Fortune's Secret Heir. Allison Leigh

      “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.

      That was true enough. Beyond him, she could see out the kitchen’s lone window that looked out on the street. “Your bus is here.” She waited for him to pull on his hooded jacket, then helped him on with his backpack and followed him through the house to the front door. “I don’t know how long Mr. Robinson wants me to work today, so if I’m not home to start dinner, Mom’s got—”

      He was already moving down the ramp that had replaced the three front porch steps years ago, before he’d graduated from his wheelchair. “I know, I know, Ella,” he said impatiently. “Lasagna in the freezer. ’Bye already!”

      It was a chilly morning and even though Ella’s instinct was to linger and make sure her brother got on the bus all right, she didn’t. She waved good morning to their neighbor Bernie, who was fastidiously sweeping nonexistent leaves off his own porch, and went back inside. She turned off the gas fireplace that had been keeping the living room warm, made a mental note to get the Christmas tree undecorated and hauled out of the house—since Christmas had been two weeks ago—and pulled her own jacket out of the closet.

      Riding her bicycle to work was a fine idea, and something she’d done many, many times. It was more convenient than the bus, actually, since there was no schedule to worry about. But with rain in the forecast, the bus was more sensible. With her jacket covering her jeans and flannel shirt, she pulled the messenger-bag strap across her shoulder and set out herself for the nearest bus stop, about eight blocks away.

      It could have been worse. The Thomases could have lived farther away from the bus line than they did. And with all the walking and bicycling that Ella did every day, she’d never had to particularly worry about indulging in whatever food she wanted.

      Genetics probably helped there, too. Elaine was the same height as Ella and slender. And before he’d died, Ella’s father had been tall and lanky.

      Not unlike Ben Robinson.

      She still couldn’t believe he’d wanted to hire her.

      Frankly, the more she thought about it, the more she considered his quest a little odd. It certainly wasn’t a regular occurrence in the world she’d always occupied.

      If her father had had extramarital affairs that produced other children, would she have wanted to know?

      It wasn’t as if Ben didn’t have brothers and sisters already. Heavens. He had seven! A twin brother who also worked at Robinson Tech, two other brothers and four sisters. It boggled her mind imagining the chaos eight children would have provided in the Thomas household. It made her smile, just thinking about it.

      But then the Robinsons and the Thomases had very little in common, besides both residing in Texas. When she’d indulged her curiosity about Ben on the internet, she’d seen the photographs of the sprawling Robinson estate. Well, photographs of the stone walls and iron gates surrounding it, at least. There’d been a few aerial shots that showed multiple wings and a sparkling pool and a whole lot of trees that hid pretty much everything else from sight.

      Certainly there’d been no picture of Ben Robinson sprawled poolside.

      She was smiling over that thought, too, when she boarded the bus.

      “Looking