Michelle Major – A Fortune In Waiting (страница 1)
Fortune On The Menu
Even in a town as eclectic as Austin, Keaton Fortune Whitfield stands out. With his dreamy British accent and his slate-blue eyes, he has captured the fancy of every red-blooded Texas female in town...except one. Francesca Harriman, his favorite waitress at Lola May’s, seems completely immune to his charms. When she’s not on her shift, she’s too busy studying to pay attention to him—which only makes him want her more.
Francesca has been burned before, and she won’t let the Londoner melt her heart. What would a brilliant, wealthy architect want with a commoner like her? She’s not about to abandon her schooling to become Keaton’s catch of the day. Could a hash-slinging waitress really find happiness with a Fortune?
MEET THE FORTUNES
Fortune of the Month: Keaton Fortune Whitfield
Age: 33
Vital statistics: We’re not sure which is sexier—his charming British accent, his brilliant mind or those eyes!
Claim to fame: He’s a world-renowned architect whose genius is exceeded only by his popularity with women. He is also the illegitimate son of philandering millionaire Gerald Robinson, formerly known as Jerome Fortune.
Romantic prospects: It’s Keaton Whitfield.
“The one thing you need to know about me is I’m nothing like my so-called father. The media may paint me as a heartbreaker, but it’s not true. I have never made a promise I couldn’t keep. In fact, I’ve decided to avoid women entirely while I’m here in Austin. Francesca Harriman doesn’t count. She’s my favorite waitress at Lola May’s Homestyle Restaurant, and besides, everyone says she doesn’t date. So there’s no danger here. No possibility of falling for her golden curls, that creamy skin, that curvy figure... I simply love puzzles, and Francesca is an intriguing one. Why doesn’t she date? And is there any man who could make her change her mind? Oh, wait. Right. I am avoiding women entirely...”
* * *
The Fortunes of Texas:
The Secret Fortunes—
A new generation of heroes and heartbreakers!
A Fortune in Waiting
Michelle Major
MICHELLE MAJOR grew up in Ohio but dreamed of living in the mountains. Soon after graduating with a degree in journalism, she pointed her car west and settled in Colorado. Her life and house are filled with one great husband, two beautiful kids, a few furry pets and several well-behaved reptiles. She’s grateful to have found her passion writing stories with happy endings. Michelle loves to hear from her readers at www.michellemajor.com.
To Susan and Marcia for everything you do to make this journey such an enjoyable one.
Contents
Keaton Whitfield watched the snow fall outside the front window of his mother’s cozy flat on the edge of London. The fluffy flakes, cast in a golden hue thanks to the streetlight, floated down for only a few minutes before the night sky cleared again.
“I can’t remember the last time it snowed on Christmas,” his mother said, coming to stand beside him. “It’s good luck.”
Keaton wrapped an arm around his mum, pulling her in for a quick hug. She was several inches shorter than his own six foot two and her dark hair was liberally streaked with gray, but she still had the same comforting scent of lavender that he always associated with her. “Everything is good luck to you.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
“You are my best bit of luck,” she answered and turned to face him. “I’m so glad you chose to spend Christmas with us this year, Keaton.”
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, Mum.” He thought for a moment of his own empty flat across town. It had been almost two years since he’d headed up the renovation of the building he lived in near the center of the city. His apartment was spacious and new, boasting a state-of-the-art design that had led one London magazine to name Keaton the heir apparent to one of the UK’s most famous architects, Lord Foster.
But as much as Keaton appreciated the style and amenities of his posh apartment, he’d spent each of the past thirty-three holidays with his mother, having Christmas dinner around the slightly shabby oak table in the house where he’d been raised. Keaton might have earned the finer things in life through his success, but he’d always appreciate where he came from and the woman who sacrificed so much to make sure he had a good life.
“Yet you’re still set on leaving me?” she asked, a small catch to her voice.
He turned and glanced down, hating the worry his mother couldn’t quite hide from her gentle blue eyes. Anita Whitfield still wore her hair in the same simple bob she’d had since Keaton was a lad. Delicate lines fanned out from the corners of her eyes, and her mouth pulled down on either side before she forced it into a smile.
“I’m moving to Austin for a project,” he corrected. “That isn’t the same thing as leaving you. I’ll be gone for a few months and now that you have a smartphone, we can text or FaceTime whenever you want.”
“That phone you gave me is so smart it makes me feel like a regular idiot,” she complained, making Keaton smile.
“You’re getting the hang of it,” he told her.
She sniffed. “In the past few days, I’ve made more accidental calls with my bottom than by actually dialing any numbers.”
He pulled his mother in for a hug. “I’m going to miss you.”
She squeezed him tightly before stepping away. “I hope you know you don’t have anything to prove to your father,” she whispered.
“Gerald Robinson,” Keaton said through clenched teeth, “is not my father.”
“Keaton.” Anita cupped his cheek like she used to do when he was a boy. “I know he hurt you.”
He turned toward the display of his mother’s Lemax Christmas Village. He rearranged the tiny figures in front of Santa’s workshop, setting them together in groups of three or four. As a boy, his mother’s miniature buildings, figurines and holiday landscapes had been off limits, but he’d routinely snuck over to it, setting the small porcelain figurines into family units, the kind he’d never known.
Until last year, the identity of the man who had deserted his mother when she’d been pregnant with Keaton had remained a mystery. Keaton had been aware, in the inexplicable way of children, that his mother’s heart had been broken by her short-lived love affair. Even as boy, he’d hated the wistful sorrow that filled her eyes when he’d asked about his father. So he’d stopped asking. Instead, he’d channeled his energy into hating the stranger who—to his young mind—was the reason his mum had been forced to work two jobs and still continually scrimp and save in order to support the two of them.