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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, it’s closer to 36 hours,” she said. “I know she was a little impatient, but she wants to give us money and nobody contacted her in a reasonable amount of time. I can understand why she was a little upset.”
Christopher watched Kinsley as she stood there, obviously irritated with him. The funny thing was, usually when people nagged him it made him mad, but he found her completely disarming. His gaze dropped to her full bottom lip.
He’d be willing to wager that those lips would taste better than that expensive champagne that Marcos had given them at lunch, and he was getting a little hot and bothered at the realization that he hadn’t yet had a taste of Kinsley’s lips.
He smiled as he added that task to his mental to-do list.
“I’ll be happy to call her now,” Christopher said, offering his best smile.
“That’s a good idea. The sooner the better. I don’t mean to tell you what to do, but you really should check that email account several times a day.”
“I checked it three days in a row and there was absolutely no email,” he said. “I’ve been busy. I know this is your brainchild, but people aren’t exactly lining up to leave us messages.”
Her brows knit. “Christopher, do you see that piece of paper I gave you? There are ten unanswered messages on there. Well, seven if you don’t count the three from Judy Davis.”
Her face was so expressive. Those lips were so full. It was mesmerizing to watch her mouth as she talked. He realized he was sitting there grinning stupidly as she reprimanded him. Still, he wanted to laugh. Not at her, but at the situation—at the way the woman had somehow gotten under his skin, but in a good way. A sexy way. A way that made him want to walk over and unbutton the top button of her blouse to loosen her up a bit. Hell, he didn’t want to stop there—
“Are you listening to me?” she asked.
“Every single word.” He pursed his lips to remove the grin from his face.
Now her hands were on her hips. The stance drew her blouse tight across her breasts. The fabric between the middle buttons gaped a little bit. He forced his eyes back to her face. And she wasn’t smiling.
Uh-oh. Busted.
“Then would you please tell me what I just said to you?” she said.
“You were talking about the messages from Susan Davis.”
“Judy,” she enunciated. “It’s Judy Davis. For goodness’ sake don’t make matters worse by calling her the wrong name.”
He looked down at the papers he was still holding in his hand. He shuffled the two sheets and saw that yes, indeed, the message said Judy Davis.
He smiled to mask his embarrassment. He never had been good with names. “I know her name is Judy. Says so right here.” He waved the paper at her. “I was just seeing if you were paying attention.”
She rolled her eyes again.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” he asked, eager to hear what she would say. Of course, he was daring her, and he got exactly the reaction he was hoping for.
She blanched. Her eyes flew open wide, and a look of innocence overtook her formerly contemptuous expression.
“I have no idea why you would say that,” she said. “You’re my coworker and I respect you.”
Respect, huh?
But then she surprised him.
“And while we’re on the topic of respect,” she said, “I need to make sure that we understand each other in a couple of areas.”
“Of course,” he said. He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “Kinsley, please sit down.”
She shook her head. “No, I’d rather stand, thank you.”
Christopher shrugged. “Okay, suit yourself, but if you’re going to stand I guess that means I will, too.”
He stood and the slightly panicked and perplexed look clouded her face again. “You don’t have to do that. Really, you don’t.”
“Of course I do. It makes me uncomfortable to have you towering over me.”
“What? You’re not going to tell me that you’re one of those people who believes his head should always be higher than the heads of his subordinates?”
What was this? A dry sense of humor?
He walked around to the other side of the desk, careful to respect her personal space.
“No, but that’s not a bad theory.”
This time she looked at him as if he had just grown another head on his shoulder.
“You do know I’m kidding, right?”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“Kinsley. We’ve been working together for what—two months now? I would hope that you would know me better than that by now. You’re great at what you do. But you need to loosen up just a little bit. This isn’t brain surgery.”
“It may not be brain surgery, but I take what I do seriously and I would like for you to take me seriously.”
What?
Was that what she thought? That he didn’t take her seriously? She was one of the most competent, capable people he’d ever worked with. He liked her poise, he liked the way she related to their clients and of course, he loved the way she looked. But maybe that was the problem....
The Fortune mystique didn’t seem to work on this woman who was all business, all the time.
Why not?
Why was she immune when most of the women in Red Rock practically bowed down when a Fortune entered the room?
He liked that about her.
All she wanted was to be taken seriously. He understood. That’s all he’d wanted from Deke. To be respected for what he did and how he did it.
“Point taken,” he said.
She took a deep breath, held it for a moment and then silently released it. He saw her shoulders rise and fall as she did so.
“There’s one more thing,” she said.
Christopher gestured with both hands. “Please. Anything. You can talk to me.”
“First—”
