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“You know Charles Bernardi?” he asked, incredulous. There was no way she could be traveling in the same social circle as Louisville’s foremost businessman and rumored billionaire.
She shook her head. “Oh, gosh, no. At least, I didn’t until a few minutes ago. But he’s very easy to talk to.”
Now Wheeler squeezed his eyes shut. His temp had been out there chatting up Charles Bernardi? Oh, great. So much for hoping for that account.
“Anyway,” she said, “he wants to talk to you. You were recommended by the owner of Windsor Deli, who just happens to be Mr. Bernardi’s daughter.”
“No way,” Wheeler said.
She nodded, smiling. “Big way. So you might want to take the call.”
She didn’t have to tell him twice. Wheeler fairly leaped from his seat and snatched up the telephone.
Twenty minutes later, he had made an appointment to offer a presentation to the biggest employer in town, one that, should he land the account—and even after only twenty minutes on the phone with Charles Bernardi, he was fairly confident he would land the account—would pull his business right up from the bottom of the heap.
And for some reason, all he could think was that Miss Finnegan was somehow partly responsible. He had no idea why such an idea had landed in his head, but it was a feeling he just couldn’t shake. Funny, but ever since he’d taken her on last week, he’d gradually begun to pull out of his slump. He’d had a couple of very good ideas, had signed a handful of new accounts and looked to be this close to closing another, one that would be an absolute lifesaver. Or, at least, a business saver. This was definitely the beginning of good things for Wheeler.
Huh. How about that? he thought. Miss Audrey Finnegan, with all her ill fortune, was turning out to be quite the good-luck charm for him.
Wheeler smiled at the thought. Nah. That was going a bit too far. There was no way a woman like that, with whom bad luck walked hand in hand, could ever be a lucky talisman for anyone. Still, the morning’s events called for a celebration of sorts. So he rose and made his way to the outer office, where he found his secretary muttering something that sounded marginally profane under her breath at the computer.
“Miss Finnegan,” he said.
She jumped at the sound of his voice, spinning around so quickly in her chair that she almost tumbled right out of it. Thankfully, at the last minute, she grabbed the side of her desk and managed—just barely—to stay seated.
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