A Fortune In Waiting. Michelle Major
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.
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