Fortune's Secret Heir

“Then help me track down my family, and I’ll make sure you have enough money to pay not only for the rest of your education, but pay off the student loans you already have, as well.”

Chapter Three (#ulink_2496f1a6-09a2-5023-a864-55d617e28dc4)

Ella’s eyes went wide as she stared back at Ben and he could already taste success.

“I’m not a charity case.”

“I didn’t say you were,” he said truthfully.

“If my detective skills turn out to be as bad as my bartending skills, you can fire me.”

“Your bartending skills were fine.”

“And I reserve the right to quit, too, if...um...I decide the job doesn’t suit.”

“Why wouldn’t it suit?”

Her dark lashes fell and her auburn head dipped a little. She had her hair in a ponytail again. And even though there was nothing particularly attractive about the loosely fitted white shirt she wore tucked into a plain blue skirt, he had to remind himself again that she was off-limits. He’d put her there, square and fair, by the very act of employing her, even if it was through a temporary agency.

Ben never mixed business with pleasure. Ever. Especially with someone as young and seemingly wholesome as Ella Thomas. She was white picket fences and babies and happily-ever-afters. And he was anything but.

His mood effectively darkened, he pushed out of his chair again and paced across to the window. He didn’t see the view. In his head, he was picturing Henry. The two-year-old boy who, for the better part of the past year, Ben had let himself believe he’d fathered. Finding out that he hadn’t during the same time he’d learned his father wasn’t who he said he was had been sour icing on a bitter cake.

He pinched the bridge of his nose until Henry’s image in his mind faded. “Do we have an agreement or not, Ella?” He turned on his heel to face her.

“I guess you’re not interested in reviewing my résumé.” She sat forward and retrieved the sheet of ivory paper she’d set on his desk.

He doubted there was anything on it that he hadn’t already discovered for himself. He shook his head.

“And if I decline your generous offer?”

“Then I’ll figure something else out.” He wouldn’t want another prospect from Spare Parts, at any rate. His only interest in the temporary agency was the fact that Ella worked for them.

She pulled a manila folder out of her purse and tucked the résumé neatly inside it. Then she stood and seemed to brace herself before she approached him, her hand outstretched. “We have an agreement.”

He’d just as soon not touch her, because even though he’d put her out of his reach, he’d still spent too much time over the past few days thinking about touching her all over. But he shook her hand briefly. “You’ll work here,” he said. “Ordinarily, I’m not here during the day, so that—” he gestured at his desk and the computer there “—will be all yours. You can park under—”

“Mrs. Stone told me,” she interrupted quickly. “I don’t have a car.”

“I’ll arrange one for you.”

She looked pained. “I’m fine with the bus. And on nice days, I like to ride my bike, anyway.”

He wanted to pinch his nose again, because he didn’t want to be having lascivious thoughts about college girls who rode bicycles. Instead, he headed toward the stairs. He’d been prepared to have her start immediately, but he obviously needed another night to get his head on straight. “Suit yourself. You can have weekends off. I’ve already put together my notes and a list of women with whom my father might have been involved.” A task that had almost been enough to keep him occupied once he’d learned the truth about Henry. “You can start on that tomorrow, if you’re ready.”

“Okay.” Her footsteps sounded light on the stairs behind him.

“It’s a long list,” he added grimly.

Her steps slowed. “I’m sorry.”

He’d reached the second floor, where the kitchen and formal dining room were situated, and he glanced back at her. “For what?”

She lifted her shoulders in the cheaply fitting blouse. “My father died when I was eight. But I can only imagine how difficult a task this must be for you.”

“It’s your task,” he reminded her, deliberately overlooking the compassion in her open gaze. “That’s why I’ve hired you. Mrs. Stone,” he barked, and his housekeeper immediately appeared. She’d come with the house, having worked with the prior owners for twenty years. He figured that she tolerated his presence only because she had to, if she didn’t want to give up the house.

“Give Ms. Thomas the spare house key.” He ignored Ella’s surprised start as easily as he ignored Mrs. Stone’s emotionless stare. “She’ll be working in my office from now on, so make sure she has everything she needs.” He looked at Ella. “I have a conference call in a few minutes from Tokyo, so I’ll leave you with her.”

She gave him a bemused nod, not speaking until he started back up the stairs again. “What do I do if I, you know, make any finds?”

Call me. “Leave a daily report on my desk,” he said instead. “Nothing complicated. Just whether you’ve made any progress.”

Her expression cleared, making him wonder if she was relieved. Maybe she wanted to keep as much distance between them as he did. If that was the case, so much the better.

“Daily reports.” She nodded and clasped her purse to her narrow waist. Her eyes were sparkling, bluer than the Texas sky, and her wide smile showed off that faint space between her two front teeth. “I can do that.”

And he could keep his mind where it belonged.

He nodded once and headed upstairs to his office again, determined to put Ella Thomas out of his head, no matter how difficult a task that would be.

* * *

“You’re going to work for the Ben Robinson?” Ella’s brother, Rory, dumped his backpack on the small round kitchen table and eyed her with astonishment. “Robinson Tech, Robinson?” He barely waited for her nod. “You know his father, Gerald Robinson, was the first one to venture into hybrid—”

She lifted her hand, cutting him off before he could launch into another of his technical, mind-numbing descriptions. “I know. Gerald Robinson’s brilliant.” And according to his son Ben, a philanderer, as well. She finished wrapping the peanut butter sandwich she’d made for Rory’s lunch and tucked it in a paper sack, along with an apple and a few sticks of string cheese. “You have enough money to buy your milk for lunch?”

He made a face and shoved the sack into his backpack. “I’m too old to drink milk.”

“You’re sixteen. You’re not too old.” She’d made her own sack lunch, too. “At least don’t buy soda. Get fruit juice.”

“When’s Mom gonna switch back to days?”

“She’d tell you to drink fruit juice rather than soda, too.” The Thomases’ kitchen wasn’t overly large. In a matter of three short steps, Ella could reach the sink, the fridge and the stove. And Rory, even as horribly thin as he was, took up a good portion of space. She stepped around him, automatically avoiding knocking into his crutches after a lifetime of practice, and stuck her lunch into the messenger-style bag she used to carry her textbooks. “And I think she’s got another month on nights, before she gets to switch back to days.” Their mother was a medical technologist working at the hospital, and the only thing regular about her schedule was its irregularity. But the pay was enough to keep a modest roof over their heads, and the medical insurance that came with it was even more crucial, considering Rory’s cerebral palsy.

“I hate it when she’s gone all night.”

Ella rubbed his unruly hair. Unlike her, his dark hair didn’t have a hint of red. He looked more like their mother, while she took after their father. “I know, bud.”

Typically, he shrugged off any displays of affection from her. In that, he was a pretty normal teenage brother. “So what’re you gonna be doing at Robinson Tech? Can you get any good deals on equipment? Maybe you’ll even get a new computer. Or their latest phone. Or at least an upgrade on—”

She waved her hand, cutting him off. “Don’t get excited. I’m not going to be working at Robinson Tech and there won’t be any new stuff. I’m just doing a job for Mr. Robinson. And what do you need with more computer equipment, anyway? Your bedroom barely has room for a bed, you have so many gadgets.”

“Software doesn’t take up room, and they’ve got a new OS coming out that’s looking really sweet. You could always ask, you know.”

She didn’t know what an OS was and didn’t care. “No, I certainly could not ask. You have everything you need for school? You’ve got chess club afterward—” She broke off when he rolled his eyes.

“Geez, Ella. I’m not five. And you forget stuff more ’n I ever do,” he reminded her.