Protecting the Heiress. Martha Kennerson

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       Chapter 4

      Francine walked into her office with Farrah right behind her. She now held the corner office that had once been occupied by their father. It was as large as the living room in her apartment and full of happy memories captured in the many photographs plastered on every wall between expensive works of art. The oval-shaped mahogany-wood-and-glass-topped desk that she’d designed and made herself sat in the center of the room atop a rich, earth-toned Persian rug that spoke more to Francine’s style than the desk that had previously been used by their father.

      While Francine may have hated her father’s old desk, she loved his soft leather wingback chair and matching sofa, so they both stayed. But the possession of her father’s that Francine prized the most was his massive book collection, a collection which was full of original works and first editions, along with several technical books that she reached for daily.

      “Can you believe Meeks? Making this whole new client thing about me...about my being shot?” Francine complained as she began pacing the floor of her office. “Like I’m some helpless child that needs her hand held. What, I’m suddenly too fragile to handle myself? I did my time in the shrink’s chair after the shooting, at Dad’s insistence, mind you, and I’ve had no lingering effects. I was cleared to return to work. I don’t need Meeks trying to tell me what to do, too.”

      Farrah smiled and sat quietly on the sofa.

      “I mean, it’s not like I’m not capable of handling myself,” she said, making tracks across the plush carpet. “How many times have I laid his ass out during our workouts?”

      Farrah crossed her legs and shot her sister a knowing look, and her smile grew wider.

      “Okay, maybe he did let me win,” she conceded, “but he’s not your average man, either.”

      “He’s not?” Farrah asked.

      Francine stopped midstride and glared at her sister. “Farrah, aren’t you going to say anything about his behavior?”

      “You don’t want to hear what I have to say, and you know it,” she said, crossing her arms under her breasts.

      Francine rolled her eyes to the ceiling, released a deep breath and went to join her sister on the sofa. “What am I going to do about Meeks?” Francine asked as she laid her head on her sister’s shoulder.

      “I told you what to do. Invite him up to your place for dinner and when he arrives, greet him wearing nothing but your combat boots. Channel your inner Miley...better yet, Beyoncé,” she said, laughing as she swerved her hips.

      “What?” Francine asked, trying not to laugh.

      “When’s the last time you had a little fun, anyway?” she asked.

      Francine threw her head back and laughed so hard she could barely catch her breath. Farrah had always been the wild one out of the three of them; she had inherited her adventurous spirit from their father. She was beautiful and wasn’t afraid to admit that her looks could easily get her whatever she wanted. While all three triplets were brilliant overachievers, Farrah knew the fair skin and high cheekbones they inherited from their Italian mother and the luxurious jet-black hair, straight nose and chin they got from their African-American and Hispanic father gave her a superficial advantage against which she constantly had to fight.

      “Thanks but I think I’ll pass. And my sex life is not a topic up for discussion.” Francine got up and returned to her desk. “Have you talked to Dad yet?” she asked.

      Francine took a chocolate-covered almond Hershey’s Kiss from the crystal candy dish that sat on her desk. At the same time, her sister pulled out a half-eaten candy bar from her purse and took a bite.

      “You’re still reaching for the chocolate whenever you get upset, I see,” Farrah said.

      “Right back at you,” СКАЧАТЬ