by Jill Shalvis
So here she was, at the designated conference room on the second floor of the San Diego Mallory. All she had to do was go in and rattle off her readiness to discuss acquisition and renovation budgets, quarterly forecasts and long-term strategic planning—she’d been boning up, reading such fun and light fare as the corporation’s annual reports and tourism stats for a week now—and she’d be set.
She had no doubts. She could do this. Hell, she’d once cleaned iguana cages at the LA Zoo, with the little buggers still in residence, so really, she could do anything. As she established herself here, she’d lighten up the uptight work atmosphere if she could. And she’d keep her sense of humor firmly in place, no matter what.
In light of that, she’d wow this old Mr. Roth, wow and dazzle…whatever it took. She put her hand on the door handle and noted that her heart had picked up speed and she was feeling a little overheated. Damn the nerves she didn’t want to admit she had. Given that she’d promised herself never to let ’em see her sweat, she peeled off her jacket. Ready now, she opened the door and called out, “Honey, I’m home.” She took a step inside and…went utterly still.
Twelve men wearing conservative dark suits sitting around a huge conference table stopped talking and turned her way. One of them was her father.
Fabulous. So much for her private meeting with Weston Roth.
Silence reigned for far too long as twelve pairs of eyes stared at her. She was just contemplating how to make a safe retreat when one of the suits stood up.
“I’ll take it from here,” he said, which she resented the hell out of.
No one would take “it” from here, not if they were referring to her.
That man came forward, and gestured to the door. “Shall we?”
“Sure.” She smiled, having no idea who he was, but she could fake banalities as well as anyone. Attitude could come later in private.
He shut the door behind them while Kenna feigned a huge interest in the art on the walls, idly wondering who purchased their art. Did they go to the auctions? Private sales? In either case, no doubt they got ripped off.
The man who’d brought her out here simply watched her, she could feel his eyes boring into her back, so she turned around in order to eye him right back. His broad shoulders propping up the far wall, his long legs casually crossed, he looked for all the world as if he’d just strutted off the glossy pages of GQ magazine. Style, elegance and yes, dammit, the dreaded polish poured off him with ease. Clearly comfortable in his own skin, he smiled, and it wasn’t a particularly nice one.
Kenna’s resentment against him rose. She should have known this wasn’t going to go well when she’d seen all the dark colors in the room. She had this theory that the colors people wore indicated their openness to new ideas, their ability to change. And what had she seen in the conference room? Unimaginative colors. Blah colors. She’d been the only splash of life in the room.
“So…” He cocked his head. “Where should we begin?”
“I’m not sure we have anything to begin.” How had it come about that she’d agreed to this insanity?
Oh yeah, she’d decided she could do anything and might as well prove it to the world. Dammit, this whole mess was her own fault.
How she hated to admit that.
But one thing about growing up so quickly, about learning how to survive on her own, she’d also matured. Learned how to handle herself in just about any situation, including this one.
With a flick of his wrist, he glanced at his gold watch. “You know, you’re not actually not that far off, time-wise. I have to admit to being a bit surprised on that score.” Mr. Cool wore perfectly perfect creased dark-gray trousers and a perfectly perfect matching silk shirt that complemented his tall, leanly muscled form. Even his shoes screamed sophistication and had probably cost more than her entire wardrobe, most of which she’d picked up thanks to her Nordstrom’s discount or her favorite hobby—consignment shops. She couldn’t help it, she loved old things, particularly the glamour and style of the mid-twentieth century. Not that this man would know anything about that. He wore a pair of the latest wire-rimmed glasses, so completely in vogue she wondered if they were even prescription. Behind his lenses blazed a set of dark-blue, intelligent eyes that warned her not to underestimate him.
Actually, Kenna usually enjoyed intelligent men. She loved to talk, loved to debate, but in her world—correction, her father’s world—intelligence couldn’t compensate for lack of a sense of humor or a basic interest in anything outside of business, both of which were incredibly important to her.
This man, whoever he was, epitomized Mallory Enterprises just by standing there in his dark colors. He made her feel conspicuous and out of place. The only thing slightly redeeming him was that he seemed willing to talk to her at all.
Until he said, “I’m okay with you running out of here, if you’d like. I’m not really up for dealing with the boss’s spoiled daughter anyway.”
While that made her see red, a welcome color in this place, she managed to stay calm. “Who the hell are you?”
“Sorry.” He pushed away from the wall, seeming even bigger now, and held out his hand. “Weston Roth.”
Okay, so he wasn’t ancient, wasn’t a fuddy-duddy and she was quite certain she hadn’t wowed or dazzled. Looked like their working relationship was off to an interesting start. “Well, Weston Roth. What do you say we make our first compromise. I’ll forgive and forget the spoiled-daughter statement, and the fact that you’re a pompous ass for saying it, if you’ll forgive me for being all of seven minutes late.” She slipped her hand in his, a little surprised by how big and warm it was.
He started to say something, but from behind the conference room door came the distinct sounds of men rising from their seats.
Followed by muted voices and…footsteps.
