His head fell forward. “Oh fuck.”
“Thought so,” Ian said sympathetically. “But for what it’s worth, it worked, right? You’ve steered clear of her.”
“Of course.” Kennedy sat back and stretched out his legs. “As have you.”
Ian smiled. “I always wondered if that was part of it—if that pact was not only to remind yourself but to make sure you didn’t have to watch Matt or me make a move.”
“You make it sound like I’ve been obsessed with the woman. I’m not Matt, panting after Sabrina.”
“No,” Ian said slowly. “That was a different thing altogether. And yet . . .”
“And yet what?”
Ian held up his hands. “And yet here we are in my office, talking about Kate and that pact when we should be working. Help me understand why.”
Kennedy glared at him in response.
“Or not,” Ian said. “But if you’re not going to explain what’s got you all worked up, at least let me get back to—”
“I can’t stop thinking about her,” Kennedy blurted out. “I can’t stop thinking about Kate. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Ian blew out a long breath. “Not really, no.”
“Because of Claudia? I’m breaking up with her.”
“Because of a lot of reasons,” Ian replied. “Look, the pact may have been your idea, but it wasn’t a bad one. I mean, it’s Kate. We can’t go messing with her.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Kennedy said, standing up and pacing again. “You think I want . . . whatever this is?”
“All right. So what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know. Get over it.”
“I think you have to. Your window closed.”
“I never even had a window,” Kennedy groused. Ian looked away quickly, and Kennedy halted his pacing at the telling gesture. “Did I?”
Ian started to pick up his desk phone, but Kennedy reached out and slammed it down. “Hell no. Who are you calling?”
“Matt. I always envisioned having backup for this moment.”
“What moment? What am I missing?”
Ian looked at him steadily, then shook his head. “You sure I can’t bring Matt in here for moral support?”
“Ian, did I have a goddamn window?”
His friend must have heard the silent plea beneath the outburst. “All right. Fine. Yes. Kate’s had a thing for you.”
Kennedy swallowed. He swallowed again. It didn’t help. His mouth was completely dry.
“She’s been, like, halfway in love with you for years. You really didn’t know?”
Kennedy shook his head. No. Hell no, he didn’t know. “She told you that?”
“Well, no,” Ian admitted. “I don’t know that she’s told anyone. Maybe the girls. But it’s obvious, man. She looks at you for too long.”
“Because she’s glaring at me.”
“And why do you think that is?” Ian asked. “It’s because she likes you, probably against her better judgment—no, definitely against her better judgment—and you made a pact never to date her.”
Hope flared, even as Kennedy shook his head. “No. That doesn’t even make sense. Kate’s a straight shooter. She would have told me.”
“She’d have told a guy she works for, who’s been nothing but cold to her, that she’s in love with him?” Ian asked doubtfully. “She’s forthright, not a fool.”
“I haven’t been cold.” But . . . he had. He kept Kate at arm’s length in every way he possibly could, telling himself it was because she seemed averse to him, but what if they’d just been circling each other?
Needing time to think, Kennedy walked to the door.
“What are you going to do?” Ian asked.
“I don’t know. At the very least, I need to let Claudia find someone who’s not thinking about another woman constantly.”
“And what about that other woman?” Ian said.
Kennedy sighed as his hand found the doorknob. “You said my window with Kate closed. When?”
Ian took his time responding. “I don’t know. A long time ago. Early on, her breath would catch every time you walked by, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. And then it just . . . stopped. I thought maybe the window might have opened again with the MBA thing, but for reasons I still don’t understand, you put that all on me.”
“I didn’t want her to know.”
“Why the hell not?” Ian said, exasperated.
“Because what if she’d said no?” Kennedy shouted before he could think to filter the words. “What if she’d said no and rejected it?” Rejected me?
“Why would she have done that?” Ian asked, his voice quiet.
