Fortune's Heirs: Reunion. Marie Ferrarella
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didn’t know that Mr. Fortune had any mentally challenged children,” Christina responded, clearly disturbed that someone didn’t like Gloria.
Gloria laughed. Before their falling out, Christina had always been able to buoy her spirits with just a few choice words. God, she’d missed her, she thought now, lamenting the years that had been lost. “He doesn’t. But he’s certainly got at least one offspring who’s definitely manners-challenged. Jack Fortune thinks he walks on water.” She broke another bread stick into several pieces until it was almost reduced to crumbs. She kept envisioning the younger Fortune’s neck with each snap. “And I’m not sure if I can hold my tongue until everything’s ready to go.”
As Gloria picked up a third bread stick, Christina tactfully took it out of her hands and bit off a piece.
“Well, you’d better. Mama said that Mr. Fortune was going to lend you any seed money you might need to get started. At three-percent interest,” she emphasized. “You can’t get a deal better than that.”
Gloria concentrated to keep her mouth from falling open. Patrick had said nothing about a loan. She wondered if Jack knew and if that was why he was so cold toward her. “Three percent? Are you sure?”
Christina made short work of the bread stick and picked up another before Gloria could kill it. “I’m sure. Mama was very happy about it.”
A former CPA with a company that had gone under, Gloria had done her homework and knew she had enough to cover everything for the move with some money to spare—as long as there were no unusual surprises. To discover that she now had a safety net was a tremendous relief. Armed this way, she knew she was capable of cutting the man’s son a little slack. After all, it wasn’t his fault he’d been born with a permanent scowl tattooed on his brow.
Gloria took a sip of water. “Patrick Fortune is a hell of a nice guy.”
“Don’t make ’em nicer,” Christina agreed.
Gloria set her glass down, matching the bottom to the slight ring that had formed beneath it. “Too bad he couldn’t have passed his ‘nice’ gene on to his son.” And then she smiled as she looked at her sister. There was mischief in her look the way there had been when they were young, when they’d whispered their innermost secrets to one another in the dead of night while shrouded by sheets and darkness. “But I guess for three-percent interest I can dance with the devil for a while.”
“Just as long as it’s not slow dancing,” Christina said, obviously thinking of their pact.
“No danger of that.”
The waiter arrived with a bottle of wine. “This is the house special.” Holding it as if he was cradling a baby in his hands, he presented it to both of them.
Gloria read the label. A small nibble of temptation waltzed through her, but she ignored it. Raising her eyes to the waiter, she shook her head. “None for me, thank you.”
“None for me, either,” Christina was quick to chime in.
Gloria knew Christina didn’t want to seem insensitive.
“She’ll have a glass,” she told the waiter.
“Glory—” Christina protested as the waiter began to pour.
“Don’t turn it down on my account, Tina. I’m not that weak,” she assured her. “Besides, if being with Jack Fortune didn’t drive me to drink, I guarantee you watching you have a glass or two isn’t going to do it. I’m on safe ground.”
But Christina was taking no chances. She waved the waiter away. “Two ginger ales, please,” she instructed. Once he was gone, taking the half-filled glass of wine and bottle with him, Christina leaned in toward her sister. “I’m not too sure how safe that ground you’re standing on is.”
Gloria didn’t follow her. “Come again?”
Christina nodded toward something behind her. “Incoming. Twelve o’clock high,” she added.
Gloria turned in her chair.
Patrick Fortune was walking into the restaurant—with his son.
She closed her eyes, seeking strength. There seemed to be no getting away from the man today. Resigned, she shifted back in her chair. “Of all the restaurants in all the world, he had to walk into mine,” she murmured under her breath.
Christina grinned. “You don’t look a thing like Humphrey Bogart.” And then, because she sensed that something was going on here that she didn’t quite understand but that was obviously troubling her sister, she added, “This is what we get for coming into a restaurant that’s located in the Fortune-Rockwell building.” Wanting to spare her sister, she pointed out the obvious. “We haven’t ordered yet, Glory.” She leaned down to pick up her purse. “We could go somewhere else.”
“And have you late getting back from lunch? I don’t think so. You haven’t been working here long enough to risk that. No, put your purse back down, Tina, we’re staying here. I’ll deal with my threatening bout of indigestion like a trooper.”
Christina watched as the two men were shown to a table and then seated.
“You know, for a walking case of indigestion looking to happen, Jack Fortune is one hell of a good-looking specimen,” Christina pointed out.
Gloria opened her menu and pretended to be interested in the various offerings that met the eye. “According to the Bible, so was Lucifer.”
Christina laughed. “Same old Gloria, scissor-tongued to the end.”
Gloria pretended to sniff at the description. “I’ll have you know that I was the picture of sweetness and light at our meeting—even when he was treating me like an airhead.”
About to open her own menu, Christina stared at her incredulously. “Did he talk to you?”
“At me,” Gloria corrected. “He talked ‘at’ me. Like I said, the man thinks he walks on water and I am the pond scum beneath his feet.”
Christina shook her head, clearly amused at the choice of words. “As I remember, you were also given to exaggeration.”
“Not this time,” Gloria said defensively. “Mr. Jack Fortune doesn’t think I’m a worthy recipient of his expertise. I can see it in his eyes. I’m not really sure why he’s doing it.”
“Maybe because his father asked him to and he can’t find a way to say no,” Christina suggested.
“Maybe.”
The waiter had returned with their ginger ales. Setting them down, he took their orders, punching appropriate buttons on something that resembled a Palm Pilot.
Her stomach in knots, Gloria ordered the chef’s salad. She was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to keep anything more substantial down.
“Well,” she theorized once the waiter had left again, “the only really good thing about Jack’s attitude is that at least I know I won’t be in jeopardy.”
“Jeopardy?” Christina echoed.
“Of breaking our pact. Working closely with a gorgeous male might have strained my resolve. But since the gorgeous male is also a holier-than-thou type, I figure I’m safe.”
She glanced toward him—and discovered that he was looking straight at her. As her stomach tightened a notch, she was glad all she was having was the salad.
What was going on here? The man was clear across the room, but it was as if space and the people who inhabited it had somehow magically melted away.
As if there was no one else in the dining area but the two of them. Not her sister, not his father. No one. Just them.
How had she thought that his eyes were lifeless? They seemed to look right into her.
Electricity shimmied up and down her spine,