A Date With Fortune

by Susan Crosby

  “So you like being right, do you?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t put it that way. I like being correct, but I don’t need to be right. Does that make sense?”

  “It makes way too much sense. We should all take a lesson from you.” He eyed her briefly. “Do you consider yourself adventurous?”

  “In what way? I think starting a business is adventurous, but maybe you’re talking about zip-lining across a river filled with piranhas. I would say no to the latter, thank you. Why?”

  He pointed ahead to a sign indicating they’d arrived at Stinson Airport. She tried to imagine what he’d planned. “I didn’t pack a bag, Michael,” she said, curious and hesitant at the same time. “I don’t carry my passport with me.”

  “We’re not leaving the country, and we’ll be back in time for that fried chicken dinner you promised me. Have you seen San Antonio from a helicopter?”

  She shook her head. It was on her bucket list. Not to see San Antonio necessarily, but to ride in a helicopter. She was so excited she could hardly sit still. She was yards ahead of him after they parked, having flung herself from the car, almost running ahead to the building.

  “It’s not going anywhere without us,” Michael called out. “We’re the only passengers.”

  She spun around, feeling her skirt billowing around her legs and her hair whipping her face. “I will remember this day the rest of my life, Michael. Thank you so much.”

  He hooked an arm around her and together they rushed to the building. Soon they were buckled in and up in the air. They flew over the incredible Texas Hill Country, across terrain that was lush and dotted with lakes. They soared over hilltops, low enough to draw gasps from her. She was in awe. The tour ended with a lazy flight over the city of San Antonio itself, the pilot pointing out the sights as they cruised over the downtown.

  It was the fastest hour of her life. The best hour of her life.

  He was the perfect man.

  Except...there was no such thing as perfect. So, what next? He was leaving in the morning. How could she discover his flaws if he left?

  Felicity didn’t let those concerns stop her from being on a high the entire trip back to Red Rock. She couldn’t stop talking about the flight, about the beauty of the land as seen from above. She wanted to know where he’d traveled, what he’d seen, and was enthralled by his answers. He’d flown in helicopters before, had been dropped in remote places to ski and to fish. He’d been almost everywhere in Europe, could afford to go anywhere he wanted, but generally only took long weekends instead of accrued vacation.

  As Michael pulled into her apartment building parking lot, he considered their conversation. The truth was, he hadn’t met a woman he wanted to travel with, not for more than a weekend anyway. But seeing Felicity’s wide-eyed wonder at the places he’d been to made him want to take her, to show her the world. Maybe he would see things differently, too, appreciate them more.

  He planted himself at her kitchen counter and watched her make her special fried chicken. She moved easily, competently, and wore an apron imprinted with pink poodles. She’d set a beer in front of him without asking and just kept smiling and talking the whole time she cooked.

  “Where are Sarah-Jane and Wyatt?” he asked, finally realizing they had the house to themselves.

  “I asked them to stay away until at least nine.”

  He decided not to ask why. “What’s it like having a roommate?”

  “It’s great mostly. We’ve shared this place for three years now, so we’re settled into a routine. You’ve never had a roommate?”

  “Only my freshman year at college. I couldn’t wait for that year to end.”

  “It’s going to be strange when Sarah-Jane gets married and moves out. I’ll have to look for a new roommate or a smaller place I can afford on my own.” She drained a pot of boiled potatoes, then mashed them with butter and milk, the final prep for the meal.

  Michael found paradise at the first hot, crunchy bite of chicken. She hadn’t been exaggerating. It was special. He told her that so many times, she finally put her hand over his mouth.

  “Just eat,” she said, laughing. “I can see that you like it.”

  The entire day had been surreal, he decided after they’d cleaned up the kitchen. The hours had flown by. Suddenly it was nine o’clock.

  “Would you like a tour of the rest of the place?” she asked, giving the sink one last wipe down.

  “The rest being?”

  “Upstairs. My room.”

