by Lauren Layne
“Paying vendors, whatever.”
“Oh. No, Claudia’s supposed to take care of that part, and it’ll be a while yet. There’re still fifty or so people. But I should probably—”
“Get your coat.”
Kate blinked. “What?”
He straightened. “Your jacket.”
“I don’t have one.”
He frowned. “It’s March, not August.”
“No, really? I had no idea. Is there a way to know such things?”
“Shut up. Come on.”
“Come on where?”
He turned away without answering.
“Come on where?” she said louder.
Finally, she huffed, realizing he wasn’t going to turn around or answer.
She followed him through the still-crowded room, just as the elevator doors opened. He held them with his arm and gestured her in.
“You’re being weird,” she muttered, but did as instructed, curious and feeling oddly exhilarated.
On the ground floor, he led her across the hotel lobby, but she balked a little when he headed to the exit. “We can’t leave.”
“Sure we can. It’s my birthday.”
“But your party’s up there. Claudia—”
“Claudia didn’t ask what I wanted to do to celebrate my birthday. If she had, you know what I would’ve said?” he asked, taking a step closer to her.
Kate shook her head, wide-eyed.
“I’d have said that I wanted a quiet night with someone I didn’t have to talk to. Or that I could, but not party talk. Real talk.”
She tried to follow. “Okay. I can see that. But you have friends upstairs, and—”
Kennedy grabbed her hand and pulled her through the revolving doors into the spring evening. The wall of midtown noise immediately enveloped them, but in a comfortable, anonymous sort of way.
“There is exactly one good thing about this part of town. You know what it is?”
“The library?” she asked.
“Okay, two things.”
“Grand Central?”
“Fine. There are a few things,” he said as they crossed Sixth Avenue.
“Bryant Park?” she asked as he led her onto the large square lawn that sat in the shadow of the famous New York Public Library. The park was nice and all, but she was failing to see why he’d be excited about it outside of Christmastime, when the whole thing turned into a sort of winter wonderland.
He didn’t reply, instead leading her toward the southwest side to a covered area with . . .
Kate gasped at the beautiful sight of chessboards set up in the middle of the city. “How did I not know this was here?”
Kennedy led her to a small table. “Want to play?”
“Hell yes!” she said, grinning as he went to rent pieces and a board.
A few moments later, they were sitting across the table from each other, and Kate realized there was something better than a chess oasis in the middle of Manhattan.
Kennedy Dawson’s full smile. Both dimples.
8
Saturday, March 30
Kennedy felt a little absurd, enjoying himself as much as he was in this moment.
Not because he didn’t love chess. But if anyone had asked before today, he’d have said that his love of chess was more about the circumstances under which he typically played. Usually he was in the comfort of his living room, in his custom-made Italian leather chair. He played with hand-carved wooden chess pieces passed down to the eldest Dawson son for four generations. His partner was typically his eccentric, elderly neighbor, Edmund, who brought excellent scotch and even better chess skills.
This evening, however, was proving him wrong. As it would turn out, Kennedy apparently preferred playing chess outside on a slightly too-cold evening, on a wobbly table in a public park, with slightly sticky pieces, including a knight whose head had been lopped off, sitting across the board from . . .
Kate Henley.
Kennedy sat back in his chair and rubbed a hand idly over his jaw as he watched his playing partner. Kate took her time deliberating each move, but he didn’t mind. He kept himself occupied by studying her as she studied the board.
She wasn’t used to her new haircut. He could tell by the way she kept trying to tuck a shorter piece behind her ear, then frowning when it fell into her face, as though she wasn’t accustomed to it not doing as it was told. He suspected Kate didn’t like it when things didn’t behave the way she wanted or expected them to.
She chewed her bottom lip as her eyes darted between her rook and her queen, and he knew she was debating whether or not to take a risk or play it safe. It was the thrill of chess with a new partner, where you didn’t know the other person’s skill or style, didn’t know whether a bold move was going to bite you in the ass.
After another minute of deliberation, she went with neither piece, instead nudging her pawn forward in a surprisingly tepid move. He didn’t mind. He’d take a chess match at a wobbly table with Kate over one with Bobby Fischer any day.
Kennedy already knew his next move but took his time studying the board anyway, partially out of habit, partially to prolong the game.
“You don’t feel a little guilty?” Kate asked.
He looked up. “About?”
“Ditching your own party.”
“A little,” he admitted. “But I figure if I can ever get away with a social gaffe, it’s on my birthday.”
“Oh, that reminds me, I forgot your present. And do not do that annoying thing where you say I didn’t have to get you anything,” she said, before he could do exactly that.
“All right,” he said, moving his bishop, and then sitting back in his chair. “What did you get me?”
“It was between a plastic bobblehead and a fake plant for your office.”
“Both things I love,” he said dryly.
Kate nodded. “I thought it would be nice with all of those weird wood chunks you keep around.”
“They’re collectibles.”
“Yeah, okay, Ross.”
Kennedy frowned. “Ross?”
“Yeah,” she said, starting to move her rook and then changing her mind. “You know, like from Friends?”
He shook his head.
