by K. A. Tucker
She still wanted to interview.
Mark’s smooth voice carries down the hall, announcing their arrival.
“Okay, she’s here. Don’t be a dick,” I warn, turning to watch my sacrificial lamb approach. I struggle to keep my mouth from dropping. “Wow.”
Renée is compact in stature, especially next to Mark. I’m guessing five feet tall without the towering heels. She’s fit, the navy pencil dress showing off tight, hour-glass curves and muscular legs. Her shock of platinum-blonde hair reaches down past her chest and is poker-straight.
Large, expressive blue eyes take me in as Mark leads her forward, and she bites her pouty bottom lip before realizing it and stopping herself.
She’s nervous.
She’s also knockout gorgeous.
“She’s hired,” David murmurs from behind me, watching their approach.
I shoot him a warning look.
“What?” He shrugs innocently. “I’ve always wanted an assistant who I carry around in my pocket.”
As covertly as possible, I elbow David in the ribs before stepping forward. “Renée, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Piper Calloway.”
For as tiny as she may be, she has a broad smile that takes up half her face, and it flashes now to reveal perfect, white teeth. “I could have guessed. Mark has told me so much about you. He loves working here.”
Oh lord, she even has a Southern accent.
David clears his throat and then maneuvers past me with an arm, offering his hand and his signature killer smile. “Hello, I’m David Worthington, vice president of Sales and Marketing at Calloway. You’ll be interviewing for a position as my executive assistant.”
She stiffens in posture. “Yes, of course. Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Come on into my office.” David steps back to give her space to enter, his arm extending in a leading, welcoming gesture. “So, Renée. That’s French, isn’t it?” His voice fades behind the shutting door.
Mark’s nervous gaze is on them.
“So . . . she seems nice.”
“Renée? Oh, yeah. She’s . . .” He clears his throat. “She’s great.”
Huh. “And how long have you had a thing for her?”
“What?” Mark’s head whips around. “I don’t have a thing for her.”
“Really? Because your red face would say otherwise,” I tease.
He sighs and bows his head in defeat. “Five years now, I think? Basically since the moment I met her.”
A burst of laughter sounds from David’s office. Whatever David said must have been funny, because Renée is practically doubled over.
“What have you found on that person I asked you about?”
“Oh, yeah . . .” Mark opens his desk drawer to pull out a sheet of paper. He glances around us, then nods toward my office, and my stomach begins to flutter with anticipation. Whatever he has, it’s something he doesn’t think people should overhear.
“Okay, spill it,” I demand as soon as my door shuts.
“So far, I know that Tripp and Hank Kavanaugh were roommates at Minden College. They also played in a men’s soccer league together for a few years in their twenties.”
“Really? That lazy bastard actually chased after a ball?”
“Maybe it was a beer league?” he offers, then hands me a stack of papers. “Here’s a printout of his calendar for the last six months. Every meeting with Hank is highlighted in yellow.”
I begin flipping through the pages. “A lot of Friday morning golf meetings.”
“Those are the ones Jill has a record of.”
“What did you tell her?” If I didn’t know firsthand Jill’s disdain for Tripp, I would never have suggested that Mark reach out to her. Then again, Mark knows nothing of the kickback suspicions.
“I asked her if Tripp’s been meeting with a guy named Hank and she sent me all this. Then she offered to comb through his emails to see if there are any from KDZ, though she doesn’t remember any coming in.”
As one would expect, if he’s been working this deal for months, as he claims.
“She knows to keep this between us?” The last thing I need is the administrative grapevine catching wind of this.
“She won’t say a word.” He pauses. “What are you hoping to find, anyway?”
“Proof that Tripp’s up to no good.” I know that’s a vague answer, but this level of betrayal is far above Mark’s pay grade. He’s a smart guy, though; he’ll figure it out.
Either way, I don’t have enough to confront Tripp or accuse him of anything yet. “Keep digging.”
Mark nods, and then his gaze wanders back to the office across the hall to watch David and Renée chatter and laugh like old friends. Worry pulls his brow. “Did I just make a huge mistake by introducing them to each other?”
I set a comforting hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. David has too much integrity to sleep with his assistant.” I hope. There’s no doubt David will hire Renée, though; that stupid grin hasn’t slid from his face once. At least I can mark off a mental check box next to one of my dilemmas and move on to tackle Tripp, and my father.
And Kyle.
Christa’s sage advice from last night lingers in my mind. As always, she’s right.
I need to figure out if Kyle even fits in my life anymore. And if he doesn’t . . . I need to let go of my fond memories and move on.
“Thank you,” Renée offers, rushing into the elevator beside me. I used the need to stretch my legs as an offer to walk her down—mainly so I have an excuse to stop by the security desk. “Mark said you made this happen.”
“I just set up the interview. And, trust me, this is more advantageous to Mark and me than it is you.”
“Are you kidding? Yesterday I was pounding pavement and handing my résumé out at restaurants in desperation, and today I have this dream job!” She looks ready to squeal.
Her interview with David lasted nearly an hour—forty minutes longer than any of his other interviews.
