me?”

  She held up a hand to tick off the reasons on her fingers. “You’re now a local, which will be interesting to my readers, and the Austin Commons project is already news. The fact that you discovered your relationship with Gerald Robinson—or Jerome Fortune to be more precise—as an adult is intriguing. The Fortunes are quite well known in the States, particularly in Texas. The Fortune Chesterfields are famous in their own right, but you’re different.” She flashed a wry grin and added, “Unique.”

  “Not as unique as you might think,” he muttered then regretted speaking the words out loud when Ariana leaned over the table.

  “What does that mean?”

  He thought about ignoring the question and refusing to be a part of the interview and subsequent profile. Other than recognition for his work, Keaton had never craved fame. But he remained deeply committed to discovering the others out there who’d been discarded by Gerald, and he felt certain there were more. Maybe if he spoke with Ariana, he could shake up the family tree a bit and see what else might fall from the branches.

  He had to balance his need to locate other Fortune children with his desire to respect his half siblings and what the knowledge of their father’s philandering would do to them. That meant he had to tread carefully with Ariana.

  “It means there’s more to the story of Jerome Fortune than anyone outside the family knows.”

  The reporter’s eyes widened and she reached into the purse that sat on the chair next to her and pulled out a hand-held recorder. “What can you tell me?”

  “Nothing while we’re on the record,” he said, shaking his head.

  She sucked in a breath, clearly frustrated with his answer. “I have a responsibility to my readers.”

  “I have a responsibility to my brothers and sisters,” he told her. His lungs expanded as he said the words. They were a truth he felt from the bottom of his heart. He might be new to the Fortune family, but Ben, Wes, Graham, Olivia, Rachel, Kieran, Zoe and Sophie meant something to him. They meant he wasn’t alone in the world any longer. “I’ll talk to you about my theories on Gerald Robinson and the implied consequences of how he’s chosen to live his life, but that can’t be part of the story you publish.”

  Ariana studied him for several moments then placed the recorder back in her pur
se. “Will you agree to a featured profile on you in the magazine and on the blog?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “What about your theories on your father?”

  “He’s not—” The urge to deny his connection to Gerald came fast and hot, but he swallowed it back, letting the bitterness burn a path down his throat. “For now, let’s just say that I don’t think I’m the only skeleton in Gerald’s adulterous closet.”

  “That’s quite the bombshell,” she murmured.

  “Indeed. I plan to uncover my father’s secrets.”

  “I can help,” Ariana offered immediately.

  He started to protest, but she held up a hand. “Off the record, Keaton. I won’t lie to you, if the ‘Becoming a Fortune’ series takes off, it will be a great stepping stone for me. I’m good at research and tracking down leads. But I’ll only take it as far as makes you and your half siblings comfortable. All I ask in return is that you agree to let me interview you, and not block my way to speaking with other Fortunes.”

  “That’s fair,” he agreed then glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting at my office this afternoon. Call me and we’ll set up a time to talk about my Fortune journey.”

  She stood at the same time he did and they shook hands. “I look forward to it,” she told him.

  He expected to feel tense about what he’d agreed to, but as he returned to the Austin Commons project site, a sense of peace descended over him. He could try to convince himself and everyone around him that Gerald meant nothing to him, but the lack of a father had shaped almost every decision Keaton had made in his life. This was his chance to define what “becoming a Fortune” meant to him, and if Ariana Lamonte could help track down other half siblings then all the better.

  Chapter Four

  When the bell above the door to Lola May’s chimed at just past six that evening, Francesca didn’t need to turn around to know that Keaton had just walked in. The fact that her heart began to race and a tiny shiver made goose bumps pop up all over her body left no question.

  She smiled at the couple at the table in front of her as she set down their plates of food. The man made a silly joke about buttering biscuits and Francesca tried to think of a clever response. She liked bantering with customers, but right now every one of her brain cells had taken the fast train south to parts of her body she’d assumed were stuck in permanent hibernation.

  Keaton Whitfield might be the reason for global warming, at least in Francesca’s world.

  Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she saw him slide into a booth in her section. It shouldn’t be so difficult to think about speaking to him. They’d had an entire conversation last night where she hadn’t stuttered or drooled or made an obvious idiot of herself. He’d been polite and charming, neither of which surprised her given how she’d seen him interact with Lola May and the other waitresses during his daily visits to the diner.

  But actually enjoying his company had been a bit of a revelation. She couldn’t remember ever simply having fun with Lou. Every moment they’d been together had been about her adoring him. His life. His band. His schedule. His needs.

  She was still embarrassed to admit how easy it had been to ignore her own needs in trying to take care of him. She knew it stemmed from the fact that she’d grown up without a father. When she’d asked her mother why her dad had left, the answer was always the same—“I couldn’t give him what he needed.”

  Francesca had been determined to give Lou everything he needed so she’d never lose him. The problem was she’d lost herself in the process.