“Oh, come on,” she said. “You have a television. What do you watch, documentaries?”
He said nothing.
“Of course you do,” she said with a laugh. “Okay, well, watch Friends. You’ll like Ross.”
He’d seen Friends once or twice—he was discerning, not completely out of touch with reality. But he had no idea who Ross was. Kennedy made a mental note to look into it and get some insight into who he was in Kate’s eyes.
Kate’s attention was back on the board, as she chewed her lip once more. She shivered, then gave him a brief, knowing look. “You going to lecture me again on not bringing a coat?”
Discomfort rolled down his spine.
That’s who you think I am? That guy? The lecturing, sanctimonious asshole?
But had he given her reason to think otherwise? Kennedy knew he could be stodgy. Hell, he intentionally cultivated the image most of the time. He liked being old-school in an industry chock-full of bros. But there was a difference between being old-school and serious, and being an uptight prick.
Kate, apparently, put him in the latter category.
He stood and shrugged out of his suit jacket just as she moved her knight. She blinked in surprise as he came around to her side of the table and unceremoniously put his jacket around her shoulders, careful not to let his fingers brush against the bare skin there.
“Thank you,” she said as he sat back in his chair.
“You don’t have to sound so puzzled,” he said, shoving his pawn forward.
She lifted a hand and rubbed the fabric of his lapel between her fingers thoughtfully. “Well, you have to admit, while on paper I’d describe you as a gentleman, the chivalry doesn’t typically extend to me.”
“That’s not tru
e,” he said automatically, shifting in the uncomfortable chair.
“It’s a little bit true,” she said, studying the board and then moving her queen. “But it’s fine. I know I drive you crazy.”
“Well, that’s true,” he admitted.
She laughed at that—a genuine, unfiltered laugh—and Kennedy found himself smiling back.
“Why?”
“Why do I drive you crazy?” she asked, looking up.
He stiffened slightly at the question. It felt too direct, somehow, demanding thought in a direction he wasn’t ready to go. “Why do you go out of your way to push my buttons?”
A small smile flirted with her lips, and she didn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t mean to. Or at least, I didn’t, at the beginning . . .”
“And?” he prompted when she fell silent. “What happened?”
Kate let out a little huff and met his gaze once more. “You happened. Whatever this thing between us is, you started it.”
“Real mature, Kate.”
Her eyes narrowed just slightly. “Is that your problem with me? That I’m not worldly like your other women?”
“What?” He blinked, genuinely confused. “First of all, I don’t have a problem with you. Second, I don’t date worldly women. What does that even mean?”
“It’s fine,” she said, her eyes dropping back to the board. “I realize I’m hardly irresistible.”
Kennedy frowned, sensing from her tone he was missing something important, but he had no clue what it was.
Before he could ask, she pointed to the board. “You going to make your move or what?”
It was Kennedy’s turn to narrow his eyes. “Don’t order me around the way you do everyone else.”
“Trust me, I’ve never thought I could order you around,” she snapped back. “You’re more stubborn than Ian and Matt combined.”
“Right, and you’re so easygoing and agreeable,” he muttered, moving a piece forward at random, then wincing when he realized he’d just set up his knight to be taken.
Luckily, their argument seemed to have distracted Kate from the game, too. She was glaring at him, a little line between her dark eyebrows. “Why her?”
“What?” Kennedy resisted the urge to rub his forehead. He didn’t enjoy complicated conversations, and this was turning into one of them. And yet, he didn’t want to walk away, either. It had always been that way with Kate. She demanded so damn much from everyone around her, and as someone who liked everything in order, his way, all of that stubborn energy made him wary. And yet he was never quite able to walk away, either.
“Why Claudia?” she specified.
“Why not Claudia?” he replied automatically.
Kate’s eyebrows lifted. “Wow. Romantic.”
“You know what I mean,” he said, feeling oddly self-conscious, looking down, studying the chessboard for his next move rather than facing her prying gaze.
“No, I don’t really,” Kate said with her usual forthrightness. “When I find The One, he will have a reason better than ‘why not’ for being with me.”
He smiled a little at her unshakable confidence. When she found the guy, he would have a better reason. Then a mental image of Kate and Jack laughing together flashed in his mind, and Kennedy’s smile dropped.
“What’s wrong with Claudia?” he asked. To his surprise, it came out as a genuine question, and he realized he actually did want Kate’s opinion. And God knew she had one. She had an opinion on everything.
“Nothing. She’s a genuinely nice person. But you hardly seem besotted with her.”
He let out a startled laugh. “I don’t know that I’ve ever been besotted with anyone.”
“Well, that’s your problem, then.” She took his knight, though he barely noticed.
“Have you?” he blurted out. It was suddenly vitally important to Kennedy that he know every detail about what sort of man could woo the no-nonsense Kate.
Kate smiled, a smile both secretive and a little sad. “Once.”
Kennedy swallowed the sour taste in his mouth. He moved a pawn, then looked up. “What happened?”
She shrugged indifferently but didn’t meet his eyes. “It wasn’t mutual, so I moved on.”
“To whom?”
