The Heiress's Secret Romance. Martha Kennerson

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Gilbert Ray was Kathleen’s assistant and best friend since they were kids. He was one of two people at her office, the only one besides her boss, who knew her background and wealth.

      “What did he do now?”

      Kathleen turned and faced Gilbert. She smiled at the baby-blue suit and white dress shirt he’d paired with a blue-and-white bowtie and blue-and-white loafers. Kathleen loved the fearlessness of her friend. He always knew who he was and he never cared about what others thought about him.

      “My...my, don’t you look fabulous.”

      “Don’t I?” He glanced down at himself. “I love that green Michael Kors camouflage dress you’re rocking too.”

      “Thanks.”

      “Dish—what happened at the meeting?”

      “Just what I said—Simpson pulled the investigation into the Kingsleys and their company,” she explained.

      Gilbert gave a nonchalant wave before he took a seat in one of the round chairs that sat in front of her desk. “Girl, I don’t know why you are tripping. You know how you beautiful, rich, bougie people do stuff like that. If you want something to go away—” he used his hands to imitate making a phone call “—like on that game show, you use a lifeline and call a friend.”

      Kathleen sighed. She knew Gilbert was still upset about the way his wealthy boyfriend of nearly a year had recently ended their relationship. Kathleen sat up in her chair. “First, I know you’re still salty about what Vince did, and I hate that he made me tell you what an ass he’d been, but I couldn’t have you thinking something happened to him when he stopped returning your phone calls.”

      Gilbert smacked his lips. “I know, and I love you for it.”

      “Good. And I love you too. Second, I told you to stop calling me that and don’t lump me in with all bougie rich people.”

      “But you are...both. Rich and high-class and you know it too.” He frowned.

      “I’m a melting pot of things, and I embrace them all,” she stated matter-of-factly.

      “Okay, Miss Thing. You beautiful, long haired, high-cheekbone-having, sophisticated, successful, thick-lipped melting pot you,” he teased. “You’re certainly rich, though.”

      “Excuse me, Miss Winston. Mr. Ray, the postman just dropped off the mail.”

      Gilbert looked over his shoulder. “You see that tray on my desk with the sign that reads Mail Here? Why don’t you drop it right there?” he asked sarcastically.

      “Oh... Okay.” The young lady turned and hurried off.

      “Thank you,” Kathleen yelled after her. Her eyes bored into Gilbert. “Really?”

      “What?”

      “Why are you so rude to that young lady?”

      Gilbert shrugged. “She’s an intern.”

      “And you’re acting like a mean girl. Stop it. It’s not a good look.”

      “Fine.” Gilbert rose from his seat. “I’ll go buy the child a cookie or something. Speaking of buying things, when are you going to give me one of those black cards of yours and let me buy you some better chairs? Something nicer than these fake leather things you’re forcing your guests to endure. Better still, a whole new office set for us both.”

      “This is a government office. We have to accept the furniture they already provided us. So deal with it.”

      “At least you get to fix your office up with a few antique knickknacks and those beautiful and costly contemporary artworks that grace these ugly walls while I’m stuck out there in a world full of gray.”

      “Oh please, talk about knickknacks. Your colorful accessorized cubicle brightens up the whole floor,” Kathleen complimented him, smiling.

      “True. I do love all the colors in my rainbow flag.”

      Kathleen laughed. “That you do.”

      “What were we talking about?” He tapped his index finger against his temple. “Oh yeah, the fact that you’re rich and still hiding it.”

      “No, we were talking about what Simpson did, and my father’s rich,” she corrected.

      “So what do you call that mega trust fund you got when you turned twenty-five or what you’ll get at thirty?”

      “My father’s legacy...not mine,” Kathleen stated expressionlessly. Her cell phone rang, and she looked at the screen. “Speaking of which...”

      “You talk to him. I’m going to make a coffee run. Will you be having your usual?”

      “Yes, thanks.” Kathleen answered her phone. “Hi, Dad.”

      “Hello, Kathleen. How’s my beautiful daughter?” he asked in his native French.

      “I’m fine, Dad. How are you?” she replied in English. The phone fell silent, but she could hear background noises, so she knew what had happened. Kathleen repeated her statement and question, only this time in French.

      Kathleen’s Creole father was from the North American island of Sint Maarten. Along with her mother, the product of a Caucasian and Afro Caribbean relationship, he raised their children to speak both French and English. However, her father preferred that they converse using his native language.

      “I just want to confirm that I’ll be picking you up tonight at your sister’s place.”

      “We talked about this, Dad. I have a lot going on at work and I really can’t afford to—”

      “What? Take a little time out to celebrate your mother’s legacy and help raise money and awareness for her foundation’s mission?”

      “That’s not fair, Dad. Of course the work of our foundation is important. But so is my job. I’m helping to ensure others don’t have to go through what we did.”

      “And I’m proud of you for it too. Yet you have a responsibility to your family as well,” he reminded.

      Kathleen sighed. “Well, it looks like my workload has just lightened a bit, so yes, Dad, I’ll be there.”

      “Good. Make sure your sister is on time. You know how she can be and I hate being late,” he stated, his voice firm.

      “Yes, Dad. We know. We’ll both be ready when you get there.” Kathleen heard her boss’s voice before he appeared at her door. “Dad, I have to go. Love you, and I’ll see you later.”

      Simpson stood in the door with his hands in his pockets. “The French language is beautiful.”

      “Yes, it is,” she agreed.

      “You didn’t have to end your call on my account,” he stated as he entered the office.

      “Are СКАЧАТЬ