Kennedy shrugged. It sounded irrational now that it was out there, but there was no more dodging the fact that he cared about Kate. Had maybe cared about Kate for a very long time and was terrified about what that meant.
Still, Kennedy forced himself to look Ian straight in the eye and ask the question he didn’t want the answer to. “Does she still?”
“Still what?”
“Care about me,” Kennedy said, forcing the vulnerable words out.
“Sure,” Ian said carefully. “She cares about all of us.”
“Don’t,” Kennedy said sharply. “I mean . . . does she . . . ?”
“No, dude,” Ian said, his tone kind as he delivered the blow. “She’s moved on. And I’m pretty sure she’s got a thing for your brother.”
14
Monday, April 15
Kate had just shoved a mouthful of turkey club in her mouth when the flowers arrived.
Her morning gyno appointment had put her behind on nearly everything, and it was close to two by the time she managed to find a moment to shovel in lunch at her desk.
Cheeks still full, she waved thanks at the delivery guy. She dug around in the enormous bouquet of yellow roses for the card. Working for three dudes, flowers weren’t a particularly common delivery around here. Usually the guys received booze, gourmet gift baskets of pears, or meat-of-the-month-club type stuff. But every now and then some vendor sent an obscene flower display with the hope of getting noticed and remembered the next time Wolfe was in the market for new software or office decor.
She found the card and pulled it out, muttering a curse as a thorn grazed the side of her thumb. Kate stopped chewing for a moment when she saw the name on the card. Kate Winslet.
She swallowed, then smiled, already knowing who the flowers were from.
Jack.
She was both pleased and . . . a little surprised.
She hadn’t really known what to think after their date Saturday. The dinner? Excellent. The opera? Fabulous. Maybe not something she was dying to do again, but she’d thrilled in the novelty of it, even if that particular art form wasn’t her passion.
The kiss, though—yes, she’d kissed Jack Dawson—had been fine.
That’s it. Just . . . fine.
She pulled the card out of the envelope.
Dinner this weekend?
Huh.
She flicked the card thoughtfully, trying to figure out how she felt about the fact that Jack was still interested, though she could have sworn he’d found their first kiss a little meh as well.
Kate reached for her cell phone, intending to ask Lara and Sabrina for their opinion on her next move, when she saw Kennedy headed her way. He looked as though he wanted to continue to his office, but at the last minute he detoured to her desk, his eyes on the bouquet.
“Hey!” she said. “How was your lunch with Claudia?”
“I’ve had better.” He nodded at the flowers. “What’s the story there?”
She hesitated only a moment before handing him the card. Instead of taking it, he snagged her wrist.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Oh. Yeah. Hazard of roses.” She smiled, but he didn’t smile back, his eyes on the thin line of red running along her thumb.
He looked up. “You got a Band
-Aid?”
“There’s a first aid box in the kitchen, but it’s fine. A Band-Aid will annoy me.” She forced herself to take steady breaths, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the way her body seemed to come alive at his touch.
He looked back at her hand, finally registering the card it was holding. His gaze darkened slightly, and she knew he knew who it was from. Kennedy’s fingers moved, as though to release her, then they lingered, the pad of his thumb resting against the delicate skin of her inner wrist.
Her breath caught, and she watched his face for any sign that he registered her pulse was moving far too fast.
“So the opera was a success.”
“I liked it.”
“Liked, not loved?”
“Well, it was no ballet,” she said with a smile.
“Ah yes. The appeal of a first love.”
“Nothing like it.”
Their gazes locked and held, and Kate became uncomfortably aware that they were in the middle of the office, with her boss basically holding her hand. Only he wasn’t just her boss, he was also her sort-of-boyfriend’s brother. To say nothing of the fact that he had Claudia . . .
Kate tried to jerk her hand away. His fingers tightened for just a moment as though reluctant to let her go. Then he released her, his hand falling to his side.
“So lunch was no good, huh? Where’d you go? I’ll cross it off my list.”
“I forget the name. Some French bistro. Claudia picked it.”
