“You must be Miss Henley.”
“Good God, did you just bow?” she asked good-naturedly, going to her desk and setting her bag in its usual spot.
The kid winced. “Sorry. I’ve just heard a lot about you. I’m sort of in awe.”
“Good things, I hope,” she murmured, her gaze skimming over her desk, relieved to see it was every bit as tidy as when she’d left. “Christian, right?”
He extended a hand. “Christian Loubin.”
She blinked. “As in . . . ?”
“Yeah. I know. It’s close to the designer. My dad had no idea; my mom definitely did. He finally caught on and gave her a pair of Christian Louboutins for my first birthday.”
“What’d you get?”
“My first taste of chocolate. I maintain I got the better end of the deal.”
“Totally,” Kate agreed, frowning when she saw him picking up his mug and bag. “What are you doing?”
“You’re back now. I thought . . .”
“What, that I’d make you sit on the floor? Stay. Actually . . .” She pointed at the computer. “Since you’re already logged in, let’s write an email to Tim in facilities and see about getting another desk up here.”
“Up . . . here? A second desk, just for the day?”
She crossed her arms and leaned against the desk. “Do you like it here?”
He nodded as he pulled his chair back in and brought up a new message. “I do. It’s fast-paced, but I love that. And I thought it’d be overwhelming to support three directors, and it can be, but they’re fair.”
“Yeah, they’re great.”
They also liked Christian. She’d texted with Ian and Matt over the weekend, and though they’d made it very clear they couldn’t wait to have her back, they’d also reassured her that the new guy had held down the fort quite well.
“Who’s your favorite?”
His already wide eyes went even bigger, and she laughed. “Kidding. We don’t know each other well enough for that.”
“Who’s your favorite?” he asked, surprising her.
“Oh, you know,” she said with a wave of her hand. “They’re like my brothers, which means I love them and hate them with equal intensity depending on the time of day.” She didn’t add that for one of the guys, the sentiment was only half-true. She had loved and hated Kennedy with intensity over the years, but she could safely say that he had never, ever felt like a brother.
Especially not now.
“You know what time he gets in?” Kate asked.
“Which one?”
Kate froze, then smiled to recover. “Sorry. All of them.”
Christian clicked open the calendar. “Average day for all of them. Should be any minute.” He looked over at her, then looked away. “Hey, I know we just met, but I’m sorry to hear about your loss.”
Kate forced a smile. Loss was such an insignificant word, but she appreciated the sentiment. “Thank you.” Desperate to change the subject, lest the tears start coming before her day even began, Kate leaned down to look at the screen. “Is there any time they’re all available today?”
“Let’s see . . . They’ve all got a gap at eleven.”
“Perfect. Can you put me on their calendars?”
“Sure thing. Whose office?”
“Matt’s. It’s the biggest.”
“Really?” Christian said as he typed. “I actually thought Kennedy’s had the most space.”
It did. But it was also Kennedy’s turf. And if Kate had any hope of surviving this day without a breakdown, she needed to keep as much emotional distance from Kennedy Dawson as possible.
“Have I mentioned it’s good to have you back?” Ian said, scooping Kate up off the floor, her flats dangling at about his shins.
“About ten times,” she said, patting his head. “Now put me down.”
“Or what?”
She kicked his shin in response, and he grunted, setting her back on her feet. “Fair enough.”
“I’m damn glad you’re back, too, but I have to give the new kid credit,” Matt said around a mouthful of potato chips that were apparently his prelunch. “He managed to keep my calendar in order. No easy task.”
“Understatement,” Kate said, glancing at her phone for the time. “Is Kennedy joining or what?”
“Or what? I’m thirty seconds early.”
She ordered herself not to tense up at the sound of his voice, and though she was pretty sure she succeeded, there was nothing she could do about her quickened heartbeat or slightly sweaty palms.
Kate forced herself to paste on the same bright smile she’d given the other guys. “Hey! Long time no see!”
His eyebrows went up. Really?
Kate looked away from his silent challenge.
“Good to have you back,” Kennedy replied.
Kate risked another glance his way. She’d been expecting sarcasm—or more likely irritation—at the fact that she hadn’t returned a single one of his texts. Instead, his tone was casual but genuine. Not quite indifferent, but he also hardly looked like a man who’d been losing sleep over her radio silence.
Had he even noticed?
“So what’s up?” Matt said, gesturing for Kate to sit in one of his two guest chairs. She did, mostly because Ian and Kennedy towered above her whether she was sitting or standing. Might as well be comfortable.
“So, Christian,” she said. “You guys said he’s been great.”
“Sure,” Matt said with a quick glance over at Ian, then Kennedy.
“Good. Facilities is coming up this afternoon to install a new desk for him.”
“Uh. What?”
“There’s plenty of room,” she said. “The space is meant to fit desks for three people.”
“I don’t think the space is the question,” Ian said slowly. “And I’ll preface this by saying we’ll support whatever you want, whatever you need, but do you plan on Christian sticking around for longer than a day or two of transition?”
