The man harrumphed, obviously debating the wisdom of continuing. Frankie didn’t mind. If the guy didn’t want her services, she’d just call the next person who had sent her an email. She was twenty-eight years old and had been working in this industry for the past ten years. She loved her job, even if some of the activities were wearing a bit thing lately. She loved the mystery of finding people and things, although the traveling was beginning to get a bit old. She loved all things mysterious and she used to love traveling around the country, solving problems, although most of her work was done on a computer these days.
Still, she loved the thrill of finding clues on the internet and putting all of the pieces together. She’d even worked with the police and FBI on a few cases, solving murders when a family member hired her to help out. Even from a distance, she’d been able to figure out clues that other investigators had missed. It was thrilling when that happened, but…well, to be honest, the thrill was waning lately. She wanted…what? Something more. But what?
She pushed that thought aside for the moment. Now was not the time to figure out what had been nagging at her subconscious for the past few months.
Maybe she was just tired, she thought and shifted on the uncomfortable leather chair. Was this chair…smaller? Shorter? She glanced down at the wooden legs and…sure enough, about an inch or two had been sawed off! Good grief, that was an old trick! Make the person sitting in front of the desk lower so that the person behind the desk appeared taller, bigger, and more intimidating. Damn, she’d thought that people had done away with such silly power plays!
Apparently not!
Looking up, she stared into the man’s eyes. Was he for real? Was he seriously drinking bourbon at…she checked the time on her cell phone…ten o’clock in the morning? Looking at his red cheeks, she realized that he must have been sipping scotch pretty heavily. The blood vessels on and around his nose had clearly been inflamed for years.
“You’re younger than your reputation would indicate,” the man commented, leaning back and…Oh yuck. He just licked his lips as his eyes lingered on her open leather jacket! Ick!
Frankie wasn’t sure she wanted to deal with a sexist jerk. She was good at her job which meant that she had a reputation that allowed her to pick and choose her cases.
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, ready to stand up and leave. “Obviously, my age and my gender are an issue for you, Mr. Meyers. Maybe it would be better if you found someone that you can work more comfortably with.”
His red-rimmed eyes sharpened and the ice in his glass clinked as he lifted the glass to his lips. “You’ve come highly recommended, but I’m afraid…I was expecting a man.”
Frankie hated pompous, self-righteous, sexist jerks. So, when he hesitated to explain the reason for this meeting, Frankie simply shrugged and stood up. “I’ll let you find someone else, then,” she turned, heading for the door.
“Wait!” the man called out sharply.
Frankie turned, looking at the man curiously. “I’m still a woman,” she told him, her voice laced with irritation.
The man sighed. “I heard from a friend that you are the best in the business. And I need the best.”
Frankie lifted her eyebrows and waited, not committing to anything. Nor would she sit down in the stupid chair again. Only weak-minded people used power plays. Cutting chairs down to feel superior was just pathetic.
The man glared at her, obviously irritated that Frankie wasn’t kowtowing.
Edward Meyers grumbled and took a slug of his bourbon. “I need to find my children.”
Frankie’s interest perked up. She moved a step forward, her heart pounding suddenly. This was a different issue, she thought. Kids were…precious.
“Children? How old are they? When were they taken? Have you notified the FBI?” she demanded, pulling out her cell phone. She wasn’t one of those private investigators who thought she could solve every problem she came across on her own. Kidnappings were the jurisdiction of the FBI and they were damn good at resolving those cases.
“No, it isn’t like that,” he said, running a bony hand impatiently over his bald head. “My children are…well, I have three sons. They are older. In their thirties.” The man grumbled something under his breath and lifted the glass to his mouth, downing the contents as he turned to look out the window. “I’m dying,” he admitted bitterly. “And I don’t want to leave my money to charities.” This was said with a great deal of disgust, as if leaving his life’s savings to a charity was the equivalent of treason.
So the guy was looking for his kids. Hmmm…not kids. Still, even older offspring might want to get to know their father before he died. “Okay. Are you simply estranged from your kids?”
The man muttered again before answering. “No.” He didn’t say anything and Frankie waited, her curiosity for mysteries kicking in to override her impatience with a wealthy man’s need for control. “My sons are only half-brothers. I had several mistresses over the years. I never found a woman that I cared enough for to marry. But three of the women sent me messages that they’d fallen pregnant.”
Frankie didn’t like where this was going. “And you need…what from me?” Three women? He’d fathered three children and…what? Had he simply ignored the women’s need for child support? Had he ignored his children’s need for a father figure? Not that Edward Meyers seemed like a candidate for father of the year! But still, no man should abandon his offspring! She had no respect for a man who didn’t accept his responsibilities. Especially a man who left a woman to raise a child alone!
Edward Meyers paused and Frankie wasn’t sure if that was for dramatic effect or out of self-condemnation.
He turned and glared at her. “I want you to find them. Track them down and tell them that I will give them their share of my wealth if they will meet with me.”
Okay, so this bastard had three kids out in the world that he probably never supported financially. Now the old man wanted to find the sons so that he could distribute his wealth. She contemplated that for a long moment. It sounded like a worthy cause. Those sons deserved the financial support, especially since they’d obviously gone so long without it.