Kate studied him. It wasn’t like Kennedy to forget the name of anything.
“Bad food?”
“No, the food was fine.”
“Okay, but you said you’d had better . . .”
He scratched his forehead and looked tired. “Let’s just say I prefer meals where I’m not delivering the it’s not you, it’s me speech.”
Her eyes went wide. “You and Claudia broke up?”
He shrugged.
“What happened? When the four of us had dinner, you seemed . . .”
His eyebrows lifted. “Yes? How did we seem?”
“I don’t know. Content, I guess. Well suited.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Is there a jab in there somewhere?”
“No,” she snapped, irritated. “I said you were content. Isn’t that all you want out of life?”
He stepped forward. “No, Kate. That’s not all I want out of life.”
“Well, whatever,” she said, feeing slightly breathless at the intensity on his face. “I’m sorry to hear it didn’t work out with Claudia. Was she upset?”
“More surprised, I think,” he said, staring absently down at the flowers.
“Well, it does seem like it came up suddenly. What changed?”
His gaze flicked to hers just as her desk phone rang. She let it ring once, twice, giving him a chance to answer. When he didn’t, she picked up the receiver. “Wolfe Investments, this is Kate.”
It was Sylvia Reid, one of Matt’s more high-maintenance clients, who couldn’t—or didn’t want to—grasp the fact that Matt was currently in a meeting with someone else. By the time Kate wrapped up the phone call, all but signing away her firstborn on the promise that yes, Matt would call her back as soon as possible, Kennedy had walked away, his office door closed.
Fine. It was just as well. He was in a weird mood, and she wasn’t at all sure she had the emotional energy to deal with it. And then the phone started ringing off the hook, and she literally didn’t have time to deal with it.
An hour or so later, Sabrina came sauntering into the office, all long legs, five-inch heels, and a tight-fitting gray dress that would have been forgettable on Kate but showed off Sabrina’s feminine figure to perfection.
Sabrina carried two Starbucks cups and handed one to Kate, which she took in surprise. “Isn’t this for Matt?”
“He can get his own. Plus, I’ve spent enough time in this office to know you need it more,” Sabrina said, running a finger along one of the yellow rosebuds. “Pretty. Yours?”
“Yeah, Jack sent them.” Kate took a sip of the coffee. It was an iced caramel macchiato and beyond delicious.
“Hmm,” Sabrina said thoughtfully, rubbing a petal between her fingers.
“What hmm?”
Sabrina took a sip of her coffee. “How was the opera?”
“I liked it. I mean, I’ll be honest, some of the arias, or whatever, got a little monotonous—”
“I’ll rephrase,” Sabrina interrupted. “How was the opera with Jack? How was the date itself?”
“It was nice.”
“Yeah,” Sabrina said a little sadly. “I thought so.”
“What? I said it was nice!”
“Okay, but let’s pause for a second and imagine Jack in his office right now.”
Kate merely looked at her.
Sabrina snapped her fingers in Kate’s face. “Close your eyes! Picture it.”
Kate rolled her eyes first, but then did as her friend ordered, closing her eyes and trying to imagine Jack at this very instant. It took her a second to call his face to mind. She realized she hadn’t given much thought to Jack unless he was in the same room.
“Now,” Sabrina said, “imagine one of his coworkers stops by his desk and asks about his weekend. ‘How was your date?’ And Jack says, ‘It was nice.’”
Kate winced as she saw the point her friend was making.
A nice date was barely a date at all. Not one that mattered. Nice sounded tired. Apathetic. Even worse, it sounded like something Kennedy would say about one of his dates.
Which reminded her . . .
“Kennedy and Claudia broke up,” Kate blurted out as she opened her eyes.
Sabrina’s eyebrows went up. “Interesting.”
“Would you quit with that,” Kate hissed, looking around to make sure nobody could hear. “Quit acting like some sort of cryptic love Obi-Wan, and spit out whatever you’re thinking.”
