“Besides, I always work late,” she said without looking back at him.
It was true. Not so long ago, they’d all worked late. He, Matt, and Ian had rarely left the office before eight, and none of them ever left before Kate. But things changed after Ian had met Lara and decided to become a one-woman man who preferred dinner—or sex—with his fiancée to late nights in the office. One down. Then Matt had married Sabrina. Two down.
Now it was just Kate and him in the office most nights, an occurrence that was comforting and yet caused some little fissure of unease through Kennedy, and for the life of him, he couldn’t say why.
“You should at least get something to eat if you’re going to be here late.”
“I had a cheeseburger and fries at three with Ian and Matt, and we talked work, so you can spare me the lecture on extended lunch breaks during work hours.”
Kennedy was torn between wanting to smile at the tart retort and banging his head against the door because they always seemed to come to this. Arguing.
“Kate.”
“What?” Tap tap tap.
She didn’t turn around, but he waited her out, refusing to finish his sentence until she turned.
Better, he thought once her irritated gaze finally came around to meet his. Much better.
By the book, he supposed Kate would be considered plain. Her hair was usually parted down the middle or pulled back in a no-nonsense headband thing. If she wore makeup, he didn’t notice it. She was small—shorter than average, with slim shoulders and zero curves.
And yet he’d always liked looking at her. She was . . . interesting. Not that he’d tell her that. He may not have the smooth-talking charm of his friends, but even he knew not to tell a woman she was interesting-looking. But Kate was. Her eyes were wide and tilted down at the corners, just as her nose tilted slightly up in an oddly compelling combination. Her mouth was full and slightly sulky, at least when she looked at him . . .
Kennedy cleared his throat and looked away. Off-limits. Not that he was attracted to Kate. She was too damn antagonistic, too forthright, too . . . much. Not his type at all. But even if she were, she wasn’t for him. Back when he, Matt, and Ian had started at Wolfe and realized they had one hell of an assistant on their hands, they’d made a pact:
Kate Henley was off-limits on the romantic front.
The last thing they needed was for one of them to seduce her and then have it end badly, leaving them without the best executive assistant on the planet.
“What?” she said again, finally turning fully to face him.
“Ah . . .” Crap. He’d forgotten what he was going to say. He scrambled and tried to recover. “Sorry if Claudia’s been bugging you lately.”
Kate shrugged. “You already said that. She’s fine.” Hardly a ringing endorsement, but then this was Kate. She wasn’t inclined to gushing.
“What’d she want with you, anyway?”
Kate’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Maybe she just wants to be my friend.”
Kennedy tensed. He couldn’t say why the idea of Kate and his girlfriend becoming friends made him nervous, but it did. Which was irrational. Kate was friends with Ian’s fiancée, as well as Matt’s wife. Hell, Kate was going to be a bridesmaid in Ian and Lara’s wedding and had been one of only twenty people present at Matt and Sabrina’s surprise Vegas wedding just a few months earlier.
Not that Kennedy had plans to marry Claudia. It had been only two months.
He respected Kate a hell of a lot, even considered her a friend in a cautious, circle-around-each-other kind of way, but they’d always steered clear of each other’s romantic lives. And he did not, for one second, like the idea of his assistant and girlfriend gabbing about him in the conference room.
“Well, be sure she doesn’t get in the way of your work,” he said, choosing his words poorly, the way he often did around Kate.
Her eyebrows lifted. “Claudia’s not the one getting in the way of my work tonight.”
“Sorry,” he snapped. “I’m sure you had riveting plans.”
It was a low blow. He knew it even before he saw the flicker of hurt in her eyes. She whirled around, turning her back to him.
Damn it. Kennedy was known for acting with thoughtful precision in all things. Regret was not a particularly familiar or welcome feeling for him.
Apologizing was even more unfamiliar.
“Kate—”
She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a set of headphones. She punched one end into her computer, holding the earbuds out to the side, prolonging the motion so he could see them before tucking the earpieces beneath her hair.
Conversation over.
Kennedy sighed. Fair enough. He still needed to apologize, but he’d wait until tomorrow. Probably around ten a.m., when she was at peak caffeine, lowest stress, and when she smiled the most often.
Not at him, but, well, someday.
A guy could hope.
3
Thursday, March 28
Mondays were typically the most hectic, hair-pulling days at Wolfe Investments, but this week, Thursday was giving Monday a serious run for its money.
“Kate Henley,” she said, picking up her fifth call in as many minutes. “Mr. Cannon’s in a meeting right now. May I take a message or connect you to voice mail? Sure, one moment . . .
“Kate Henley . . . Mr. Bradley’s in a meeting at the moment. May I—Oh, hi, Mrs. Stilner. I’ll let him know you called.
“Kate Henley,” she said as she scribbled Mary Stilner’s name on her notepad. “Hey, Stacey. Thanks so much for getting back to me. Can I call you in a few? I’m drowning over here . . . Yep, the party’s this Saturday. Perfect, thanks so much.”
She hung up the phone, her hand hovering over the receiver for a full ten seconds, knowing that for whatever warped reason, phone calls seemed to come in bursts on days like this. When a full thirty seconds passed, Kate slowly pulled her hand away from the receiver, not wanting to jinx the fact that finally she was between bursts.
“Is it always like that?”
Kate looked up from her notepad at the interruption, her right hand never pausing in its note-taking. Then she saw the face behind the masculine voice, and her pen slowed to a halt.
The man looming above her was Kennedy but . . . not. The eyes were hazel instead of brown, the hairline slightly less square, the mouth . . . smiling?
Grinning, actually. Definitely not Kennedy.
The man extended a hand down. “I’m—”
“Jack,” she said before he could introduce himself. “You must be Jack Dawson.”
“Guilty. And just unlucky enough to be born a few years too early for my parents to realize I’d share a name with Leonardo DiCaprio’s character dying on the Titanic.”
“Leo’s character dies?” Kate asked, letting her chin wobble for just a second.
Jack’s smile dropped, and Kate laughed. “I’m kidding. I’m Kate Henley, and yes, I’ve seen the movie.” She shook his hand.
“Ah, Kate . . . as in Winslet.”
“Wow.” She let her voice take on an awed, hushed tone. “Exactly how much mileage do you typically get out of this Titanic thing?”
He gave an exaggerated wince. “Too much?”