“I hope you still feel that way after your first day. David’s expectations of what an assistant should do are a tad high at times.”
She waves my words away with a broad smile. “Oh, don’t worry, Mark gave me the whole rundown on David. I’m ready for it. Bruce, my old boss? He used to make me clean his office fish tank every week.”
I cringe.
“Yeah. And he made me do recon on the birthday party his ex-wife was throwing for his daughter so I could plan another party for her. And I mean everything, from printing the invitations to booking the spa and the food. And it had to be better than his ex’s party.” She shrugs. “Sometimes these guys are clueless.”
I decide that I like Renée. She has an easy, charming way about her. It’s no wonder Mark has been pining over her for years. The question is, does she realize his adoration for her? I push that thought aside for now; it’s too early to start trying to play matchmaker for my assistant. “You’ve come to the right place, then. You won’t have to make children’s birthday invitations for him, but David is definitely clueless at times. I should know—I almost married him.”
“Mark told me.” Her blue eyes widen. “What happened?”
“I smartened up.”
“Well . . . I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you two were an item. He’s so . . . I mean . . .” Her perfectly shaped brows pinch together as she searches for a way out of the unprofessional hole she just stepped into. “Oh God.” Her manicured hand flies to cover her mouth.
I let her squirm for another second before I laugh. “It’s okay. Yes, he’s gorgeous. We all know it. He definitely knows it.” The elevator doors open and we step out.
“Oh, hey, Piper! I was just coming up to see you.” Serge’s gaze flickers to Renée, where it sits a moment, his olive skin taking on a pinkish hue.
“You go ahead with your meetings. I’ll drop my badge at the desk.” Renée reaches out to give my forearm a friendly squeeze. “And again, thank you so much. You’re a l
ifesaver.”
“It was nothing. I’m glad it worked out. You should get an email with all the necessary paperwork from HR within the next few hours. If you don’t, call Mark and he’ll help straighten it out.”
She flashes one last beautiful smile and then strolls off toward the security gate, her heels clicking against the travertine.
My gaze catches on Kyle, his attention glued to the security camera monitors. I’ve lingered around Gus long enough to know those are the ones aimed at the parking garage. He’s standing, giving me a full view of that cut body and those muscular arms.
“So I just got off the phone with my guy from Jameson about the Marquee project,” Serge says, snapping my attention back to him. “Apparently he tried to set up a meeting with Tripp so we could go over the proposal and Tripp told him that we’ve decided to go in another direction.”
“He did what?” It comes out in a hiss, though the voice inside my head is screaming.
Serge takes a step back, as if he can see the rage ignite in my eyes. “I’m guessing you didn’t know.”
I take a deep, calming breath. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll take care of it.”
His forehead pulls together. “So that means we haven’t made any decisions on the construction contract, right?”
I force a wide smile. “That’s right. I will call Gary right now and make sure he knows that Calloway Group is still very much interested in their proposal.” A third-generation Jameson, Gary is a burly man who has an affinity for cigars and the Vegas strip, but he has always been a reliable partner. I can’t imagine the mood in his office right now. We’ve had dozens of conversations about the Marquee project already and all of them conveyed the same message—that Calloway Group had every intention of signing on with Jameson if the terms lined up.
Does my father know about this?
“Okay, I’ll just . . . keep the team working until you and Tripp figure out which direction we’re going.” There’s a hint of annoyance in Serge’s voice and I can’t blame him; I’m annoyed and I’m not the one managing all the finite details.
“We’ll have this sorted soon. I promise.”
Musical laughter carries from the lobby as Serge ducks into the elevator, holding me back from joining him.
Renée is leaning against the security desk, one leg crooked so only her toe touches the tile. Gus has just said something—charming, I’m sure—but her attention keeps shifting to Kyle.
Who is smiling down at her.
Not just a polite “have a nice day, ma’am” smile but that eye-crinkling, lip-curling one that used to make my stomach flip.
That flirtatious one.
Mark’s words echo in my mind then, about whether it was a mistake to introduce Renée to David.
Maybe the mistake doesn’t involve David at all.
A burn radiates in my chest and grows, as I start playing out a scenario before me—where Renée comes to work every morning, flashing that beautiful smile and saying hello in that sultry Southern accent, lingering at the security desk longer each day, until one Friday she mentions grabbing a drink after work and the next thing I know they’re moving in together.
And I’ve missed my chance.
“Holy shit,” I whisper under my breath, standing in the middle of the corridor, an obstacle for the people filing out of the elevator, jealousy gnawing at my insides.
I may not know how—and if—Kyle can fit into my life today, but I sure as hell know I’m not willing to lose my chance to find out.
The elevator doors open and out comes Tripp, a satchel over his shoulder, looking ready to leave the building.
“Piper. That’s a lovely dress,” he offers in a patronizing voice, flashing me a smarmy smile.
“Off to sabotage the Marquee project some more?” I throw back before I can bite my tongue.
His bushy gray eyebrows arch. It takes him a moment to process my words. “Excuse me?”
“Jameson.”
