The Fatal Fortune Read Online Free Page A

hadn’t regretted the expense. With the blazer, she wore a narrow tan skirt that fit smoothly over her hips. She considered this portion of her anatomy a bit too well-rounded, although Zac certainly didn’t seem to mind. Zac, however, tended toward an earthy view, and his taste couldn’t be relied on when it came to matters of fashion and style.
    Guinevere frowned slightly at her image, turning her head a little to make sure the neat coffee-brown hair was still firmly knotted at the nape of her neck. Smiling at the small Camelot Services crest on her pocket, she turned and walked out of the ladies’ room—and promptly collided with the man in the corridor outside. So much for professional decorum.
    “Excuse me,” Guinevere mumbled hastily, disengaging herself and stooping quickly to pick up the file folder she had just dropped. “Very clumsy of me. They ought to put mirrors up across the hall, so that when you open the door, you know what’s coming!”
    “If I’d known who was coming out of the restroom,” the man said as he bent down to help her with the folder, “I’d have made certain I was standing exactly where I was. As it is, I guess I was just lucky. Hello, Guinevere Jones. It’s been a long time.”
    Guinevere’s fingers tightened convulsively around the folder as shock went through her. She raised her head and slowly got to her feet. There were several skills one learned when one ran a service-oriented business. One of them was how to smile even though you were recovering from stunned amazement. She called upon that skill now. “Hello, Rick. What a surprise. I had no idea you worked for Gage and Watson.”
    “For almost a year now,” Rick Overstreet answered easily. His golden-brown eyes moved over Guinevere with interested appraisal. “What are you doing here? A couple of years ago I had the impression you were planning to go into business for yourself.”
    Guinevere had forgotten just how intimate Rick’s glances could be. He had the unsettling ability to make a woman feel pinned like a butterfly beneath his gaze. Overstreet was forty by now, she figured, and he had definitely aged well. His body was still austerely lean and obviously in good shape. He wore his expensive business suit well. The thick, tawny-brown hair was laced with a hint of gray at the temples, giving him a sophisticated, male-in-his-prime look that complemented the straight nose, firm mouth, and strong jaw. His features were regular and well fashioned, strong and masculine, but it had always been his eyes that had attracted women. Rick Overstreet had the eyes of a big, tawny cat. He also had the morals of one, as far as Guinevere was concerned.
    “My business is doing fine,” she told him calmly. “But we’re a little busy at the moment, so I’m taking one of the field assignments. If you’ll excuse me, I should be moving along. Professional temps are never supposed to be late, you know. Nice to see you again, Rick.”
    He smiled lazily. “How about coffee later this morning?”
    “Thanks, but I’m probably going to have to work straight through,” she lied. “I understand the Gage and Watson typing pool is swamped this week. I’m here to help with the overload. How’s your wife?” Guinevere asked with cool bluntness.
    Rick’s smile disappeared, and he fished out a pack of cigarettes, the expensive French brand he had favored two years ago. “Elena died almost two years ago. Shortly after you and I stopped seeing each other, in fact.” He lit the cigarette with a small gold lighter.
    The news of Elena’s death jolted Guinevere. “I’m sorry, Rick. I didn’t know.”
    “It’s been two years. I don’t think about it too much anymore. She died in a car accident on her way to Portland to see her family.”
    Guinevere nodded, not knowing what to say. She had never met Elena Overstreet, hadn’t known of the woman’s existence until it was almost too late. “Well, good-bye, Rick. I really must be