Fortune's Heirs: Reunion. Marie Ferrarella
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breath as she did so, relieved to be out of the box.
And then she took in her surroundings.
She felt a little like a mortal reaching Mount Olympus, seeking an audience with Zeus.
As she walked to the receptionist’s desk, she again thought about the man she’d met the other night. She’d found Patrick Fortune extremely easy to talk to. Like a kindly uncle. She would have expected him to be driven, anal, like that man who’d just scowled at her in the elevator.
Her thoughts going there, she pitied anyone having to deal with that one. The next moment, she put him out of her mind.
The walls that led to the receptionist’s desk were lined with paintings—bright, colorful landscapes and seascapes that were extremely uplifting. Just looking at them made her feel empowered.
She wondered if Patrick Fortune had selected them himself. Probably. He didn’t strike her as a man who delegated very much.
Reaching the long, ivory-colored desk, Gloria smiled and nodded at the receptionist. “I’m Gloria Mendoza Johansen. I have an appointment to see Mr. Fortune.”
The woman behind the desk flashed her a studied smile that disappeared a moment after making its appearance. Her small, stubby fingers flew over her keyboard with the flair of a piano virtuoso playing a well-beloved concerto.
“Yes,” the woman whose nameplate proclaimed her to be Doris Wells verified in a thick Texas accent, “it looks like you do.”
Before she could reach for her telephone to notify her boss about this newest arrival, the door behind her opened. Patrick Fortune, wearing an iron-gray suit and light salmon shirt with a gray tie stepped out. He smiled warmly at her as he stepped forward.
“Gloria, right on time.” He glanced at his watch. “A few minutes early, as a matter of fact. I like that in a person. Always get there one jump ahead.” He took both of her hands in his. “You look lovely.”
And then, as if aware that he was suddenly a source of interest, he glanced toward the receptionist. The woman had raised her brow at the friendly display.
“Stop frowning like that, Doris. I’m not putting the moves on Ms. Johansen, I’m just making a very obvious observation. Besides, I’m old enough to be her gr—” He cleared his throat and amended, “Father.” A twinkle came into his eye as he tucked Gloria’s arm through his and led her toward his office. “Come in, come in.”
His office took her breath away. She was vaguely aware that he’d left the door open, as if to leave a connection with reality.
Patrick Fortune inclined his head, conceding, “It’s a little large.”
A little large? Obviously the man had a gift for understatement. Her observation came out in an awed whisper. “I’ve seen smaller golf courses.”
Her words were rewarded with a deep, booming laugh.
“Your mother warned me that you always say what you think.”
She flushed, wondering if she’d offended him somehow, or shown him the small, frightened girl who lived behind the larger-than-life dream and words.
“My mother always told me to think of what I say before I say it.”
That had been the source of more than one lecture she’d been forced to endure. Always her own person even when she didn’t know who or what that person might be, Gloria had always felt driven to do her own thing, not to try to conform to anyone else’s image of her. Now, she realized that her image of herself was what her mother had had in mind all along.
Another sign that her homecoming was a good thing. She took heart in that.
“Your mother is a lovely woman. I’ve known her and your father for almost as long as I’ve known Rosita and Rueben Perez.” Her parents’ best friends, Gloria thought, not to mention that Rosita and her mother were cousins, as well. Rosita had worked for the Fortunes, taking care of their children, since what felt like the beginning of time. She supposed, in part, she had the other woman to thank for this opportunity, as well.
Maybe, Gloria mused, she was finally due for some honest-to-goodness good luck.
Rather than resist the way she would have even five years ago, insisting that her mother was meddling, she now gladly left herself open to “be meddled with.” Heaven knew that no one could do a worse job than she had with her life up to two years ago.
Maybe, if she’d left herself open to suggestions earlier instead of resisting them, her life would have laid itself out differently. Better.
This wasn’t the time for reflections, much less regrets, she admonished herself. The past was just that, something to remain in the background. She was here to take advantage of the present and to hopefully, finally, build a very solid future.
This was the new, improved Gloria whose roots were firmly entrenched in the Gloria who had once been, before the drugs and alcohol had interfered with the direction her life was taking.
She offered the older man her best smile, the one her mother claimed lit up her whole face. “She speaks very highly of you, Mr. Fortune. Both my parents do.”
He gestured her toward the chair that was in front of his desk and waited until she sat before he took his own seat. “And they speak highly of you.”
She knew how much heartache she’d caused both her parents. Their loyalty took her breath away. And made her ashamed all over again for what she had done to them. “They do?”
Patrick had five children himself, just like the Mendozas, and he could well guess what she was thinking. Maria hadn’t gone into detail, but he knew there was a black period in Gloria’s past.
She was about Violet’s age, he judged. “Just because our children temporarily ‘mess up,’ doesn’t mean that we suddenly are blind to their good points. Sometimes, that’s all we parents have to hold on to while we ride out the turbulence.”
She smiled ruefully and shook her head, rising to her feet. “I can’t imagine any of your children giving you a problem.”
He laughed, the sound echoing within the large room. “Then I fear that you have far less imagination than I have been given to believe you possess.” He winked at her.
Which was exactly when his son walked in.
Jack stopped just half a step past the threshold, stunned. His father had just winked at what appeared, at least from the back, to be an attractive woman.
She was wearing a trim-fitting jacket and short skirt, the latter of which hugged hips the way, he judged, most men of her acquaintance probably would have wanted to. Her head came up to his father’s shoulder. Since the man was about five-ten, that placed her in the neighborhood of petite. She had deep-black hair that was pinned up. Even so, she didn’t appear to be here on business, not if that wink he’d just witnessed was any indication of what was transpiring.
He’d obviously interrupted something, but his father had told him to be here at this time, so here he was.
Jack couldn’t help wondering if this was the reason for his father’s change in attitude over the past few months. Was he advocating smelling roses because there was now a mistress to receive those roses?
For a second Jack debated stepping out again. But his father looked in his direction.
“So, you’ve finally gotten here.” The greeting was accompanied by a wide smile.
His father didn’t look like a man who’d just been caught in a transgression. But then, Patrick Fortune was the most self-assured man he had ever met. To his recollection, his father had never made any apologies for himself or his actions.
Aware that he was actually a few minutes late, something he abhorred, Jack found himself on the defensive. “I, um, had to catch another elevator car. There was this obnoxious woman—”
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