“Dave’s called three times,” she said, handing a sheet of paper to Ian. “He broke his TV. Again. Needs a replacement before ‘the big one,’ his words.”
Kennedy smiled. Dave was Ian’s rough-around-the-edges foster father who, while never having raised a hand to Ian, had a bad habit of losing his temper in the middle of whatever sporting event was currently on in front of him and breaking the television with a various arsenal of projectiles. Beer bottles, a basketball, the remote. Ian replaced each and every flat-screen with an ever bigger, improved model without question. To Ian’s thinking, it was a small price to pay for Dave being the only man who’d given a troublemaking orphan even a hint of stability.
Ian sighed and took the paper. “I wonder if they have subscription models for televisions. You know, where Best Buy or some company can auto-replenish every month.”
“I’ll look into it,” Kate said.
“I was kidding.”
“I’ll look into it,” she repeated, handing a message to Matt. “Felicia called. Apparently, your mother’s refusing to let her join her book club.”
“Wait, my mom isn’t keen on my dad’s mistress joining her book club? That’s weird. What’s this?” Matt asked as Kate handed him another piece of paper.
She tapped a finger against the top of the paper. “A different book club. Carol Madigan is Joe’s sister-in-law. She lives fifteen minutes from Felicia, and they’ve got a book club dedicated mostly to Scottish romance novels. I think she’ll love it.”
“Scottish romance novels,” Jack said, looking a little in awe of Kate. “That’s a thing?”
“Definitely. Men in kilts? Delightful,” Kate said without looking up as she handed a piece of paper to Kennedy. “Claudia called. Said to remind you not to forget to keep Saturday afternoon open.”
Damn. He was drawing a blank. “Remind me?”
“Her parents are back in town from Paris.”
Kennedy groaned and closed his eyes. “Any chance I can get out of it?”
“No.”
His eyes popped open in surprise, because the answer came not just from Kate but from the three guys as well.
“Seriously?” Kennedy asked. “This from you clowns? Ian, you once literally climbed a hedge to escape a woman you’d slept with. Matt, you took a city bus to avoid someone you thought you might have slept with. And Jack, don’t even get me started with you and Carly Booker—”
“That was in the eleventh grade!” his brother protested.
“Point is, don’t you think two months into the relationship is a little soon for the meet-the-parents?”
“She’s met yours,” Kate pointed out.
“Mine live uptown, and Claudia insisted. Hers have retired to eight different houses across Europe.”
Kate shrugged. “Knickerbocker Hotel, three p.m. Saturday.”
“Where?”
“It’s on 42nd and Broadway.”
This time, Kennedy’s groan was even more heartfelt. “Midtown?”
“Wait, now hold on,” Jack said, holding his chin and narrowing his eyes in a thinking face. “I always thought that Fitz was the baby of the family, but hearing you whine like that . . .”
Kennedy shot his brother the finger.
“Lovely,” Kate said. “I’ll leave you boys to whatever this is.” She made a circling gesture at the four of them. “I’m heading out for the day. Alison from Fourth is manning my phone till five, but I’ll keep an eye on email. Don’t call my cell unless there’s blood.”
Kennedy, Ian, and Matt exchanged surprised looks. They had no issue with Kate making her own schedule, but leaving before five—hell, before seven—was unusual.
“Hot date?” Ian asked, his tone playful.
“Well . . .” She folded her hands in front of her. “It’s been brought to my attention that I don’t have much of a life outside the office aside from my friendships with Lara and Sabrina, and I’m not sure that even counts, since they’re crazy enough to marry my bosses.”
“Who said you didn’t have a life?” Jack asked.
Kennedy flinched, still regretting his careless words from the other evening. He kept meaning to apologize, but the moment never seemed quite right.
His brother saw his reaction and smirked. “Ah. All caught up.”
“Anyway,” Kate said primly, “I’ve decided to take a me day. Well, a me afternoon.”
“A what now?” Matt asked.
“I’m going to The Plaza for a glass of champagne, then shopping at Bergdorf, then getting my hair done.” She counted on her fingers, and Kennedy knew she had the time at each stop planned down to the minute.
“Spontaneous,” Matt teased.
“Baby steps,” she said lightly, though Kennedy could have sworn he noticed the slightest pause, as though Matt’s teasing had struck a nerve.
“Remember,” she said, pointing around the room. “Tell Allison if you need anything. Only call me if one of you kills the other, and there’s blood to clean up.”
“Out of curiosity, who do you think would be the offed and who would be the offer?” Matt asked.
“You three, dead,” she said, pointing to Jack, Matt, and Ian. “Him, guilty.” She pointed at Kennedy.
“Hey,” he said, affronted. “Why am I the serial killer?”
She shrugged. “You’re so pent-up all of the time. I figure it has to eventually come out, and when it does, it’ll be in a big way.” Then Kate turned on her heel and swiftly left his office.
Kennedy just stared after her.
“She has a point,” Jack said. “You’re very—”
“Shut up,” Kennedy muttered. “Just shut up.”
5
Thursday, March 28
“So what are we thinking? Just a trim or . . . ?”
The way the chic platinum-haired stylist picked up a lock of Kate’s hair and then let it fall limply back to Kate’s shoulder said it all. She needed more than a trim, and not because her hair was particularly damaged. She didn’t color it, and she didn’t have the time, inclination, or know-how to properly wield a curling iron or blow-dryer to make it look better than how it was:
Blah.
Her hair was blah.
In fact . . . Kate gave herself a critical once-over in the salon mirror. Everything about her was blah. Blah blue sweater that was neither pastel nor bright but just sort of a medium blue that was—wait for it—blah. Same went for the black slacks, the brown eyeliner—Hold up. Kate looked closer. Nope, she’d forgotten the eyeliner today.
Her fingers itched to text Sabrina or Lara. What were girlfriends for if not moral support when undertaking a mini makeover? But she’d stubbornly left her phone in her bag. She couldn’t explain why, but she needed to do this by herself, for herself. Lara and Sabrina, because they were the best of friends, armed with the best of intentions, would probably tell Kate that she was perfect just the way she was. That she didn’t need the eyeliner, the haircut, or a wardrobe refresh.
But Kate already knew all of that. Of course she didn’t need any of that. Of course she wasn’t lesser just because she wasn’t glamorous. Kate knew who she was, and she liked who she was, even if Kennedy Freaking Dawson had dismissed her as hardly irresistible.