Making a decision, she nodded sharply, shoving her phone back into her pocket and facing him with a hard glare. She was doing this for the sons. Not for this man.
“Fine. I’ll take the case. My fee is a thousand dollars an hour plus expenses,” she told him, doubling her normal rate simply because she didn’t like him. She’d donate half of her fees to the charities that this man disdained so much. Or maybe she’d give it to the sons. Frankie wasn’t sure. She’d have to see how this played out.
“Fine,” he snapped, not even blinking at the exorbitant figure. “But find them and bring them here to me. I want to meet each of my sons and explain…”
Frankie held up her hand. “First of all, I will only find the men for you. I will give them your contact information, but it will be up to them if they want to contact you.”
His frail body bristled with anger. “No, that’s not going to work for me. You will bring them to me! I want them standing here in my office so that I can decide if they are worthy of…!”
“That’s not going to work for me. You’re going to have to find someone else if that’s what you want.” And she turned on her heel, more than ready to march out the door.
“All right!” the man bellowed. “Just…find my sons! I will not give my money away to some damn charity! Tell my sons that they will get their inheritance if they come to meet with me. I will evaluate each one to determine which is worthy of running my empire.” He nodded, a self-satisfied, frail bastard who was dying from cancer, but still thought he could control other people’s lives.
Frankie shifted on her feet. “I’ll give them your contact information. And let them know that there is a business that needs to be run. But other than that, I’d rather not tear up a person’s life just so that you can avoid…”
He grabbed his chair
, hoisting himself to his feet so that he could lean forward and glare at her. “I’m talking about an inheritance worth more than two hundred million dollars, young lady! I run a corporation that employs ten thousand workers! I must interview my sons to determine which of them has the capacity to run my business.”
Frankie just barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. “Do you have any starting point? Any ideas on where, or even who, your sons are?” she asked, wondering if she was making a huge mistake by taking on this job. Perhaps she was. If she decided that she couldn’t stand working for this jerk, then she’d just tell the guy to find someone else and give him whatever information she’d gathered to date. That was the beauty of her job. Her reputation was strong enough that she could pick and choose her projects.
“I have the letters from the women that claimed I fathered children in that box,” he said, nodding towards the coffee table. On top of the table was an old shoebox.
“This is it?” she asked, walking over to the box and lifting the lid. Good grief! For a man who fathered children, or suspected he’d fathered children, it was criminal that this was his only interaction with his offspring.
Frankie was of the opinion that men needed to be held accountable for their offspring. Right now, the financial, societal, and emotional burden fell to the mothers. Maybe if more men were held accountable for their children, men would be more careful about birth control. Right now, men had no real reason to face up to their responsibilities. Coming from a family of just herself and her mother after her father vanished when Frankie was five years old, she had a slight chip on her shoulder when it came to fathers who ignored their parental responsibilities.
“Okay, I’ll go through these letters and will see what I can find. But I make no promises. And I require a ten hour deposit, up front.”
The man’s wrinkled lips twisted with fury, but he didn’t argue. “Fine. I’ll have my accountant send you a check. I will expect weekly reports.”
Frankie nodded, since that was her normal process anyway. It still irked her that he was demanding it, as if he were still trying to control her. Soon, he’d realize that no one controlled her!
“Fine. I’ll start the search for your sons as soon as I have the initial deposit.” With that, she walked out. If he called out to her again, she wouldn’t stop this time. No way. She needed to get away from him. Maybe go home and take a shower. After being in that man’s presence, she felt dirty.
Chapter 7
Kinsley drove up to the warehouse Monday morning and wondered about the new fixture off in the distance. But she was running a bit late for work, so she didn’t have time to examine it further.
She put the bag of food in the fridge, feeling a bit silly for bringing lunch again. But, in her defense, ever since she’d brought back a deli sandwich for Lincoln last week, they’d shared their lunch together. Four days of lunches and fascinating, stimulating, sparring conversations. She’d been…happy. She truly enjoyed talking with Lincoln and suspected that he enjoyed their conversations just as much, even if some of them devolved into debates. In fact, as much as she enjoyed her work, enjoyed the challenge of every task Lincoln asked of her, the highlight of her day was having lunch with him and trying to match wits during the meal.
Several hours later, she looked up from her work and realized that it was time for lunch. She’d heard Lincoln come into the building at some point, but she’d kept her head down, not wanting him to see how excited she was to see him.
Actually, a big part of her didn’t want to admit it to herself. Carl had called over the weekend, wanting to see a movie and have dinner. She’d pleaded exhaustion. What did that mean about her relationship with her soon-to-be-fiancé? What did it mean when she’d rather not exert the energy to spend time with him? She’d spoken to him over the phone on Saturday and Sunday. He hadn’t seemed overly concerned about not seeing her, so Kinsley hadn’t pushed either.
Perhaps it was just that she enjoyed her work and respected the man she worked for. Yes, that was probably it. She hadn’t avoided Carl this weekend, she’d just been exhausted, mentally, from trying to do a good job here.
