Falling for Fortune. Nancy Robards ThompsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
Mr. Jamison had been under the impression that she’d been waiting a long time to hear back. Though it really hadn’t been an excessively long time since Christopher had checked the account, it did need to be monitored regularly. Several times a day, in fact, to keep something like this from happening.
If that was too much for Christopher to handle, he needed to hand it over to someone who could keep a closer eye on it, Kinsley thought as she started to click on one of the unopened message.
But then she stopped. Instead, she had a better idea.
She took a screenshot of the emails that still needed attention and printed it out. Then she took a fluorescent yellow highlighter and marked each one that he needed to check.
She’d already covered for him. If she did his work for him, too, she would simply be fostering his habit of letting someone else pick up the pieces.
The thought took her back to another place and time that made her unspeakably sad. Maybe if she’d intervened a little more on behalf of her mother things would’ve turned out differently. She stared at the computer screen as the memory threatened to cut into her heart. But she shrugged off the feelings before they could take root. What had happened to her mother was entirely different from what was happening now. No amount of wishing or dwelling would change the way things had played out. That’s why Kinsley’s job at the Foundation was so important. She couldn’t change the past, but maybe, if she did her job well, she could make a difference for someone else.
Christopher Fortune didn’t need saving. He needed a good swift kick in the rear.
Kinsley had her own workload to worry about. The last thing she needed was to try and reform Mr. Silver Spoon. He was a big boy; he could take care of himself. He needed to start pulling his load. She fully intended to tell him as much when he got back.
Well...in so many words.
She wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize her job. But she could still stand up for herself.
This would be a good time to make sure Christopher knew that, although she didn’t mind helping him out with things like checking the Foundation’s Community Relations email account and making his lunch reservations, she wasn’t his secretary. She didn’t intend to mince words about that.
She paper clipped Judy Davis’s contact information on top of the highlighted list of unanswered emails and set the papers on the corner of her desk.
She knew it wasn’t her place to call him out; she intended to do it tactfully. She’d make him think it was all his idea. But yes. They were going to have a little reality check when he got back. She glanced at the clock on her cell phone—was he even coming back to the office today?
She picked up the phone and dialed. “Hi, Bev, would you please let me know when Mr. Fortune gets back into the office? I want to schedule a meeting with him.”
“Speak of the devil,” Bev whispered. “He just walked in from lunch. Want me to see if he’s available?”
“No, that’s okay,” Kinsley said. “I’ll just walk down the hall and stick my head in his office.”
* * *
Christopher swiveled his office chair so that it faced the window. He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him and resting his hands on his middle.
The more he thought about what had happened at lunch, the more he was sure Deke had sent Toby to do his bidding. It made him so angry he wanted to wrap his putter around the trunk of the magnolia tree out in front of the building.
It could’ve been a good visit with his brother. A chance to get to know his new sister-in-law a little better. But Deke had to insert himself, even if it was virtually, and mess things up.
His father was so good at messing things up.
But then Christopher had to wonder if his brother would’ve come to Red Rock if it hadn’t been to prod him to go home. Well, it hadn’t done any good. If anything it had given him more incentive to stay away. The Joneses couldn’t stand anything that varied from their idea of normal. But Christopher had news for them all—this was his new normal.
He looked up at the sound of a knock on his door. He straightened up in his chair and turned back to his desk, moving the mouse to wake up his computer screen.
“Come in,” he said.
He was delighted when he saw Kinsley standing in the threshold. Suddenly the afternoon was looking a lot brighter.
“Do you have a moment?” she asked.
“For you, I would clear my schedule.”
She rolled her eyes. Not exactly the response he was hoping for, but he would’ve been surprised if he’d gotten a more enthused reaction.
“I’m just kidding,” he said. Actually, he wasn’t. “Come in. I’m not the big bad wolf. How was your lunch?”
She shut the door and walked over to stand in front of his desk. “It was fine.”
“I saw you at Red,” he said. “I was going to come over and say hello, but by the time we ordered you were gone.”
“I only had an hour for lunch. I had to get back.”
Since he’d seen her at the restaurant she’d pulled her hair back away from her face. And what a face it was; she had a perfect complexion that didn’t require much makeup. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if she was wearing any makeup. His mind wandered for a moment, imagining the curves that hid beneath the conservative clothes she wore. He smiled at the thought. But then he realized she wasn’t smiling at him.
God, if he didn’t know better, he might be afraid she’d read his mind.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Since you asked,” she said, “actually, yes, there is something wrong.”
She held out a piece of paper. He reached across the desk and took it from her.
“What’s this?”
She was standing there with her arms crossed—defensive body language. Her sensible blue blouse was buttoned all the way up to the top and was tucked into a plain lighter blue skirt that didn’t show nearly enough leg. Legs, he thought, that would look killer in a pair of shiny black stilettos, ones like the hostess at Red had worn, rather than those low-heeled church lady shoes that looked like something out of his mama’s closet.
“It’s a message from a woman who has been trying to get a hold of you to make a donation to the Foundation,” she said.
Christopher read the name and number scrawled on the paper. Judy Davis? He didn’t know a Judy Davis.
“Who is she and when did she call?”
Kinsley crossed one ankle over the other, keeping her arms firmly across her middle. Good grief. If she twisted herself any tighter she was going to turn herself inside out.
“After she emailed you three times, unsuccessfully, she called Mr. Jamison to voice her displeasure. He called me while you were at lunch, none too pleased.”
What the hell?
Christopher lifted up the paper with the message and saw a photocopy of what looked like a list of emails. Someone had taken a highlighter to it.
“Did Emmett do this?” he asked, gesturing at her with the paper.
Her cheeks flushed the slightest hue of pink, which made her look even prettier, if that was possible.
She cleared her throat. “No, I did. Christopher, you haven’t checked the community relations email account in two days. She emailed us three times—”
“Three times over the course of what, 48 hours?” he asked looking at the paper to check the time the emails came through.
“Actually,