you wouldn’t mind jewelry. Maybe a ring?”
“Maia, stop. Even if I was still working there, I doubt it would even cross his mind to get me a card. I’m sure in his mind my paycheck is proof of his appreciation.”
Austin did pay her well. She couldn’t dispute that. Once, when she’d been offered an entry-level position as an account executive with a local advertising agency, she’d given him two weeks’ notice. He’d doubled her salary without blinking an eye.
He’d told her she was worth it.
For a bright and shiny moment, she’d read something deeper into his words. Something that bordered on personal. Then she’d blinked and the next thing she knew, he’d launched into what a hassle it would be to find and train someone new and what an imposition it would be to suffer through a new assistant’s initial learning curve.
The explanation had dulled the luster in a hurry.
Still, the money was nice. The raise had allowed her to save up a substantial down payment for a house. A year later she’d been in position to buy one of the units in the cute little green house in New Orleans’s Irish Channel neighborhood. Technically, it was half a house, but it was hers and she loved it so much she wouldn’t have traded it for one of the stately mansions in the neighboring Garden District. Well, in theory, anyway.
In the years she’d worked for Austin, nothing had changed. Felicity was still single, and Austin was none the wiser to her feelings for him. Every day was the same. Except, the days had morphed into weeks and weeks into months. Now, here she was looking back at nearly half a decade that had gone by in a heartbeat and she felt like a hamster on a wheel, bored and mostly unfulfilled by the sameness of it all, but safe and comfortable hiding behind her fat bank account and feelings for him she could never reveal.
Emotionally, she couldn’t afford to go on like this much longer. She’d go insane. That’s why she had promised herself she would quit and get a real job after she graduated with her MBA at the end of the month.
“I don’t understand why you don’t just level with him and tell him how you feel,” Maia said. “You might just be surprised. I mean, you’re leaving soon anyway. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
Just the thought made Felicity want to turn and run. She had no idea where she wanted to run to other than somewhere far away from the idea of confessing her secret to Austin. In fact, right now she was sorry she’d confided in Maia. It wasn’t the first time her friend had suggested such nonsense. She’d been bringing it up more frequently since Felicity had told her of her plans to leave after she graduated.
“Austin said tonight at dinner he would talk to his father about creating an advertising position for me. That’s all the more reason why I need to keep my feelings to myself.”
“I don’t know,” Maia mused. “Most likely, you won’t be reporting to him anymore if they do make a position for you. Might be a good time to come clean with your feelings.”
“Stop.” Felicity held up her hand like a traffic cop. “Please listen to me. If they create a job for me—and that’s a big if—I would be one of the few non-Fortunes in a position that wasn’t support staff. If I start publicly mooning over Austin, it could be career suicide or at the very least I would embarrass myself.”
Maia shrugged. “You look pretty cozy over there in your comfort zone.”
“Leaving the comfort of a well-paying job is hardly staying in my comfort zone.”
“You know what I’m talking about,” Maia said. “I’m talking about the love part. I’m talking about you not wanting to put yourself out there. It was one thing to not want to jeopardize your job, but now that you’re leaving you have no excuses.”
Ah, but she did.
She hadn’t shared it with Maia because her friend had never asked.
“You know what they say, a comfort zone is a very safe place, but nothing ever grows there—especially not love.”
Felicity shook her head. “He has never given me any indication he feels the same way for me.”
Maia sighed. “Fine. If you don’t want to try to make things work with Austin, then you need to open your mind to other prospects.”
“Such as?”
“Be open to dating other men.”
Felicity sighed.
“I’m just saying,” Maia said. “Just think about it. And since there’s no use arguing with a brick wall, let’s change the subject.”
“Good.”
“I have a huge favor to ask you,” Maia said. “You know the hair show I’m doing next weekend?”
Felicity nodded.
“I’ve already sunk a boatload of money into this show and Jane Gordon, the girl who was going to be my model, got a paying modeling job in Paris. She had to bail on me.”
“Oh, no. That’s terrible. I’m sorry.”
“It’s good for her, but it stinks for me,” Maia said. “So, I have an idea. Will you be my model?”
“Me?” Felicity laughed, unsure if Maia was joking. “I’m not a model.”
Her friend set down her drink and walked over and started fluffing Felicity’s hair and assessing her as if she was a horse at auction.
“If you try to pick up my leg and look at the bottom of my foot, I’m going to kick you,” Felicity said. “I’m not a show pony. I don’t do things like this.”
“I’m not asking you to change careers.” Maia smoothed Felicity’s hair away from her face, shaping it into a high ponytail before she turned it loose and let it cascade around her shoulders. “Just help me out of this pickle.”
Austin drove through the stately iron gates that surrounded his parents’ rambling eight-bedroom, Garden District mansion. Miles and Sarah Fortune still lived in the same house where Austin and his six brothers and sisters had grown up. The sprawling Victorian was way too much house for most people, but maintaining the family home was a point of pride for them, especially on nights like this, when they called everyone together for a family dinner meeting.
Austin parked his Tesla next to his brother Beau’s BMW. He took care to park where no one could block him in, since he’d have to leave early to catch a flight to Atlanta tonight.
He wound his way around the other cars that lined the driveway. When the family got together, it looked like Miles and Sarah were having a party. Tonight, it appeared that Austin was the last to arrive.
As he let himself in the front door, the antique grandfather clock struck 7:15. That meant he’d missed the cocktail hour and they were probably holding dinner for him. Work had kept him late. His parents would understand since they had called the last-minute family dinner meeting just this morning. Austin
