Fortune's Secret Heir. Allison Leigh

father would have a fit, but Ben would handle it. He’d lie, if he had to, to get Gerald to the meeting.

      And that thought just showed again how like his old man he really was.

      “Come to the Robinson estate next week.” He realized he sounded as autocratic as her. “After your events this weekend have concluded, of course.”

      Her arms were still crossed and she tapped one finger against her silver sleeve. Then she finally inclined her head. “Make the arrangements. I won’t tell you how to get the information to me. Clearly you already know how to reach me.” She opened the door beside them and cool night air rushed in. “Now, I’ll just say good-night, Mr. Robinson. Because, as you know, I have guests waiting.”

      Summarily dismissing him, she turned on her heel and walked away.

      Ben figured it was only a matter of time before the security guards came to check that he’d exited. But having gotten what he’d come for, he had no reason to stay.

      He went out the door and it closed automatically behind him. When he tested it out of curiosity, it was locked.

      “Crazy old bat,” he muttered under his breath.

      But he didn’t really believe it.

      Kate Fortune was many things. Of that he was certain.

      But crazy wasn’t one of them.

      He looked around, getting his bearings before setting off to his left. It was dark, only a few lights situated here and there to show off some landscape feature. But he soon made his way around the side of the enormous house and to the front, which was not just well lit, but magnificently so. He stopped at the valet and handed over his ticket to a skinny kid in black shirt and trousers.

      He tried to imagine Ella dashing off the way this kid was to retrieve his car, parked somewhere on the vast property. He couldn’t quite picture it.

      But in his head, he could picture her quite clearly.

      Not the red hair. That just reminded him of Stephanie. But the faint gap in her toothy smile and the clear light shining from her pretty eyes.

      That was all Ella.

      A moment later, when the valet returned with his Porsche, Ben got in and drove away.

      * * *

      Ella Thomas checked the address she’d been given by the temp agency against the small black address printed on the side of the tall building. She hadn’t made a mistake.

      She moistened her lips and stepped back a few paces on the sidewalk to look up again at the narrow, four-story building sandwiched between one of Austin’s newer skyscrapers and a decades-old deli. Aside from the doorbell next to the paneled door and a pair of chairs she could see on the narrow, second-floor balcony, there was nothing about the building’s exterior to indicate it was a home. The door was a solid slab of dark gray and there were two oversized, frosted windows, through which she could see nothing.

      Rosa at the agency had told Ella the personal-assistant job was for a well-to-do, reclusive client. And if things worked out, it could translate into a long-term position.

      And that would definitely suit Ella.

      Working for the temp agency provided a lot of variety to Ella’s days—she’d done everything from dog-walking to bookkeeping—but a more predictable stream of income would definitely be welcome. When she’d first started with the temp agency four years ago, she’d needed the flexibility in her schedule to help her mother care for her brother. But Rory had been doing so well over the past few years that her mother had been able to go back to work full-time. Elaine kept telling Ella it was time to focus more on herself and her goals. Finish her degree. Get a steadier job.

       A steady job wouldn’t have put you in the same room as Ben Robinson.

      She shook off the silly thought and swiped her damp palms down the sides of her navy blue skirt. She’d paired it with her usual white blouse, but had left the blazer that matched it at home. She figured an interview for a personal assistant didn’t necessitate the whole aspiring-accountant ensemble.

      Straightening her shoulders, she stepped across the sidewalk and pushed her finger against the buzzer next to the door. The only thing she could hear was the traffic on the busy street behind her. She could only assume that the doorbell was working. At least she hoped.

      It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been sent out for a job such as this that didn’t pan out past the interview stage.

      But a moment later, the door swung open to reveal a dour-faced woman with gray hair.

      Ella smiled brightly. “I’m Ella Thomas. I was sent by Spare Parts Temporary Agency.”

      The woman stepped back, opening the door wider. “You’re late.”

      Dismayed, Ella quickly glanced at her watch that told her she was right on time. But she didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot, either. “I’m so sorry. My watch must have stopped,” she lied, considering the second hand was ticking right along as usual.

      “The Mister likes people to be prompt.”

      The client was a man? “I agree wholeheartedly.” The woman had turned and Ella could either stand in the doorway or follow.

      She followed, quickly closing the door behind her. The second she did, all sounds of the traffic outside disappeared.

      “He’s waiting for you in his study.”

      Trying not to gape at her surroundings, Ella followed the woman out of a foyer that was bigger than Ella’s bedroom and around a slanted wall of smoky glass that would have obscured the luxurious living area on the other side from outside view, even if the frosted windows hadn’t. She didn’t know where to look first. At the amazing collection of art hanging on the roughly textured ivory walls, the stylishly modern furnishings, or the metal staircase hugging one wall that the woman had begun ascending. To Ella, it looked like the stairs were suspended in midair.

      Failing miserably on the gaping score, she quickened her step and was glad to realize that while it appeared the steps had no banister, there was one of nearly invisible glass.

      “Mister has parking below the building. If you have a car, he’ll give you the code to enter.” The woman—Ella had no clue if she was a housekeeper or even “Mister’s” wife—had reached the top of the stairs and paused long enough for Ella to catch up, before walking past a dining room table that sat ten and heading up another staircase. It was a twin to the first one directly below it; only this time, there were solid walls on both sides.

      “I don’t have a car,” Ella admitted. “I got here by the bus.”

      The woman gave her a deadpan stare over her shoulder. “No doubt the reason you are late.”

      Ella’s smile slipped a hair, though she managed to keep it in place. “I’ll take an earlier bus next time.” If there was a next time. Despite the woman’s apparent assumption that Ella would get the job, she wasn’t going to count her chickens just yet.

      Seeming satisfied, though, the other woman nodded her gray head and continued up the stairs. At the top, she turned to her left and gestured toward an opened doorway Ella could see at the far end of the floor. This floor was more casual, but no less luxuriously appointed than the main floor. There was still an eye-popping collection of paintings hanging on the walls—everything from landscapes and seascapes to still life—but the leather furniture looked more comfortable and lived-in.

      “Mister’s study?”

      The woman nodded and immediately began descending the stairs once more.

      Feeling a fresh surge of nervousness, Ella moistened her lips and crossed the thick area rug that covered a good portion of the gleaming wood floor. She stopped in the wide doorway, prepared to knock on the thick doorjamb.

      But there was no need.

      “Mister”