Fortune On The Menu
Even in a town as eclectic as Austin, Keaton Fortune Whitfield stands out. With his dreamy British accent and his slate-blue eyes, he has captured the fancy of every red-blooded Texas female in town...except one. Francesca Harriman, his favorite waitress at Lola Mayâs, seems completely immune to his charms. When sheâs not on her shift, sheâs too busy studying to pay attention to himâwhich only makes him want her more.
Francesca has been burned before, and she wonât let the Londoner melt her heart. What would a brilliant, wealthy architect want with a commoner like her? Sheâs not about to abandon her schooling to become Keatonâs catch of the day. Could a hash-slinging waitress really find happiness with a Fortune?
MEET THE FORTUNES
Fortune of the Month: Keaton Fortune Whitfield
Age: 33
Vital statistics: Weâre not sure which is sexierâhis charming British accent, his brilliant mind or those eyes!
Claim to fame: Heâs a world-renowned architect whose genius is exceeded only by his popularity with women. He is also the illegitimate son of philandering millionaire Gerald Robinson, formerly known as Jerome Fortune.
Romantic prospects: Itâs Keaton Whitfield.
âThe one thing you need to know about me is Iâm nothing like my so-called father. The media may paint me as a heartbreaker, but itâs not true. I have never made a promise I couldnât keep. In fact, Iâve decided to avoid women entirely while Iâm here in Austin. Francesca Harriman doesnât count. Sheâs my favorite waitress at Lola Mayâs Homestyle Restaurant, and besides, everyone says she doesnât date. So thereâs no danger here. No possibility of falling for her golden curls, that creamy skin, that curvy figure... I simply love puzzles, and Francesca is an intriguing one. Why doesnât she date? And is there any man who could make her change her mind? Oh, wait. Right. I am avoiding women entirely...â
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The Fortunes of Texas:
The Secret Fortunesâ
A new generation of heroes and heartbreakers!
MICHELLE MAJOR grew up in Ohio but dreamed of living in the mountains. Soon after graduating with a degree in journalism, she pointed her car west and settled in Colorado. Her life and house are filled with one great husband, two beautiful kids, a few furry pets and several well-behaved reptiles. Sheâs grateful to have found her passion writing stories with happy endings. Michelle loves to hear from her readers at www.michellemajor.com.
Prologue
Keaton Whitfield watched the snow fall outside the front window of his motherâs cozy flat on the edge of London. The fluffy flakes, cast in a golden hue thanks to the streetlight, floated down for only a few minutes before the night sky cleared again.
âI canât remember the last time it snowed on Christmas,â his mother said, coming to stand beside him. âItâs good luck.â
Keaton wrapped an arm around his mum, pulling her in for a quick hug. She was several inches shorter than his own six foot two and her dark hair was liberally streaked with gray, but she still had the same comforting scent of lavender that he always associated with her. âEverything is good luck to you.â He dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
âYou are my best bit of luck,â she answered and turned to face him. âIâm so glad you chose to spend Christmas with us this year, Keaton.â
âI wouldnât want to be anywhere else, Mum.â He thought for a moment of his own empty flat across town. It had been almost two years since heâd headed up the renovation of the building he lived in near the center of the city. His apartment was spacious and new, boasting a state-of-the-art design that had led one London magazine to name Keaton the heir apparent to one of the UKâs most famous architects, Lord Foster.
But as much as Keaton appreciated the style and amenities of his posh apartment, heâd spent each of the past thirty-three holidays with his mother, having Christmas dinner around the slightly shabby oak table in the house where heâd been raised. Keaton might have earned the finer things in life through his success, but heâd always appreciate where he came from and the woman who sacrificed so much to make sure he had a good life.
âYet youâre still set on leaving me?â she asked, a small catch to her voice.
He turned and glanced down, hating the worry his mother couldnât quite hide from her gentle blue eyes. Anita Whitfield still wore her hair in the same simple bob sheâd had since Keaton was a lad. Delicate lines fanned out from the corners of her eyes, and her mouth pulled down on either side before she forced it into a smile.