Читать книгу A Fortune In Waiting - Michelle Major - Страница 11

Chapter Two

The following evening, Francesca untied her apron and hung it on a peg in the back hallway of Lola May’s, taking an extra moment to smack her open palm against the wall a few times.

Since her conversation with Ciara, she’d thought of little else besides flirting with Keaton. The problem was Francesca didn’t know how to flirt. She’d only had one boyfriend in her life, and she and Lou had started dating back when they were still in high school. He was the bad boy of their class, an indie rocker who wore leather and a permanent scowl. All the girls from her tight-knit Austin community had crushed on him, including Francesca, even though she could barely bring herself to make eye contact.

But Lou had chosen her, literally picked her out of the crowd during one of his concerts at a neighborhood festival. After that, they were a couple. No flirting needed. She belonged to him.

At first she’d been overwhelmed and embarrassingly grateful. For a girl who’d grown up with the nicknames “Fat Frannie” and “Frizzy Frannie,” gaining the attention of a boy like Lou had felt accomplishment enough. There was no doubt in either of their minds that Lou was doing her a great favor by letting her be his girlfriend.

For years, Francesca had shown her gratitude by taking care of him and his bandmates, which had left her more of a glorified roadie than a girlfriend. It sure hadn’t left her much inclination or opportunity for flirting, unless it was vicariously as she watched a parade of groupies throwing themselves at Lou. Apparently, that kind of overt flirting worked with some men because she’d eventually found Lou in the arms of one of those same groupies.

So, yeah, Francesca had never had much use for flirting. Her skills at talking to men weren’t just rusty. They were non-existent, especially when the man was as handsome as Keaton. Emmalyn and Brandi, the other two waitresses who had shared yesterday’s shift with her, had no such problems.

Maybe Ciara had imagined the way he’d looked at Francesca. What did either of them know about how things were done in England, anyway? Chances were he gave that smoldering, carry-you-off-across-the-moors look to every woman.

She pulled her laptop bag off the hook and headed down to her corner booth. The booth didn’t exactly belong to her, but as long as the restaurant wasn’t full, Lola May let her use it to study. Francesca was such a fixture in the corner that the diner’s regulars purposely left that table empty.

Just as she walked out, she heard a deep voice boom, “We don’t need no fancy-schmantzy strip mall clogging up the street, and we don’t need no foreigner trying to tell us how things should be built in Texas.”

Francesca suppressed a groan and searched for Lola May in the restaurant. Johnny Keller was one of her least favorite customers. A long-time resident of the neighborhood, he was loud and brash and the stingiest tipper she’d ever met.

She knew his opinion about the recent gentrification of the neighborhood, including the project Keaton was developing. Everyone in a ten-block radius knew Johnny’s opinion and it was always negative. Lola May could keep him in line, but Francesca didn’t see her feisty boss at the moment. Then she remembered Lola May had taken off early to go watch her grandson’s Little League game. No wonder Johnny had picked tonight to give grief to Keaton.

She couldn’t quite make out Keaton’s quiet response, but from the way Johnny’s shoulders stiffened, it wasn’t what the old blowhard wanted to hear.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, boy,” Johnny was saying now, “but our people won the war against your people. Take that as hint, ya hear?”

“Are you referring to the Revolutionary War?” Keaton inclined his head. “The one that was fought over two hundred years ago?”

Johnny placed his meaty hands on his hips. “Texas never forgets.”

Francesca stepped between the two men before Keaton could answer. “Johnny, Texas wasn’t even a state at that time.” She made her voice light and teasing. No use antagonizing him. “You know we would have been the capital of the whole dang country if we’d been around back then.”

She darted a glance at Keaton, who looked like he was trying to hold back a smile, then forced her gaze to return to Johnny. If Keaton smiled at her she’d probably melt into a puddle all over the floor. This was the closest she’d been to him and the proximity made little sparks dance all over her skin.

“Damn straight, honey,” Johnny agreed. “You don’t mess with Texas.”

She put a gentle hand on his arm. “And there’s no need to mess with a man who’s just doing his job.”

Johnny shook his head. “I’m telling you, we don’t need more highfalutin types changing up the spirit of the area.”

“I wouldn’t let Lola May hear you say that,” Francesca warned, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Why?” Johnny leaned closer. The man had a healthy fear of the diner’s hot-tempered owner. “Don’t tell me she supports all this new stuff.”

