Fortune's Secret Heir

“What do you know about Kate Fortune?”

“That she had to have dropped a fortune on that party the other night.” She surreptitiously unwound the purse strap and flexed her stiff fingers. “Why?”

He turned his chair to face forward again. “You were there. You heard.”

“I heard you say you were Benjamin Fortune.”

“And?”

And when she’d gotten home that night, she’d looked up both Ben Robinson and Benjamin Fortune online.

She’d gotten a computer screen full of images of handsome Ben Robinson, either from the cover of some tech magazine or another, or from the gossip pages, of him escorting one beautiful woman after another to some fancy event. “And nothing.” Just because she’d wasted precious time fantasizing over those photographs when she should have been studying didn’t mean he had to know. “Benjamin Fortune was Kate Fortune’s husband and he died a long time ago.” The here-and-now Ben was clearly waiting for more, and she lifted a shoulder. “And I assume you’re related in some way,” she offered.

His lips twisted, this time without amusement. “Yes. In some way, I and my seven siblings are.”

“Seven!” She couldn’t help exclaiming a bit over that and quickly shook her head in apology. “Sorry.”

“We are a large family,” he admitted. “And, I believe, we are just the tip of the Fortune iceberg.”

She shifted again. “Mr. Robinson, I—”

“That’s as bad as ‘sir.’ Ben.”

She hesitated.

“If I’m paying your salary, I can tell you to check the ‘Mister’ at the door with Mrs. Stone.”

“And what on earth would I do to earn that salary?” She sounded as bewildered as she felt. “Mr....Ben.” His name felt oddly exciting on her lips. “I can’t imagine you’d go to a temporary agency like Spare Parts to hire an assistant when you have an entire human resources department at Robinson Computers at your disposal.”

“Robinson Tech, now.”

“Right,” she said faintly. The renaming of the company during the past year had seemed to be a major media event. Television commercials. Radio spots. Magazine ads. There had even been signs on the side of the city buses.

“And I’m looking for a personal assistant.”

“Whatever. I’m sure there’s a line a block long of eager minds willing to pick up your dry cleaning just so they can say they work for a genius like you.”

“My father’s the genius.” He rose from his chair, suddenly looking restless as he paced across the room to the tall window that overlooked the high-rises across the river. He peeled off the jacket of his charcoal suit and dropped it carelessly over the back of one of the four chairs that circled a small table.

The white shirt he wore beneath fit his broad shoulders like it had been made for him.

She dragged her eyes away, mentally rolling her eyes at herself. Well, duh. He undoubtedly had his shirts tailor-made.

“I’ve also come to learn that my father has been less than honest with us.” He clasped his hand behind his neck, which pulled the fine white fabric taut against his long, tapered back.

Safe in the knowledge that he was facing out the window and away from her, she puffed her cheeks and blew out a silent breath. The intense man gave the word gorgeous new meaning.

“Not only has he kept the fact that he’s a Fortune a secret, but I believe he’s kept the results of his past indiscretions a secret, too.”

He turned suddenly and she schooled her expression into what she hoped was polite interest.

“That’s where you come in.” He prowled—there just was no other word for the way he moved—back to his desk, but he didn’t take the chair. Instead, he hitched his thigh over the front corner of the desk and leaned over his folded arms toward her. “If you’re willing, I want you to help me find them.”

Dear heaven, he smelled amazing, too. “Find who?”

“Any illegitimate brothers and sisters I might have out there. Half brothers and half sisters, I suppose I should say. Products of my father’s frequent and irredeemable infidelities.”

His words were finally penetrating the fog caused by his sheer masculinity, and she sat up a little straighter. “I don’t understand what you think I can do,” she said. “I’ve done all sorts of things, Mr. Robinson, but I’m hardly equipped to find... I don’t know. Missing persons.”

“Not missing. But likely as unaware of their true heritage as I and my brothers and sisters have found ourselves.” He straightened again and moved around to sit in his chair. “And I told you, it’s Ben. Do you dislike the name for some reason?”

She felt herself flush again. “Of course not. But you...you run Robinson Co—Robinson Tech, and I’m just—” She broke off. “Why don’t you hire an investigator?”

“Because I want to keep this under the radar for now. I don’t want any red flags raised. My father won’t be pleased once he learns what I’m doing. About a year ago, my sister Rachel discovered that our father—the man we’ve always known as Gerald Robinson—was actually named Jerome Fortune. At first, he denied it outright. Now, he just refuses to explain what it all means. Why...when...he changed his name. His entire identity.” His face was grim. “According to the records, Jerome Fortune died in a boating accident. God only knows what else my father’s lied about over the years.”

“Like having another family?”

“Or two or five. Maybe he’s been a regular Johnny Appleseed, spreading his seed all over the world.”

She thought about the slight, ninety-year-old hostess of the party the other night. “And Kate Fortune knows him?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But there was a boatload of legitimate Fortune family members there that night. We should have been part of that.”

She couldn’t hide her confusion. “Because of that offer she made? About choosing someone to run part of Fortune Cosmetics?”

“I don’t give a damn about Fortune Cosmetics,” he said flatly. “I’ve got all the money I’ll ever need. I care about the truth. Whatever the reason he put behind the name change, my father is still a Fortune. That makes all of us Fortunes, too. And if there are other sons and daughters of his, I’m damn sure going to find out.”

She looked around the posh study. From the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves loaded with what were probably rare first editions, to the million-dollar view out the terraced window. “If you do find any, aren’t you worried about them wanting a piece of all this? What if they make a claim on your inheritance? On the Robinson name?”

His eyes darkened for a moment. “That’s why I want to approach this from a different angle. I don’t want to attract the liars and cheats who’ll be the first in line if word about what I’m doing gets out. I’m not in the mood to deal with gold diggers. Not again. But everyone has a right to know his or her roots. Don’t you agree?”

She nodded slowly, uncomfortably curious about the gold diggers with whom he’d already dealt. “I do agree, but I’m not sure how I’m qualified to help you in your search.”

“You’re intelligent. You’re quick on your feet. You’re discreet, and there’s something about you that makes people want to confide in you. Look how I just did.”

She let out a nervous, breathless laugh. “You got all that out of teaching me to mix a Manhattan?”

“I’ve done some research, too, Ella Thomas.” He clasped his hands on top of his desk and leaned forward. “You’re at the top of your class. You’ve never turned down an assignment from Spare Parts.”

“Because I can’t afford to.”

“You were the only one in the room the other night who wasn’t listening agog to every single word that Kate Fortune and I exchanged. And I want you.”

Before she could get dizzy over that, she reminded herself sternly that he was only referring to hiring her for this unusual quest of his.

“You’re putting yourself through college, right?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.