Kate had expected this to be harder, but with the moment upon her, she felt more confident than ever that she was making the right decision. Still, she chose her words carefully. “You know I love working here. For all of you. It’s been the biggest part of my life for so long, and I wouldn’t change a single thing about the past few years.”
“But?” Matt asked.
“But,” she continued, increasingly aware that Kennedy hadn’t said a word since she started talking but not brave enough to glance his way. “It’s a lot. Working for all three of you. Three schedules, three sets of clients, three inboxes, three sets of demands. Plus being the point person for many of the other admins.”
“It’s too much,” Ian said quietly. Not a question. “It would be for anyone.”
Kate glanced at him in relief. “It’s more than I want right now. I can’t stress how much I’ve loved it, but losing Dad . . .” She looked down at her hands and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Life is so short. You think you have time to do all of the things, and then—”
“What sorts of things?” Kennedy asked, speaking up for the first time.
“What?” She glanced at him and found him watching her with an unreadable mask.
“You want to work less so you have more time to do other things. I was just curious what sorts of things.”
“Oh. Right. I don’t really know,” she said, tearing her gaze away. “I’ve just realized that for the past six years, I’ve had sort of a single-minded focus on work.”
And you, she thought, deliberately not glancing at Kennedy.
But how did you tell someone—even friends—that you’d realized it was time to stop caring so much about a few things and instead wanted to care a little about a lot of things? That way, if fate rolled the dice to take one of those things away from you, it wouldn’t hurt so damn badly.
“I think maybe it’s time to develop some hobbies,” she added. “Or, I don’t know, work out. Yoga? Barre?”
“What the hell is barr
e?” Matt asked.
“A ballet-based workout,” Ian explained. “They have classes, lots of stretching and balance. You get toned as shit.”
All three of them stared at him.
Ian shrugged. “Lara does it. It’s made her ass absolutely—” He cleared his throat. “Anyway.”
“Gross,” Kate said. “But yeah, I’d forgotten Lara did barre. Maybe I’ll tag along to her next class.”
“Okay, I’m loving this plan,” Matt said, sitting forward and folding his hands on his desk. “Just tell us what you need from us. You want to cut back? Part-time? Hire Christian as your assistant and have you delegate?”
“I thought about both of those, and they could work, but everything around here happens so fast. By the time I figured out what to delegate to Christian and got an extra few minutes to fill him in on the details, it’d probably already be too late. What makes me so good at my job—and yes, I know I am, thank you very much—is that I know everything that’s going on in every area of your lives. I’m good at managing your calendars, because I know when your individual clients are going through a divorce or when one of you is hungover. I’m good with reservations, because I know that if I booked you at Keens on Tuesday, I shouldn’t send you to Wolfgang’s on Wednesday. Too much steak.”
“No such thing,” Kennedy said.
“Well, whatever. The point is, I can’t be a partial assistant for all three of you.” She took a breath and held it just for a second. “I need to be a full assistant to two of you.”
Nobody spoke for a full thirty seconds.
Ian finally broke the silence. “Wait. Are you firing one of us?”
She nodded. “I am.”
“Who?” Matt demanded.
“It shouldn’t matter,” she pointed out. “You guys all said Christian is great.”
“He is. But he’s no you.”
“That’s nice,” she said, reaching out and patting Matt’s hand. “But buttering me up won’t make a difference.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not going to decide. You guys are.”
Ian nodded approvingly. “Classic Monica move.”
“What?” Kennedy asked.
“From Friends. Monica didn’t want to choose between Phoebe or Rachel as her maid of honor, so she had them decide.”
“Kennedy’s never watched it,” Kate said.
“I have, too. Just not as much as Ian, apparently. And by the way, Ian, I distinctly remember a time when you didn’t know what barre was and didn’t know Penelope and Rachel by name.”
“Phoebe,” Matt corrected.
“You too? Is this what marriage does to a man?” Kennedy asked.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll never know,” Kate said sweetly. “I’m sure you and your placid wife will only watch documentaries.”
“Hey, you like documentaries.”
“I do. I also like Friends.”
“Forget Friends,” Matt said. “This situation is more like Sophie’s Choice. You can’t seriously expect one of us to give you up?”
“It’s not easy for me, either,” Kate said softly, looking at all three of them, careful not to let her gaze linger on Kennedy. “And know that however it works out, I’ll still be in all three of your lives. We’ll still all be friends. One of you will just go to Christian when you need a dinner reservation or new ink for your overpriced pen, and so on.”
“All right. We can handle this,” Ian said. “We’ll do it randomly. Coin toss.”
“That works,” Matt said. “You got a coin?”
“No. Get one out of your desk.”
“You think I keep coins in my desk?” Matt asked incredulously. “Do I also go to the saloon and get weirdly possessive of my horse?”
“Whatever. Kennedy?”
“I literally can’t remember the last time I touched a coin.”
“Don’t look at me,” Kate said, holding up her hands. “I may not be in the millionaire club with you guys, but I don’t use cash that often, and when I do, it’s a keep-the-change situation.”
“Fine. Rock, paper, scissors,” Ian said, already bringing his hands into position. “Loser gets Christian.”
“That’s a two-person game. What about the guy who doesn’t play?” Matt asked.