“She’s keeping an open mind,” Francesca said, giving a small shrug. “We all need to, Johnny. I’ve lived here my whole life, but change is bound to come and it doesn’t have to be bad.” She nodded toward Keaton without making eye contact. “He may be British, but he’s got a fantastic reputation as an architect. Our neighborhood is in good hands with Keaton Whitfield.”

She held her breath as Johnny looked between her and Keaton. Other than the fact that he liked to hear himself talk, the man was basically harmless. But Francesca needed to get to her review sheet for accounting, so she didn’t want to prolong this conversation. Plus, she could feel Keaton’s gaze on her almost as if it were a physical touch. The man was seriously messing with her equilibrium.

“If you’re vouching for him, Miss Frannie, then I guess I’ll give him a chance.” He shoved a hand past her and Keaton shook it. “I’ll be keeping my eyes on you and your fancy complex.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Keaton answered, each word clipped.

“Great.” Francesca blew out a quick breath. “Brandi,” she called. “I’d like to buy these two fine gentlemen a piece of pie.”

Johnny flashed a broad grin while Keaton held up a hand. “Generous,” he murmured, “but not—”

The other man clapped him hard on the back. “Boy, if a beautiful woman offers you pie, don’t say no.”

“Pecan for Johnny,” Francesca continued, “and apple for our friend from across the pond.”

“Got it,” Brandi shouted.

“Enjoy, fellas,” Francesca said quickly, still avoiding Keaton’s blue gaze. She hurried to the safety of her corner booth and slid in with a sigh. Crisis avoided—both Johnny making a bigger scene and her revealing what a bumbling idiot she was around Keaton.

It didn’t take long to become engrossed in her studies. Accounting was her toughest subject and the more she looked at the numbers, the more of a jumble they became in her head. She was staring at a particularly challenging problem when she felt someone approach the booth.

By the way butterflies zipped across her stomach, she didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

“May I join you?” Keaton asked in his rich accent.

The thoughtfulness of that question made a soft warmth spread through her. Most people at the diner just plopped down when they needed something, as if Francesca’s opinion on whether she wanted company didn’t matter.

She appreciated having her opinion matter to someone, even in such an insubstantial decision.

“Or not,” Keaton continued. “I can see you’re busy. Perhaps another time.”

When he started to walk away, his mouth pressed into a thin line, she realized she hadn’t actually given him an answer.

Add rude to her list along with bumbling and idiot.

“Please sit down,” she called to him.

He turned and slipped into the seat across from her.

“How was the pie?” she asked, her words sounding embarrassingly breathless.

“Worth enduring Johnny’s company while I ate it,” he said with a half smile. “Thank you for that and for diffusing the situation. You are the prettiest knight in shining armor I’ve ever met.”

She was so busy watching to see if the half smile turned into a full grin that it took a minute for his words to sink in. Had he just called her pretty?

“How did you know I prefer apple?”

She shrugged. “Lola May’s isn’t huge. You order a slice of apple pie every night.”

“It’s the best.” He leaned a little closer. “You also know my name.”

“The diner caters to regulars. You’re becoming a regular, Keaton, so I know your name.”

“I appreciate that, Francesca,” he answered.

Lord have mercy, it was a good thing she was sitting down because the way her name sounded in his rich, cultured voice made her knees go weak.

“You know I’m an architect.”

She felt color rise to her cheeks but didn’t bother to deny it. “Yes.”

“And the bit about my reputation?”

She huffed out a soft laugh. “I guessed at that.”

One of his thick brows rose.

“Someone is sinking a ton of money into the Austin Commons project across the street. Reports say it’s going to be the new retail and residential anchor for the neighborhood. They wouldn’t leave the design to someone who couldn’t handle it.” Now she leaned in, something about the warmth in his gaze inviting her closer. “Was I wrong about you?”

“No.”

“Are you famous?”

The smile widened. “In some circles, I suppose.”

“I also heard,” she murmured, “that you’re part of the Fortune family.”

He nodded, his blue eyes turning cool as he sat back against the vinyl-covered cushion of the booth. Interesting. Most people she knew would be shouting their connection to such a powerful family from the rooftops. Keaton seemed uncomfortable that she’d mentioned it. All traces of the smile disappeared from his face, making him look no less handsome but a lot more intimidating.

“It was pretty big news in Austin when Gerald Robinson was revealed to be that Fortune heir who everyone thought was dead.”

“Jerome Fortune.”

“Right,” she agreed. “Gerald Robinson is really Jerome Fortune. He’s your father?”

“He is.”

“Is that why you took on Austin Commons? To get to know your dad?”