“All right.” Sabrina leaned closer, lowering her voice as she pointed at the flowers. “Have you at any point ever told Jack that yellow is your favorite color or that yellow roses are your favorite flower?”
“No. I don’t think we’ve ever talked about flowers.”
Sabrina let out the tiniest sigh. “I figured as much. Yellow roses signify friendship, babe. Generally speaking, they are not the romantic choice. Which I wouldn’t even be telling you, because I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings. But then I asked about the opera, and you told me about stupid arias, not about Jack himself, not about the kiss—”
“How did you know we kissed?”
Sabrina grinned around her green straw. “I didn’t. Now I do. Just like how I know it was blah.”
“Okay, seriously. The know-it-all thing is really annoying.”
“Tell me I’m wrong about any of it,” Sabrina said.
Kate picked up a pad of Post-it Notes and ran her thumb across it, fanning the pages as she looked at the flowers and considered Sabrina’s assessment. “Okay, fine.” She tossed the pad aside. “I do know that yellow roses usually are intended to signify friendship. I’ve practically made a career out of ordering flowers on behalf of the guys. Thank-you flowers, celebration flowers, sympathy flowers, romantic flowers . . . But I hardly think that Jack or any of the guys see yellow roses and are like, ‘Oh look, friendship flowers.’”
Sabrina frowned. “Wait, back up. Who have you sent romantic flowers for? If you say Matt, I want a name. I want this woman’s name, her address—”
“Would you focus?” Kate snapped her fingers in Sabrina’s face. “You’ve got your guy. I’m trying to find mine.”
“I think the problem is you already have.”
“I thought you were just trying to tell me that Jack only sees me as a friend.”
“I wasn’t talking about Jack,” Sabrina said with a meaningful glance toward Kennedy’s office.
Kate stilled. “No.”
“And yet you told me that Kennedy and Claudia broke up before you told me that yo
u and Jack kissed. Interesting which development you seem to care about more.”
Kate sipped her drink. “I hate you.”
“I love you, too,” Sabrina said. Her tone was playful, but Kate knew her friend well enough to see the concern in Sabrina’s blue eyes.
“I’m fine,” Kate said softly. “I’m over him, remember?”
“I remember you said that.”
“Because it’s true. I’m not going to waste my time loving a guy who’ll never love me back, Sabrina. I’m holding out for the guy who doesn’t treat relationships the way he does his stock portfolio, all cautious and analytical. I want the guy who looks at me and knows how great I am. The guy who jumps all in with both feet.”
“Uh-huh. Just like you’re jumping all in?”
“Meaning what?” Kate crossed her arms.
Sabrina gestured at Kate with her Starbucks cup. “Just a couple weeks ago, you were a new woman with the hair and the makeup and the wardrobe. You’re still rocking it, by the way. The new hair is on point, that pink lipstick is amazing, and that blouse is killer.”
“I sense a but.”
“But . . . despite your sassy new look and your all-in talk, to say nothing of the fact that you are the boldest, most confident woman I know, all I see is someone who’s scared to death of facing that.” Sabrina punctuated her challenge by pointing at Kennedy’s door.
“I told you—”
“You’re over him. I heard. But you said it yourself, your loins didn’t get the message.”
Kate’s nose wrinkled. “Can we not use that word?”
“Okay. Genitals?”
“Eeew.”
“My point is, you may not be smitten with the guy anymore, Kate, but you still want him.”
“So?”
Sabrina leaned down. “So do something about it.”
“Like what?”
“Seduce him.”
Kate laughed, horrified by the thought. “Um, no. I wouldn’t even know where to start. And he’d probably laugh.”
“We’re talking about Kennedy. He’s not really a jolly kind of guy.”
“That is so reassuring.”
“Sorry. I just think that maybe if you two had some hot animal sex, you could finally be totally free to move on. Heart and body,” Sabrina said, pointing at Kate’s crotch.
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