His lips twist as if working out a bitter taste in his mouth. “He called you? What did he say?”
“Does my father know you’ve basically set dynamite under our bridge with them?”
“Jameson can’t beat the bid KDZ is going to come in at. Kieran will agree with me.”
You mean the one that lines your pockets with half a million dollars?
I grit my teeth to hold back from accusing him right then and there. He’ll just deny it and without more evidence, I will look like an incompetent asshole.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.” He sails past me, his head high as he strolls toward the security gate.
Where Kyle is now stealing glances my way, in between Renée’s chatter, his sharp eyes narrowing at Tripp as he passes.
As much as I’d like to interrupt whatever is going on over there, I have a project and a long-term business relationship to save.
With that, I take the next elevator up.
Hoping Kyle doesn’t fall for Renée’s charms too quickly.
Chapter 16
THEN
2006, Camp Wawa, End of Week Two
“Finally, some sun . . . I was so sick of being cooped up inside.” Kyle kicks off his shoes and then wanders over to stand on the edge of the cliff and gaze out over the dark blue waters below. The early afternoon sun glimmers off the surface.
I’m not sure which has made the second week of camp harder—the three days of steady rain that forced indoor activities and caused cabin fever for everyone or our ten P.M. lockdown, thanks to our probation. On the plus side, I’m well rested.
“Hate to break it to you, but it’s supposed to storm later. At least, that’s what Christa said.” Though there is nothing more than a few wispy white clouds streaking the sky at the moment.
“And Christa’s never wrong about anything,” he murmurs sarcastically.
A speedboat races past, towing a female wakeboarder behind. Upon closer scrutiny, I realize it’s Claire, the waterskiing and wakeboarding instructor.
“She’s really good.”
Kyle watches her cut through the waves with ease, her muscular legs flexing. “She’s got some serious goals, that one. Wouldn’t be surprised to see her standing on a podium with a medal around her neck one day.”
I hesitate. “What about you?”
“I’m not much into waterskiing.” He reaches over his head to pull off his Wawa T-shirt, revealing two weeks’ worth of T-shirt tan lines and a smooth, sculpted back.
“No, I meant what are you going to do after high school? Like, do you have any colleges picked out?” Where will Kyle end up next year, and how far away will it be from me?
“Yeah . . . I don’t think college is for me.” He empties his pockets, casting their contents onto his favorite boulder.
“Really?” I frown. “So, then what will you do?” He must have a goal, something to work toward?
“Dunno? Get a job, I guess.”
“Doing what?” What interests you, Kyle? Besides jumping off cliffs and racing golf carts at night. In the two weeks that we’ve been here, aside from the topic of his family, our conversations have been light, shallow.
Fun.
But do we even have anything in common?
He shrugs. “Working here, maybe? I can take over Darian’s job.”
“Seriously?”
“Nah . . . Construction, maybe.”
“What, like running your own company?”
He chuckles. “More like hammering nails into boards. I don’t really care. I just want to get away from my shitty family. Except for Jeremy. He’s cool.” He nods, more to himself. “You’d like him.”
I quietly absorb his indifference to his future. Is it because he’s never been pushed to consider it? Or are things really that bad at home that he can’t think beyond the goal of getting away?
“What about you?” he asks with a yawn and a stretch, as if the topic is of little interest to him.
“Brown, probably. It’s the Calloway way,” I
add in a mocking manner.
“Huh . . .” He frowns thoughtfully. “I probably shouldn’t follow the Miller way.” A wry smile curls his lips as he runs a hand through his Fauxhawk, sending it into disarray. He shifts his focus back to the cliff. “You coming in or what?”
I guess that’s the end of any serious talk with Kyle.
“Of course.” I shrug my clothes off, stripping down to the teal string bikini I threw on earlier. “So is there anything to do in town?”
“There’s a great burger place on Main Street. And sometimes you can catch a good . . .” Kyle’s words fall off the moment he turns, his eyes dragging over my bare skin feeling like fingertips. “Is that a new one?”
“No, but I haven’t worn it here yet.” I adjust the narrow triangles over my chest and test the string ties on my hips, to make sure they’re secure. I packed the bikini knowing it’s far too skimpy for anything besides tanning in private. And enticing Kyle, apparently. My stomach stirs with butterflies as I stand there, allowing him to look. I’ve never felt confident being ogled by boys, but with Kyle, I feel a pleasing shiver run through my body. “What were you saying? Something about catching a good . . .”
“Movie,” he answers after a long pause, his voice a touch huskier than normal. “At the drive-in.”
“A drive-in? Really? I’ve never been. What’s it like?”
“It’s fun. Maybe we can check it out tonight.” I catch the smile curling his lips before he turns back to the lake, and the rise of his shoulders with a deep breath.
And the way he covertly tugs at his board shorts, trying to adjust himself.
Heat rushes through my core.
Just the two of us, away from here, tucked into his car under the cover of night? Something tells me we wouldn’t be paying much attention to whatever’s on the screen.
“Nervous?”
My cheeks flush. “Huh?”