“Guess he wins by default, just by staying out of the ring.” Ian paused. “Something I did not think through before I did this,” he said, glancing down at his hands.
“I’ll do it,” Kennedy said.
Ian turned toward Kennedy with his rock, paper, scissors stance still armed and ready. “Brave man. I’m sort of a pro at this. Best out of three?”
“No. I mean, I’ll take Christian.”
Ian’s fist ceased its amped-up let’s do this pounding against his palm, but other than that, he didn’t move. Or speak. Neither did Matt.
Kate stared straight ahead, trying not to feel stung and failing miserably, because it hurt. Truth be told, she had been pretty sure it’d come down to a coin toss or some sort of game of chance. Not necessarily because she thought she was that great of an assistant but because she’d been pretty sure none of them would have wanted to hurt her feelings by willingly choosing Christian over her.
She’d been wrong.
“All right, then,” she said, slapping her palms against her thighs and scooting toward the edge of her chair. “Guess that’s that. Matt and Ian, you guys are still stuck with me.”
“Happy to be,” Ian said, putting a hand on her shoulder. It lingered just a little longer than necessary, and Kate recognized it for what it was. A show of sympathy. Comfort.
He knows, Kate realized. He knew about her kissing Kennedy on the boat. For a half second she felt embarrassed, but she forced herself to shove it aside. Ian was her friend. He wouldn’t judge.
And besides, it didn’t matter. Kate didn’t feel that way anymore. Wouldn’t.
If nothing else, this was proof that their getting involved was a thoroughly awful idea. If it hurt this badly when Kennedy chose another assistant, how would it feel when he chose another woman?
Kate stood. “Do one of you want to initiate the conversation with HR or should I? We’ll need to start the process of making Christian an official offer as an employee. I’m assuming he’s a temp now?”
“I think so?” Matt said, glancing at the other guys, who shrugged.
“I’ll take care of it,” she said, grateful to have something to do.
She headed toward the door, not expecting Kennedy to say a damn word. And she was right. She was already through the doorway when she heard Ian’s low rumble. “I hope you know what the hell you’re doing, man.”
Kate walked away without hearing Kennedy’s response, telling herself with each step that she didn’t care just how easily he’d tossed her aside.
21
Saturday, May 18
If there were a limit on how much time one could, or should, spend on Pinterest looking at penis paraphernalia, Kate hadn’t reached it yet. People were just so dang creative!
Lara had been pretty adamant about not wanting a traditional bachelorette party but had been coaxed into what Sabrina had called a “slutty slumber party” next weekend with the three of them and Lara’s friend Gabby. Sabrina was in charge of entertainment, Kate in charge of food.
She took a sip of her wine and scribbled bologna onto her shopping list. Not exactly her or Lara’s favorite food, but if they weren’t allowed to have a stripper, Kate was making damn sure they’d have phallic-shaped food.
She clicked on the next picture and nearly spit out her wine. “Oh, I’ve got to try this,” she muttered to herself.
Kate went to the kitchen, dug around for wooden skewers she had from a barbecue last summer, and found grapes in the fridge.
Less than a minute later, she held up her creation. “Perfect.”
The old-school phone by her front door rang, and she jumped. The awful thing rang only when someone was at the front door downstairs, and that happene
d only when it was a wrong number. That was the thing about having super-well-off friends—it almost always made more sense to meet at one of their places.
“Hello?”
Silence greeted her. Kate hung up with a shrug. Someone had probably figured out their mistake and—
The knock at the door made her jump for the second time, and she made a mental note that maybe she should invite people over more often, so she didn’t react like a total recluse when someone did stop by.
She checked her peephole, expecting Sabrina or Lara or a lost pizza guy, and saw . . .
Kennedy.
Even as her hand reached for the doorknob, she hesitated. The only other time she’d seen Kennedy Dawson standing on the other side of her door had been the morning she’d learned her dad died.
Kate opened the door, noting first that he was dressed in a dark-gray suit, even though it was early on a Saturday evening. He was carrying a garment bag in one hand, a bottle of champagne in the other. Fancy champagne, the kind that came in a box, not the Prosecco that was her go-to.
Kate was suddenly uncomfortably aware that her staying-in ensemble of choice was not exactly hostess material. It was unseasonably hot for mid-May, so she was wearing ancient (and rather tiny) shorts and a tank top that she’d gotten at . . . Old Navy? H&M?
Couture, it was not.
“Um, hi?” she said.
He nodded. “Hello.”
She waited for more, but he said nothing. Kate rolled her eyes. “You can’t show up at your employee’s apartment on a weekend, unannounced, dressed like that, and simply say, ‘Hello.’”
“Dressed like what?” he asked, glancing down at his suit.
“Please tell me you own jeans.” It was an honest question. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him in jeans.
“Probably. Maybe. I’m not sure. Can I come in?”
“Sure,” she said, her curiosity getting the best of her. “What’s with the bag?”
He looked down at the black garment bag, then back at her. “It’s for you. But seeing you in those, I’m having second thoughts.”
Kate blinked rapidly. “You . . . brought me clothes? And what do you mean, ‘seeing me in those’? Seeing me in what?”
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