  “I’ll bet it’s like walking into pink cotton candy.”

  “You won’t know unless you see it.”

  He hesitated. So far, he’d been able to control his desires, but alone in her bedroom? With her so willing?

  “We’ll have chaperones any minute now,” she said, her expression all-knowing. They were both struggling with the same issue. Maybe they should just give in to it, get it over with—

  The front door opened. “Do we need to cover our eyes?” Sarah-Jane asked, sweeping into the room, Wyatt behind her.

  A moment of awkward silence followed. Michael felt like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar knowing Wyatt didn’t approve. He was always in control and never at a loss for words, usually the right words. But in this situation? He felt out of his element.

  “I’m going to head back to my hotel. I have an early flight,” he said to everyone in general, then to Felicity specifically, “I had a great day.”

  “Me, too. I’ll see you out.”

  She slipped her hand in his and walked him to his car. “I’ll call you,” he said.

  She nodded.

  Because she looked sad and he didn’t want to leave her like that, he leaned against the car, drew her into his arms and held her, just held her. After a minute, she nestled closer, relaxing against him.

  “Are you falling asleep?” he asked, stroking her hair, rubbing it between his fingers.

  “It would be an easy thing to do.”

  Too easy. He could almost feel her naked beside him, their legs entwined. He let his hands drift down her, slipped them under the sweater she’d thrown on and ran his palms up her sides to her breasts. She sucked in air but moved back enough to give him more freedom, but he barely touched her.

  This is what would’ve happened in her bedroom, he thought. And more. He might have shoved her blouse up, unhooked her bra, put his mouth on her and enjoyed her. She moved her hips against him and moaned quietly. He ached for her. Denial wasn’t familiar to him, especially denying himself.

  A car came into the parking lot, its headlights sweeping past them, but making them starkly aware of being in public. He gave her one last kiss, then climbed in the car and left, aware of her watching him.

  When he got to his hotel room and saw the True Confections mint on his pillow, he threw his keys onto the bed, then moved to stare out the window. He started pacing, paced some more, sank onto the bed, paced again, his mind whirling. He poured a shot of bourbon and downed it. Nothing helped settle his thoughts.

  He laid his clothes out for the next morning, then packed his carry-on bag. An hour passed before he finally stripped down and climbed into bed, first setting the mint on the nightstand, where last night’s mint still sat. He hadn’t been able to eat it, wanted to keep the scent of it around him. He grabbed one of the candies, the mingled mint and chocolate reminding him of her, the way her hair smelled after she’d spent the day working....

  He felt something unfamiliar—a longing for her to share his room, his bed. His life.

  He reached for his cell phone.

  “Michael?” she said, not sounding like she’d been asleep, either.

  He wanted to tell her he wanted her. He didn’t want to control it anymore. Couldn’t. Everyone said he needed to be careful not to break her heart, but what about his?

  “Thank you again for dinner,” he said instead as the silence grew tense.

  A long pause ensued. “It was my pleasure. Was there something e
lse?”

  He picked up one of her wrapped mints and held it under his nose. “I didn’t remember if I’d said thank you.”

  “You did.”

  “Good. Sleep well,” he said.

  “You, too.”

  But he didn’t. He tossed and turned and then got up before the wake-up call he’d scheduled. He had a long day ahead of him.

  * * *

  “I won’t lose another child of mine to Texas. Enough already.”

  Michael stood in his father’s office, having just returned from Red Rock. He’d thought gossip flew fast and furious in that small town, but it was just as prevalent here in Atlanta. “Who says I’m moving, Dad?”

  “I’ve gotten reports that you’re courting a young woman from there.”

  Michael had been told all his life he was like his father, not just in appearance but in personality and drive. They butted heads frequently about business, Michael being more progressive, knowing FortuneSouth Enterprises needed to keep up with the newest technology. His father was slower to accept that, citing costs and staffing. But Michael had never allowed his father to dictate his personal life.