“No,” he answered, the word spoken through clenched teeth. “I want nothing to do with the man, although I’m happy to spend time with my half siblings.”

It seemed she’d struck a nerve, so she quickly changed the subject. “I always wanted brothers and sisters.” She reached for her water glass and took a long drink, suddenly aware that she was sitting in Lola May’s, having a conversation with Keaton Fortune Whitfield. So much for all her plans about flirting.

She was lucky to be able to put a complete sentence together with him watching her from those gorgeous blue eyes. The lashes that surrounded them were so long they looked almost unreal. The strong line of his jaw and the faint shadow of stubble covering it balanced his beautiful eyes and full mouth.

“You’re an only child?” he prompted, the half smile returning, as if he could read her mind and understood exactly his effect on her.

She nodded. “It was just my mom and me.”

“I was raised by a single mum, as well.” He blew out a breath. “The whole time I was growing up, she worked at least two jobs to support me. She was my hero.”

All she could do was stare at him. Of all the things this man could have said, there was nothing more endearing to Francesca than how much he obviously loved his mother.

He flashed a full-fledged grin, somewhat self-deprecating, as if he hadn’t meant to share that detail with her. “Do I sound like a mummy’s boy?”

“Hardly,” she said on a small laugh. “You sound like the type of son every mother dreams about.” She paused then said, “I like the way you say ‘mum’ with your accent.”

“This coming from the woman with the adorable twang.”

“I’m a proud Texan native,” she told him, hitching a thumb at herself. “Go Longhorns. Keep Austin weird.”

“Remember the Alamo,” he added.

She giggled. “Exactly.”

“What are you studying?” He tapped a finger on the pile of notes in front of her.

“Accounting,” she said with a sigh. “I have a test tomorrow and it took everything I had to pull out an A last semester. This class is going to kill me.”

“Not going for a finance degree, I take it?”

“I’m a business major with a concentration in marketing. It’s not that I don’t like accounting...”

He nodded. “Because most people find it fascinating.”

She laughed again. For all her nerves around Keaton, it was also surprisingly easy to laugh with him. It had been a long time since Francesca had joked around with a man, other than her customers at the diner.

“I’m not sure fascinating is the right word,” she answered, “but the truth is math and I don’t always get along.” She pointed a finger at him. “I bet you’re a math whiz.”

“Not exactly,” he said, “but I do use dimensions, quantities, area and other math-based principles in my work, as they relate to spatial thinking and patterns.” He took a breath then gave her another lopsided smile. “From mummy’s boy to architecture geek. I’m not doing a bang-up job of impressing you, am I?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she muttered, because Keaton uttering building terms had the same effect on her body as another man whispering love words.

“Are you far along in your coursework?”

A familiar twinge of regret zipped across her stomach. “I’m in my second year,” she told him. “I took some time off after high school to...travel.”

“Visit any interesting places?”

She didn’t think the backstage area of every seedy concert venue between Austin and Los Angeles was what he had in mind, so she only shook her head. “Nothing worth mentioning.” She took another drink then idly flipped through her study guide. “I’m sorry to say my study break should probably be over now. I really do need to be ready for tomorrow morning.”

Was that a look of disappointment that darkened his eyes for a brief moment?

“Thank you again for coming to my rescue tonight.”

“No problem. I’m sure your project is going to be great,” she answered.

“Would you like an early view of the plans sometime?”

She swallowed. This was her chance. Say something witty. Something flirty and cute. “Sure,” she answered on a squeak. Okay, that was pathetic.

Keaton didn’t seem to notice. “Good luck with your test tomorrow.”

She blew out a breath and tucked a stray curl behind one ear. “I’m going to need it.”

He slid to the edge of the booth like he was going to ease himself out then stopped. “I could help you study,” he offered suddenly. “Quiz you on concepts and such?”

Francesca felt her mouth drop open. “Really? Because I’m sure you have someplace better to be.” Obviously he was being kind, but she didn’t want him to feel obliged to sit with her. Despite being her best friend, Ciara had made it clear on several occasions how boring Francesca was when she studied.

“I have no plans and there’s still...” He glanced at his watch then back at her. “Over an hour until the diner closes.” He moved back to the center of the bench seat. “It’ll be fun.”

“You must have a strange definition of fun in England.” She handed him a stack of notecards. “But I can use all the help I can get. Thank you.”

He asked the first question and Francesca couldn’t hide her smile. Maybe if principles of accounting were spoken in a British accent, she’d enjoy the class more. She made a mental note to buy handsome men slices of pie more often. Already this was the best study session she’d ever had.