  Ciara had the section next to Francesca’s on this shift, so it would be easy to beg her friend to take care of Keaton. She stole another glance and found him watching her. A slow, sexy half smile curved one side of his mouth. She was positive he knew that she’d been planning to ditch him. Seriously, it was like the man was some sort of British mind reader.

  How difficult could it be to serve him a meal? It was her job, after all, and they’d already had a conversation. No biggie, right?

  “Hi,” she said as she approached the booth and wondered if that one word sounded as lame to him as it did to her.

  “Hello, Francesca,” he said in that gorgeous accent. He might as well have said “I’d like to ravish you” because all her circuits went slightly haywire. “You look lovely tonight.”

  She glanced down at her black Lola May’s T-shirt and the denim skirt she’d paired with pink cowboy boots. She had a small splattering of ketchup just above the letter M that made her feel the exact opposite of lovely.

  “How was your test?” he asked.

  She met his gaze and promptly forgot how to speak. It was as if the English language didn’t exist to her anymore. All she could do was stare and—oh, dear—was that yearning she felt? She could almost feel her body yearning for the man. Not a good sign. Francesca had vowed to become strong and independent after her break up with Lou, but now her fledgling feelings for Keaton made her feel flustered and weak in the knees. She couldn’t risk being weak ever again.

  She groaned softly then realized Keaton was still watching her. Wait, what had he asked her just now?

  He ran a hand over his jaw and the slight rasping of stubble against skin did nothing to help her focus. How would his face feel under her fingertips? What if she kissed the edge of his jaw?

  “You did have a test today?” he prompted.

  She blinked. Swallowed. Made a fist and dug her fingernails into the fleshy part of her palm, hoping that the bite of pain might help her focus.

  “Test,” she repeated like a googly-eyed tween when faced with her biggest fangirl crush.

  “Accounting, I believe?”

  “Yes, accounting.” She licked her dry lips and his gaze zeroed in on her mouth. Not helping her focus. “I think it went well. I don’t have my grade yet but I hope it went well. I hope...”

  That you’ll take off your shirt right now.

  Nope. She certainly wasn’t going to add that.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” she said instead.

  Keaton’s smile widened and Francesca felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “For dinner,” she added and grabbed the small pad of paper from the pocket in her apron. “Are you ready to order?”

  “What’s the special?”

  Me was the first answer that popped into Francesca’s mind and she wanted to wring her own neck. She knew better than to let her attraction to a man overwhelm her. She’d been down that road before, the one where she felt grateful for any crumbs of attention. On the surface, Keaton had nothing in common with Lou the Louse, but they were both men who were way out of her league. Why pretend it was any different?

  “Chicken pot pie. It’s a recipe from Lola May’s grandmother. We make the crust from scratch. It’s amazing.”

  “I’m game for some amazing,” he told her. “Pot pie it is.”

  “Anything to drink?”

  “Water is fine. Is there a chance you could take a break and keep me company while I eat?”

  She glanced around at the crowded diner. “It’s only Ciara and me on shift tonight so...” She wanted to take a break with his man. She wanted a lot more, too. “I’ll try.”

  “Smashing,” he murmured.

  She giggled at the obviously British term then clasped a hand over her mouth. Francesca had been around the block enough to know better than to be turned into a giggling school girl because a handsome man with a dashing accent showed her a bit of attention.

  Another customer waved her down and she hurried away, her heart still racing. Why was it so difficult to act normal with Keaton?

  She gave his order for the kitchen then delivered a glass of water to his table. He was frowning at something on his phone as she approached. When he glanced up at her, there was a momentary look of such p
ain in his eyes that she hurt for him. It took all her willpower not to slip in next to him in the booth and give him a hug, nerves be damned. He looked like he needed a hug as much as he needed his next breath.

  He closed his eyes for a second and when he opened them, the look was gone. She started to ask about it, but the toddler in the booth behind him knocked over her juice, so Francesca quickly grabbed a pile of napkins to help clean up the mess.

  A few minutes later, Keaton’s pot pie was ready. She picked up the plate from the pass through between the kitchen and the front of the restaurant. There was no way she was going to get a break before closing, so she thought about asking Keaton if he could stick around until her shift was over. She wanted to spend time with him, but the very thought of it made her heart hammer and her palms sweat.

  Sweaty palms and carrying a porcelain plate were not a good combination apparently. When Keaton looked up and flashed another one of those sexy half smiles, the plate started to slip out of Francesca’s hand. She leaned over the booth, trying to will the plate to land on the table, which it did. But it had so much momentum that it skidded to the edge and tipped off, dumping the entire hot, steaming mass of pot pie into Keaton’s lap.

  He made a choked sound and Francesca gasped. She’d been waiting tables since she was sixteen and had never dumped food into a customer’s lap.

  The next few minutes were a blur. The only thing she was sure of was that she’d never been more humiliated. She bent toward him, reaching for his lap at the same time Keaton straightened from the booth. The top of his head clipped her chin, and she gave a tiny yelp as she bit down on her tongue.

  “I’m sorry, luv,” he said immediately, but she was intent on cleaning up the mess she made.