CHAPTER ONE

      WILL BARNES STRAIGHTENED the pad of paper so the bottom was perfectly aligned with the edge of his desk. Next, he hit Play on his voice mail. For more than a decade, every morning had started the same way—voice mail, email, crisis management. Whether he was in a Dallas high-rise or his quaint new office in downtown Holly Heights, his clients, the ones who’d stuck with him, had come to expect quick answers.

      People liked to know what was happening with their money.

      And dependability mattered. Especially now that Will had left the practice he’d helped build to step out on his own. Proving he was the same guy who’d protected his clients’ futures—minus the slick city office—was critical.

      Only his daughter, Chloe, could convince him to walk away from what he’d built, the partnership he’d been chasing, for the unknown.

      Since she was currently clearing every one of his shelves and restacking the books to her liking, he wasn’t sure he was off to a great start. Entertaining a twelve-year-old girl for a whole summer would tax his creativity.

      Neither of them was certain he could do it.

      When the last message started, Will realized his day was about to take a sharp downturn.

      “Will, I’m sorry to do this to you, but I won’t be in to work today.” His secretary, Ann, cleared her throat. “Actually, I won’t be in again. Ever. Life is too short to spend it filling out forms. Six weeks is enough to convince me of that.” Even the click when she hung up sounded agitated. That didn’t surprise him. By the end of almost every day, Ann herself had been pretty agitated.

      “Great.” Will carefully pushed the button to end the call and tried to ignore the headache building right between his eyes. “Another assistant bites the dust.”

      Without someone to answer the phone and follow his procedures, the whole balancing act had just gotten more difficult. If he’d been juggling watermelons before, now he had a chain saw in the mix.

      “No more Ann? Now who will feed me?” Chloe shoved his binders in the bottom shelf, her pink stripe of hair—the one that still gave him indigestion—flashing.

       Remember it clips in. It’s only temporary.

      “You can feed us both. Brenda’s down at the diner. Go see if she’s got any work you can do, and bring back lunch when you get hungry.” Will shifted to pull out his wallet. “Here’s a couple of extra dollars. Put my initials at the top of the old Galaga machine.”

      Chloe snatched the bills out of his hands, folded them with a crisp crease in the center and slipped them in her back pocket. “If you’d get me a tablet, I could sit quietly.” Chloe shook her head slowly. “Might save you money in the long run.”

      The upward curve of her lips reminded him so much of her mother, but Olivia would have been dumbfounded at the idea of wasting her time on an old video game.

      In April, she’d listened to him rant for a full five minutes about the hair before she explained it wasn’t permanent. Then she’d flipped the script, saying that if he’d pick up his daughter or come for her soccer games or school awards ceremony, they could discuss Chloe’s fashion phases and things like pierced ears.

      Which his daughter also had. Today she was accessorizing with gold stars.

      At the rate she was changing, tomorrow she’d be driving, the next day she’d go off to college and by the end of the week he’d be a grandfather.

      And he might not know her at all.

      Olivia had moved his daughter to Austin, but he was the one who’d let work take over his life.

      One conversation. He’d changed his whole life after one conversation.

      Quit his job. Sold his house in a nice Dallas subdivision. Hired movers.

      Taking the risk of going into business for himself had been a big, scary step, but he’d done it.

      For Chloe.

      His daughter perched on his mahogany desk, one sneakered foot thumping against the drawers.

      Will gave her the most ferocious frown he could.

      Then he grabbed her, pulled her close and tickled her until she couldn’t breathe. When her beautiful giggles finally died down, he said, “Yeah, smarty-pants, a tablet might save money except you keep dropping them. Shattered screens don’t keep you occupied for long.”

      Chloe was wiping her nose and panting, but he was happy to see the bored stare replaced by something else.

      “Trust me, Dad. I won’t drop it again.” She put one hand over her sequined tank top to make this solemn vow.

      “Go help Brenda and we’ll see. I’m calling to tell her you’re on the way. Don’t talk to strangers on the sidewalk. Don’t dawdle on the sidewalk. Don’t leave the restaurant without calling me to tell me you’re coming back. Order me a hamburger. And don’t talk to strangers on the sidewalk.”

      “Got it. Talk to every stranger I see, get in random cars and bring you tofu.” Chloe waved a hand as she disappeared.

      He trailed behind her and peered out the window to make sure she made it the four doors down to the diner. If she caught him watching, she might actually bring him tofu.

      If Sue Lynn’s Best Burgers had tofu.

      He had his doubts but no time to check. Revising the employment ad yet again had reordered his to-do list. In Dallas, any time a job opening was advertised, he’d had plenty of experienced candidates to choose from. Recent finance graduates were willing to work long hours in order to move up the ladder.

      But very few candidates wanted to drive from Austin to Holly Heights every day.

      Ann’s previous experience had been running a hotel front desk. He’d thought that would mean discretion, good time management and an ability to follow procedure. Finance and investments and the paperwork that came with it must have been a boring change.

      Will opened the employment ad he kept on his desktop. “Maybe ‘financial administrative assistant’ isn’t the right title.” The leather executive chair that fit the expensive atmosphere of his office was silent as he twisted back and forth and flipped through the possibilities. “Assistant financial planner. Junior finance agent. Salesperson with a flair for investments. Person who can use a checklist and answer the telephone.”

      He didn’t understand the difficulty. He yanked the three-inch three-ring binder off the shelf and dumped it on his desk with a thud. “Everything is in here. All I need is someone who will follow these directions step-by-step.” He flipped the pages and read, “How to answer the phone, what to do with the mail, when to take lunch and breaks...”

      Reworking the employment ad would be a waste of time, so he emailed the Holly Heights classified editor and the newspaper in Austin to run the ad as soon as possible. This could be the time he found a UT Austin finance graduate who’d always dreamed of a small-town life instead of a hefty paycheck.

      When the phone rang, he waited for someone else to answer it and realized it was going to be a long week.

      “Barnes Financial. This is Will.”

      “The man himself. What happened to the assistant who answered the first time I called?” Rebecca asked. Will