“What?” She glanced up.
“You said you moved on. Who’d you move on to? When was this?”
“Oh.” She looked uncharacteristically flustered. “I just meant I moved on from him. Not necessarily to someone else, specifically.”
“But you’ve dated,” he said, not really sure how he’d gotten himself into this conversation but not quite wanting to turn back, either.
“Yes. I’ve dated.” Her tone was clipped and just a bit defensive.
“When was your last relationship? What was your longest?”
“None of your freaking business.”
“Says the woman who helped my girlfriend plan my birthday party.”
“All part of the job,” she said smoothly, moving one of her pawns to counter his last move.
Kennedy felt a stab of something that felt suspiciously like hurt at the fact that she’d helped plan his birthday party only out of duty.
“Maybe Jack will be the next guy?” he said, keeping his voice indifferent as he moved his queen on the board.
“Maybe.” She immediately moved her queen in a hasty move that told him she’d lost her focus on the game. Just as he had.
Kennedy looked at her. “He’s not the right guy for you.”
Her laugh was genuine and a little startled. “Really.”
Kennedy picked up one of the white pawns he’d captured early on and rolled it between his palms as he sat back in the uncomfortable chair, studying her. With her hair falling over one eye, her eyes dark and smoky and a little mad, and his jacket accentuating her tininess, she didn’t look like Kate, his no-nonsense assistant. He saw only a woman. An angry woman.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” he admitted, struck by an uncomfortable reminder that perhaps he didn’t know this woman nearly as well as he’d like to. “What is it you want out of a relationship?”
To his relief, instead of answering defensively, she seemed to consider his question seriously. “Probably the opposite of what you want.”
“Perhaps.”
She bit her lip. “You can’t make fun if I tell you.”
“I won’t.”
She met his eyes. “I want someone who’s all in.”
All in? “You mean . . . loyal?” he asked, trying to understand.
“No,” she said with a laugh. “I mean, yes, of course loyal, but also someone who’s not afraid to fall wildly, crazily in love with me.”
Kennedy was beginning to see her point about their having opposite visions. He didn’t do wild. Or crazy.
“I want the struck-by-lightning kind of love,” she said, her eyes bright and cheeks pink as she seemed to warm to the topic. “You know, where you lock eyes with someone, and both of you just know.”
They locked eyes as she said it, and he was oddly disappointed when she looked away immediately. “You mean like love at first sight?” he said, the words sounding more stilted and incredulous than he intended.
Kate smiled and shrugged. “It can happen.”
“Infatuation at first sight, maybe,” Kennedy said. “But that’s not the lasting kind of steady love needed to make a relationship work.”
“Wrong,” she insisted. “My parents met when they were nineteen, and they both knew they were it for each other from the very first moment. They got married a year later, and they’ve been crazy in love ever since.”
“And that’s what you want? Crazy in love?”
“I do,” Kate said with quiet confidence. “I don’t want to have to convince someone to fall in love with me. I want a guy who just knows I’m The One and goes all in.”
“Sounds . . . exhausting.” He regretted his words as he watched her smile dim, saw her shut down.
“Like I said,” Kate replied, her
tone a little stiff, “I think we have different visions.”
To say the least. Kennedy wasn’t one of those cynics who didn’t believe in love, but he knew that love wasn’t magic. You didn’t just look at someone and know, as though you were fated for each other. It was work. You had to learn each other’s nuances, assess compatibility.
He didn’t know how he and Kate could both thrive so well on organization and order, and yet approach their personal lives so differently. When Kennedy pictured his future wife, it was someone who had the same practical approach to marriage as he did. Someone who understood that the most successful relationships weren’t about passion and butterflies but hard work and like-mindedness.
He was pulled from his thoughts as Kate gave a start, then pulled his iPhone from the pocket of the suit jacket she was still wearing. “You’re buzzing.” She handed over the phone, screen up, Claudia’s name impossible to miss.
He stared at the screen a moment, then looked up. “I should probably get this.”
“Definitely,” Kate agreed.
He continued to stare at the screen and then, surprising himself with the impulse, used his thumb to silence the buzzing before setting the phone facedown on the table and moving his piece. “Let’s finish our game.”
Kate shrugged, turning her attention back to the board. “Can I ask something?” She didn’t look up as she said it.
“Hmm?”
“If your brother asks, will you give him my phone number?”
Kennedy tensed. “You don’t want me to do that.”
Her gaze flew up to his. “Excuse me?”
“I just mean . . .” He started to backpedal, knowing that telling any woman what she wanted was a bad move. Telling a woman like Kate was suicidal.
“What did you mean?” Her voice was quiet, and the vulnerability there caught him off guard.
Kennedy chose his words carefully, reminding himself that he was her friend. “Jack’s not your all-in, crazy-in-love guy.”
“Ah,” she said lightly. “Because I’m not that kind of woman, right? The irresistible type?”
“Not what I said.”
“But it’s what you meant,” she said, her tone clipped as she made her move on the chessboard. Then she stood, the sleeves of his jacket falling well beyond the tips of her fingers. “We should get back to the party.”