The dark suits were coming this way. Terrific. She didn’t want to deal with her father right now. “What do you say we take this little meet-and-greet into one of our offices?” she asked a bit hastily.
“Sure.” He gestured with his head which way to go, and kept up with her stride for stride. His smug smile told her he knew who she was avoiding and why, and it made her want to trip him.
She could handle this, she reminded herself as they walked. She could handle this and him.
She could handle anything. And if she said it often enough, it just might be true.
* * *
SHE WALKED into his office ahead of him, eyes flashing and chin high in the air, as if she wasn’t wearing a skirt better suited for swinging from a pole than for a boardroom, and a silky tank that made Wes think of the beach.
He gestured her to one of the two guest chairs in front of his desk. Usually he sat next to whoever he was meeting with, making everything more casual, which was how he liked things. But this time, he didn’t want casual. He wanted anything but, so he took the chair behind his desk, thinking he needed as much space from this woman as possible.
Kenna sat and crossed her legs.
Since she didn’t wear stockings—yes, he’d noticed in spite of himself—the unmistakable sound of skin sliding against skin distracted him for a moment, but only a moment before his boss’s voice sounded off in his head.
Take care of my little girl. See if she’s as good as I know she can be.
Oh yeah, this was going to be fun. “I’ll get right to the point,” he said. “I’ve been acting vice president for nearly a year.”
“Let me guess. And you thought you had the job in the bag?”
Hell, yes, he’d thought that. And it was a kick in the teeth to find out differently. “Do you really want to know what I think?”
She leaned back and settled in as if she had all the time in the world. “Oh, yes. I have a feeling it’s very interesting.”
“All right.” He propped his elbows on his desk. “I don’t approve of you getting this job simply because of who you’re related to. Without any merit.”
“Without
merit?”
“There are people within this very hotel who resent—”
“You mean you. You resent.”
“—people who’ve worked extremely hard to get where they are—”
“And I haven’t. Or so you assume.” She nodded, then leaned in, too. Steepled her fingers together and spoke over them. “I’m afraid you’re just going to have to deal with whatever your hang-ups are about working with me, Mr. Roth, because I’m here now.”
“Yes,” he agreed tightly. “I am going to have to deal with it. But so will you. We’re in the middle of—”
“Renovations. Employee contracts.”
So she’d done a little bit of research. He didn’t feel overly impressed. “And more. We’ll have to learn to deal with this together.”
“Sounds like fun.”
A headache began at the base of his skull. “Your father wants us to comanage this place in order to get you the experience you need to move up the ladder at Mallory Enterprises.”
She blinked, for one brief flash, clearly startled.
He wasn’t touched. “The way I see it, that puts us directly at odds. On the one hand, we need to work together to see that this place shines and makes us both look good. On the other hand, we’re competitors for the next rung up on that ladder.” Was she even paying attention anymore? It was hard to tell. Her eyes—deep forest green and full of secrets—were right on his, but she seemed preoccupied. “Kenna?”
“Yes?” As if still upset by his spoiled-daughter comment—yeah, right, like her attention span was that long, he’d read her résumé—she ran her tongue over her lower lip, eating off a good amount of her gloss, which, he hadn’t noticed before, smelled like peaches and cream.
Much.
“Are you listening?” he asked politely.
“Oh, I’m listening. You think I’m going to try to take your job.”
“Actually, no, I’m not worried about you taking my job.”
“Well, then, what are you worried about?”
Yeah, what the hell was he worried about? He only had to share the position he’d always wanted with the boss’s daughter, leaving him in the ever-so-unenviable position of having either to make her look good for her father, or make her look bad to further his career. Great. Excellent. And to think he’d thought this whole thing a bad idea.
She came to a slow stand. “I went to business school and—”
“I know your qualifications.”
“Then you also know I grew up within this world…”
Yes, he knew. As opposed to his life, which had started in the gutter.
“Not that I ever imagined myself working here since—” She chewed on her lower lip—no longer glossed—and looked at him with an expression he couldn’t place.
Mistrust?
She mistrusted him?
Now why the hell that got to him, he had no idea. “Since what?”
“Since nothing. Forget it.”
He should, but he had to admit, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Anyone within the company would give their eyeteeth to have this job. There were several qualified people, probably crying in their coffee right this very minute because Mr. Mallory had given it to him.
And his daughter.
Wes wasn’t worried about the others. He knew he was the best man for the job, just as he knew he’d worked his tail off for it for years. No guilt there.
But if he were Kenna, he’d feel that guilt in spades. She’d done nothing other than go to college—on her daddy’s wallet no doubt—and then she’d taken a series of jobs that on paper suggested either a bipolar condition or a serious attention deficit disorder. This vagabond background made her completely unsuitable for the job, and everyone around her would feel the same way. As a manager, that was going to make it inherently difficult on her, and therefore also on him. Surely her father had to know that.
Could she handle it? He actually hadn’t heard much about her until recently. The gossip mill suddenly had become agog with rumors, how she’d tricked her father into giving her the job, how she’d stepped all over her cousin—who’d been working at Mallory Enterprises for years—to get placed ahead of her. How all she’d had to do was bat her pretty long lashes and the world bowed at her feet.