So what if Lincoln was one of the most exhilarating conversationalists that she’d ever talked with? And who cares if she’d rather not deal with the sometimes tedious, mundane conversations she normally had with Carl? Tedium was a normal part of any relationship, she told herself. Wasn’t it?
Ignoring the question for now, Kinsley walked into the small kitchen and pulled out the fabric bag that held the cold chicken she’d baked over the weekend. Carl might have wondered why she’d made seven batches of chicken this weekend, but he was too nice to ask. But after the sixth batch of baked chicken, she knew that she’d gotten the recipe to work perfectly! The outside was crispy and tangy while the chicken inside was juicy and perfectly cooked.
She’d also made biscuits, but there was a small secret there too. After trying ten different recipes, she’d finally discovered a scone recipe and knew at once that it was a winner. Her neighbors had helped as her testers and they’d all agreed. So, here she was with her baked chicken and buttery scones, a fruit salad with berries still separated so the colors of the fruit wouldn’t get all oogy. And since she knew that Lincoln had brought fresh squeezed lemonade last week, she’d stirred up a batch of lemonade as well. She’d researched the best way to make lemonade and had discovered that one had to make a simple syrup first, boiling the water for a long time, then slowly adding in the sugar so that it dissolved. After cooling the syrup, squeezing the lemons, adding in water then mixing all of those ingredients together, Kinsley hoped that her lemonade was nearly as good as Lincoln’s.
Stepping into his workroom, she hesitated, not wanting to bother him. For a long moment, she stood in the doorway, just watching him. Lincoln was intensely focused, his hands manipulating the soldering tool with such amazing precision. She had no idea what he was working on, but it looked very complicated.
“You’re staring at me,” he observed, still focusing on whatever it was he was doing.
Jerking out of her contemplation of his hands, and her contemplation of what those hands might feel like on her body if he were to…!
Well, she’d gone there in her dreams, but this was the middle of the day. It wasn’t appropriate to have sexual fantasies about one’s boss. At least, not during the workday.
“I just…are you ready for lunch? I…I enjoyed our lunches last week and…well, if you’re busy, then I can just eat at my desk. I don’t want to pull you away from whatever you’re working on.”
Lincoln tapped the soldering tool against another point, then he nodded, apparently satisfied.
“I’m ready for a break,” he admitted, standing up and taking off his glasses. He looked at her curiously, his eyes narrowed. “Why are you flushed?” he asked, turning off the giant magnifying lens that had a bright light to illuminate whatever one was working on.
Kinsley touched her cheek. “Oh. Am I?”
“I’m starving,” he said.
Kinsley brightened, thrilled that he wanted to spend his lunch break with her. “Well, I made some chicken over the weekend. It isn’t much, but…”
“I love chicken,” he grinned. Putting a hand to the small of her back, he led her out of his workspace and through the doorway.
But when they were outside, Kinsley stopped, frozen in place as she took in the amazing structure in front of her. Instead of the grassy space where they’d set up a couple of folding chairs each day for their lunch, there was a beautiful, wooden pergola.
“What is this?” she whispered, stepping closer but not going inside.
Lincoln shrugged, looking at her, then at the structure, his hands fisted on his hips. If Kinsley had bothered to look at him, she would have seen an odd look in his eyes. But she couldn’t seem to pull her gaze away from the beautiful pergola!
“Late Friday afternoon, I had an idea and wanted to see if I could build one.”
Kinsley
turned, finally looking up at the man. He looked…oddly confused.
“You built this?” she asked softly, amazed.
He shrugged one shoulder and if Kinsley had to put a name on his expression, she’d say that Lincoln Meyers looked adorably self-conscious. “Yeah. It was just a mental challenge.”
“When?”
He stepped up onto the wooden floor of the pergola, looking up at the ceiling. “I started it Friday night. I finished it yesterday afternoon.” He reached up and pushed against one of the support beams. “Do you like it?” He asked.
“I love it!” she gushed, stepping into the area. There was enough space for five or six chairs, but at the moment, there were only two with a large table in the center. Upon closer inspection, Kinsley realized that the table could convert into a fire pit. A gas fire pit! “Oh wow, this is amazing, Linc!”
He looked down at her, an odd light in his eyes.
Kinsley realized what she’d just said and blinked. “Sorry. Lincoln,” she corrected quickly.
He shrugged, his hands sliding into the back pockets of his jeans. “I don’t mind.”
“Does anyone else call you Linc?” she asked curiously.
He chuckled and shook his head. “They wouldn’t dare.”
For some reason, Kinsley felt as if something important had passed between them. But since she didn’t understand what, she reverted to the comfort of food, hefting her fabric bag. “I hope you’re hungry.”
She pulled out the containers of chicken and biscuits that she’d just warmed in the kitchen’s oven.
“This looks great, Kinsley,” he told her as he took the plate she handed him and loaded it with two pieces of chicken and two biscuits. “My mom used to make the best biscuits when I was a kid.” He took a bite of her biscuits and…froze, eyes wide.
Kinsley froze too, a desperate, gnawing ache forming in the pit of her stomach. “Are they okay? I can’t imagine they are as good as your mom’s but…are they okay?”
One More Kiss (Forsaken Sons Book 1) Page 5