  “I don’t think two dates constitutes a courtship.” Even though he’d declared as much to Felicity.

  “Who is she?”

  “A woman named Felicity Thomas, a candy maker.” Michael sat, rested an ankle over a knee and leaned back. “How did you hear about her?”

  “I always know what my children are up to.”

  Michael bet it was his youngest sister, Wendy, who talked to their mother every day. He’d seen Wendy only once on the trip, and then for just a short visit, but she’d delighted in revealing her knowledge of him having taken Felicity to Vines and Roses for dinner.

  “I’m not leaving Atlanta, Dad. I’m not leaving the company.”

  “I would’ve said your cousins were solid at JMF, and look at them now.”

  “Uncle James caused the rift. He could fix it if he wanted to.”

  “Since James and I don’t communicate, I can’t help there. I assume you are?”

  “Helping? Yes, he asked me to, so I’m trying. I miss them, too, more than I expected I would. I plan to go back there in a couple of days to try again.”

  Michael watched his father consider and weigh his response. At sixty-three, John Michael Fortune was an imposing man, even when he wasn’t in power mode, as he was now. He’d seen and conquered a lot on his way to building his empire—to the detriment of his relationships. His children weren’t particularly close to him because he’d spent most of their childhoods working. Michael’s mother had raised her children almost single-handedly, with little hired help, a choice she made. Michael respected his mother immensely, but he believed she’d gotten short shrift in her thirty-eight-year marriage. Not that his father was abusive; he just wasn’t there. Now that she had grandchildren, she took frequent trips to Red Rock.

  His father, however, remained as elusive as ever—except when it came to business, and as if proving his point, he said, “We’ve got that Trexler deal coming up, Michael.”

  “I’m on it. I’ve done the estimates, the P & Ls and the prospectus. When it’s time, I’ll negotiate.”

  “Your head needs to be in the game.”

  Impatient with the conversation, Michael fired back, “When have I ever disappointed you?”

  John Michael closed his eyes a moment. “You haven’t. I’m overreacting, I can see that. I’m afraid you’ll do what your siblings and cousins have done, and it worries me. When I’m ready to turn over the reins, I want you to be the one to accept them.”

  “You know, in the end, this is your company. You built it, then grew it into what it is now.” Michael was beginning to understand his cousins’ move in particular. After so many years without being allowed to even have one rein, the desire to create something himself was starting to hold some appeal. Until his brothers’ and cousins’ career changes—and now knowing Felicity—he hadn’t given it much thought. “There’s satisfaction in that, Dad.”

  “And twenty-hour days, and forfeiting a family life, et cetera, et cetera.”

  “Choices. Do you regret any of it?” Do you regret not spending time with us, taking vacations as a family, creating memories?

  “I don’t believe in regrets.”

  Michael smiled, then stood. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

  His father had proved a point. Do what you need to do, as long as it doesn’t lead to regrets.

  When he got to his office, he ignored the list of messages his assistant had compiled. He didn’t want to have any regrets where Felicity was concerned, so he picked up the phone instead and called a travel agent he often used, one who would know exactly how to accomplish what he wanted, a date Felicity would remember, no regrets allowed for either of them.

  Satisfied, he switched into full work mode. He had some catching up and getting ahead to do.

  Chapter Six

  Felicity didn’t understand how time could speed up and stand still at the same time, but it had. She was so busy prepping for the holiday that she barely had time for anything beyond the basics of work, food and sleep—and it was about to get worse. In that sense, the three days since Michael had left had been but a blip in her life.

  On the other hand, it also meant it’d been three days since she’d seen him. Touched him. It was a good thing she’d been in the business long enough that she was on autopilot, as she was now, dipping peanut butter fillings in dark chocolate. Her list was necessary and comforting. Do this, check. Do that, check.

  He called once a day, mid-evening, giving her the break she needed by that time of day. But the breathing room she’d had since he left had also given her thinking room. She’d taken a step back mentally, acknowledging that everything had happened too fast, too powerfully. It was good he’d left. She’d totally convinced herself of that. Well, almost totally.