Wes had little patience for the gossip, and less patience for the subject of the rumors. In his thirty-three years he’d learned that hard work and dedication would get him where he wanted to be, nothing else, and he expected the same from the people he worked with. So, despite a poor first impression, he would make his own judgment about her.
And stop noticing the peaches-and-cream lip-gloss.
To that effect, he stopped looking at her face, but that was trouble in itself. She was still standing, which left him quite the view, with his eyes just about belly-button level.
Her tank and skirt required sunglasses to look at, but he squinted and braved it. Both hugged her body, emphasizing her mile-long legs, her curves…and the slight outline of a ring at her navel.
Inanely, he wondered what else was pierced.
Oh, man. Bad idea to wonder such things, and he removed his glasses so that she was nothing but a blur.
Much better.
“Well.” There was an arctic cold front in her tone. “What should we start with?”
“The best thing would be for you to familiarize yourself with what we’re doing.”
She nodded in agreement. “I’d like to start with the renovations and the accounting associated with that. Start preparing the final statements and reports.”
“Fine.” Good. Let her tackle the tedious task far, far away from him.
“Where would I find those records?”
“In the records room. Next floor up.”
“Great. As much as I’ve enjoyed your company, I’m off. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you.” Her tone was only slightly warmer than that previous arctic temperature.
When she was gone, Wes let out a slow breath. Seeing you. He sank back to the chair and wondered why that had sounded more like a threat than a promise.
CHAPTER 3
KENNA SPENT hours in the records rooms, fascinated by everything. Locked away, alone, absorbing numbers and statements and projections, she actually thought she could enjoy this. Even thrive on it.
By the time she resurfaced, she was shocked to realize the entire day had gone by. Her stomach growled loudly in protest, and she went back to the corporate office level, eager now to jump right into her job.
The reception area was empty. The entire floor was empty. She checked her watch in tune to her still-growling stomach—5:09 p.m. Not that late—
A young man walked by. His name tag said, Intern: Jimmy Owens.
“Jimmy.” She gestured him closer. “Where is everyone?”
“Oh, they’re gone. Last week there were meetings every night, going really late. Lots of grumblings, you know? Anyway, tonight Mr. Roth sent everyone home at five, including himself, to make up for it. I’m heading out now myself.”
Ah. A morale booster and an excellent idea. The only thing that surprised her was that someone like Weston Roth had even thought of it.
She left the building as well and drove around San Diego for a while, reacquainting herself with her childhood town. She drove past Seaport Village, the Horton Plaza, Ocean Beach…Sea World. Her stereo was blasting, her brain racing. Thinking in her old Civic soothed her, as did the sights.
Eventually, she ended up back at the beach, and got out to walk. Nothing beat the feel of the sand between her toes, the pounding of the waves on the shore. It gave her a warm fuzzy just standing there inhaling the salty summer air. College and traveling had been an adventure, but this was home.
She wanted to be here. Wanted to show her family what she could do. Misplaced pride? No doubt. And no doubt she’d pay for it, but she was going to do it anyway.
Sure, things had gotten off to a rocky start, but she was the queen of rocky starts, so that didn’t scare her. A
nd sure, people at the San Diego Mallory—more specifically one person, Wes himself—had doubts about her abilities and weren’t shy about expressing them, but that didn’t scare her either. All her life she’d been underestimated, but she knew how to land on her feet.
She could do this. And after today, happily swimming in numbers and reports all day, she actually wanted to do well at this job.
At least for six months.
Bending to grab up a couple of rocks, she hefted one in her hand and skimmed it over the water. It bounced five, six…seven times. A personal record.
A personal record…just like this job would be.
* * *
NO FAMILY had such torturous family dinners as the Mallorys did on Monday nights, when personal lives were pried open and dissected for mistakes. When career achievements were heralded…and shoved in everyone’s face.
Kenna hadn’t been to one of her mother’s family events in years, and she would have been perfectly happy to miss this one, but now that she was back in town, she was expected. And seeing how she was going to make her father’s favorite employee’s life hell on earth by just being herself, she felt generous.
Not that she didn’t intend to give one hundred percent to the job, because she did. She was going to blow everyone’s socks off with her plans and ideas.
Still refreshed from her walk on the beach, she walked into the Encinitas family mausoleum. Home for the next six months.
They were all in the dining room, a room fit for royalty with all its pomp and splendor, and as she headed there, she automatically slowed down, remembering the days of her childhood.
Don’t run, Kenna.
Don’t be so wild, Kenna.
Slow down, Kenna.
For God’s sake, do you always have to be so exuberant, Kenna?
Why can’t you just fit in, Kenna? Okay, no one had really ever asked her that, but she’d heard it just the same. The long traditionally-set table was full of family heirlooms. Over fancy china and crystal, her cousin Serena zinged a set of mental daggers her way. Once upon a time, they’d played with dolls together. Fought over the middle-school football jocks. Smirked over each other’s prom dresses.
