to initially bring Derek to his father’s attention, feeling sorry for Derek because he had never experienced the kind of warm family interactions that existed within his own home. Derek’s scholastic path had shadowed Jack’s and when the time came, his father had taken him into the company with open arms. More than that, his father had all but adopted Derek, treating him more like a son than Derek’s own father ever had.
Had Derek managed to somehow usurp him?
No, that was a low, petty thought. Derek would never turn on him, never do things behind his back. The man was selfless. Besides, his father had asked Derek to come to the San Antonio office weeks before he’d sent for him, Jack thought.
Jack stopped speculating. “Then why am I playing nursemaid to this woman?”
Patrick shook his head, his expression a portrait of patience. “Not nursemaid, I assure you. And it’s only temporary. Look, this is a favor for a friend,” he repeated, “and I would appreciate it if you would give this venture your very best effort.”
Jack blew out a breath. “I can do what’s required in my sleep,” he protested.
The indulgent smile returned to his father’s lips. “I’d prefer you awake.”
There just had to be more to this than met the eye. “Dad—”
Patrick placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder, the simple action calling a halt to any and all further protest. “How many times have I asked you to do me a favor?”
For a moment the wind left Jack’s sails. His father never presumed to manipulate him. The man had trusted his judgment and, except for a few initial guidelines, had given him free rein when it came to running the New York office.
Jack measured out his words. “This would be the first.”
“Right, it would be. So you know that this is important to me.” And Jack could tell that it was.
Jack glanced at the woman standing just outside the door. Why was this so important to his father? And then an answer occurred to him. One he didn’t particularly like. He looked at his father for a long moment. “Dad, is there more going on here than you’re telling me?”
Patrick’s reddish eyebrows huddled together over the bridge of his nose. “More?”
Suddenly his giant reservoir of words was mostly empty. “You know, is she…are the two of you—”
Because he thought so highly of his father—and always had—Jack couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Did Gloria represent his father’s lost youth?
Patrick was staring at him with a look of incredulity. When he spoke, his voice was hardly louder than a whisper. “Are you actually asking me if I’m having an affair with her?”
He’d seen his father become angry once or twice, although never with him or anyone in the family. He wasn’t sure what he was about to witness now. Jack held his ground. Because if his father was having an affair, he was damn well going to talk him out of it. And get rid of the girl as quickly as was humanly possible without involving something with a firing pin.
His eyes never left his father’s. “Yes.”
For a second Patrick stood stock-still. Then he scrubbed his hand over his face, his expression still stunned. “My God, I don’t know whether to be flattered or angry.” He laughed and Jack knew that the danger had passed. “My boy, your mother, God bless her, is more than enough woman for me.”
“Well, if you’re not having an affair with her and you’re not annoyed with me, why are you asking me to do this?”
The answer was simple. “Because she needs help.” And because you do, too, Patrick added silently. “She’s had a rough time of it.”
“Rough time?”
“You know, personally.” Patrick’s words came out at a faster clip, as if he was running short on time. “It’s too complicated to talk about now, but I thought that you of all people might be sympathetic.” He then issued the only instructions he was about to give on the matter. “Help her get on her feet. Not be taken advantage of, that sort of thing.” And then, apparently because he didn’t want Jack to think that he was dealing with someone lacking in business sense, he added, “Don’t get me wrong—Gloria’s savvy. But two heads are always better than one.”
“Unless they belong to the same person,” Jack muttered under his breath, hating this corner he was being painted into.
About to walk back to Gloria, Patrick stopped and turned around to look at Jack. “What?”
Jack waved away his words. He might as well make the best of this. The sooner he got down to it, the sooner he’d be finished. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Knew you would,” Patrick said, moving toward the door.
Reaching Gloria, Patrick beamed and led her back into the office. Then he glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid I’m running a little behind.”
“Meeting?” Jack asked, instantly alert.
“In a matter of speaking.” Patrick’s expression softened slightly. “Telephone conferencing.”
Apparently hoping for a last-minute reprieve or, at the very least, a stay of execution while he was included in this conference, Jack was quick to ask, “Is it anyone that I know?”
“Intimately.” The word hung in the air between them for a second before Patrick added, “I promised to call your mother.” His eyes shifted to Gloria. “I have to run, Gloria, but I’m leaving you in very capable hands.”
From the look in Jack Fortune’s eyes as he turned toward her, Gloria had more than a passing suspicion that he wanted to use those very capable hands to wring her neck.
Unconsciously she squared her shoulders, standing almost at attention by the time he reached her. The closer he got, the more tension telegraphed itself through her body.
And the closer he got, the handsomer he looked.
There was no doubt about it, she thought, attempting to remain impartial in her judgment, Jack Fortune was one of those men that the term “drop-dead gorgeous” had been invented to describe.
The kind of man she might have once fallen for before introductions were even completed.
Lucky for her she’d done a great deal of growing and changing since those days. Lucky, too, that he’d managed to put her off so completely with the very first words that had come out of his mouth. If anything, it had been a matter of annoyance at first glance.
And if there was one thing she was utterly sure of, it was that Mr. Jack Fortune posed no threat to her state of mind or the pact she had made with her sisters. If for some reason her hormones decided to go berserk and she was tempted to renege on that pact, it wasn’t about to be with a man who used his tongue as a carving knife at Thanksgiving.
For one thing, she’d seen warmer eyes on a mackerel lying on display at the fish market than the ones that were turned on her now.
She was acutely aware