  After a long afternoon bent over a worktable, Felicity’s body told her it was break-for-dinner time even without her looking at the clock. She needed to rest a bit if she was going to start on her specialty truffles tonight. Valentine’s Day was a week away, and the shipping date a few days earlier than that. Time for the big, final push.

  Liz came through the swinging door and held up something for Felicity to see.

  “This person would like to talk to you.”

  It was the business card of Morris Sheffield, the morning host for a San Antonio television station. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “Only to see you.”

  Felicity didn’t want to stop dipping the peanut butter chocolates, not with only six dozen to go. “Huh. Okay. Send him back, please.”

  She tried to conjure up a mental image of Morris Sheffield, but his wasn’t the station she usually watched.

  And the man who followed Liz through the door would’ve been memorable, Felicity thought. “Tall, dark and handsome” might be a cliché, but it described him. Early thirties and built like a swimmer—broad shoulders, narrow hips, lean torso.

  Felicity held up her hands in apology for not shaking his. “What can I do for you, Mr. Sheffield?”

  “Call me Morris, please. My station received a press release about a truffle competition in Dallas that you won. I’d like to do a piece on you and your business.” He gave her a charming smile. “You wouldn’t happen to have one of those third-place award winners, the truffles with the cayenne in them, would you? That one really piqued my interest.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t. I’ll be making them in two days. I do have some of the first-place winner, the salted darks.” She angled her head toward the cooler. “Please help yourself. They’re on the far right.”

  She continued to work as he found and unabashedly savored the truffle.

  “You’ve done that a few times,” he said, coming closer, watching her create the star flourish on top that would identify it as peanut butter.

  She smiled. “I started training when I was fourteen, so, yes,
a few times. Did you want to do the interview today?”

  “I’m shooting for Monday afternoon, to air on Tuesday.”

  Although it would be a boost to her business, it would be too late to capitalize on this particular holiday—or it could lead to orders she couldn’t possibly fill, because Valentine’s Day would come two days after the interview aired. She could potentially lose future business because she couldn’t follow through.

  Deciding the benefits outweighed the disadvantages, she agreed to be interviewed. “I’m going to be swamped on Monday. I’m never open that day, and so it won’t be business as usual,” she said as she washed her hands. She picked up the tray of finished products to put in the cooler. “My nice, neat little shop will be a shipping post, with packing materials piled high.”

  “Even better. Good visuals there, filling boxes. If it would help, I could get your background material now. Probably save us time on Monday, too.”

  She couldn’t see any reason not to accept, just a niggling little thought that it could backfire somehow. “The shop will close in a couple of minutes, and I always take a break then.”

  “How about dinner? You have to eat, right? We can grab a bite and talk. Two birds, one stone.”

  Oh, he was charming. And slickly attractive. Not ruggedly handsome like Michael, whose smiles were rare and wonderful. Morris was polished and perfect—for television anyway.

  “Sure, that would be great,” she said.

  “I saw a place down the street. Red? Is that a good place to eat?”

  A lot of people would see her there, including Michael’s brother-in-law Marcos Mendoza, Wendy’s husband, who managed the restaurant for his aunt and uncle, Maria and Jose Mendoza, the owners. Morris would probably be recognized, too, by those who watched his program. That should cause a little stir in town, at least until the news spot aired.

  “I just need a couple minutes to freshen up,” she said.

  “Take your time. I’ll wait out front.”

  Felicity pulled the band out of her ponytail and brushed her hair, then dabbed on a little lip gloss. She looked at herself in the mirror then, saw exhaustion in her eyes. One more week, then she could go back to her routine. She would have time to sleep and time for Michael. For now, she needed to be not just professional but engaging. She wanted Morris to find the right angle for his story, because reporters always came with an agenda. If she could somehow dictate that agenda to the message she wanted to get across, having dinner with him would be time well spent.