Well, let’s just say the fridges saved the company time and the cost of anger management classes for Kate.
“Still or sparkling?” Kennedy asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” Kate said, pulling the lid off a container of sauce and sniffing it.
“It’s spicy mayo,” he said, setting two bottles of water on the desk. “It comes with the fries.”
She tentatively dipped a fry in, assessed that it was more mayo than spice, and dunked her next fry more enthusiastically. “So what’s the deal here? Why are you being so nice? Bringing me fries and smiling?”
“I smile.”
“Nope. Not at me. Whoa, where’d you get that?” she asked, noting the wine bottle in his hand. “I thought you only kept scotch in here. And bourbon. The brown liquors.”
“Bigsby Black brought this in today. He just got back from Napa, and this is apparently some absurdly overpriced Cabernet.”
“I love that name, Bigsby Black. Don’t you wish you had a name like that? You know, instead of sharing the name of a president?”
“Did I wish that my first name wasn’t a last name when I was a kid? Sure. Sometimes. Did I ever wish my name was Bigsby? Never.”
“I used to wish I had a more glamorous name than Katherine.”
“Katharine Hepburn was glamorous.”
“I guess. But I used to think that if my name was Regina, or Giselle, or Theodora, I’d be a little less plain.” She felt like an idiot as soon as the words were out. The last thing she wanted to do was remind him, of all people, how unglamorous she was. Not that he needed reminding.
“Plain,” he said thoughtfully, pulling the cork out of the bottle. “Not the word I’d use to describe you.”
Kate bit her tongue to keep from saying bullshit. “What word would you use?” Certainly not irresistible.
He gave her a gotcha wiggle of his eyebrows, and she shook her head, realizing she walked right into his trap.
“I’ll tell you mine . . . ,” he said with a playful taunt as he retrieved two wineglasses from the sideboard.
“Nice try, but no thank you,” she said, taking another bite of her sandwich as he poured them each a glass of wine and sat down.
She lifted her glass, started to take a sip, then held it out to him. “To firsts.”
“First what?”
“First dinners.”
But it was more than just the first dinner they’d had just the two of them. Something was different. He was easier tonight somehow. Yeah, he was probably just buttering her up. Kennedy hated not knowing things, and even something as simple as her not letting him know what one word she’d use to describe him had probably kept him up all night.
The same way she’d be up tonight, wondering what word he’d use for her, but she wasn’t about to be the first to cave.
“It’s not the first dinner we’ve had together. We had dinner last night.”
“Duh,” she said. “I meant the first dinner with nobody else around.”
He sat back. “I guess you’re right. Seems odd.”
She shrugged and dunked another fry. “Not really. We established the night of your party that we’re sort of on different wavelengths about certain things.”
“Unlike you and Jack.”
“Does it weird you out? He and I together?”
“Of course not.”
She cast aside the momentary flicker of disappointment she felt at his quick response but kept pushing, her gut telling her that something was going on with him. “Really? Because you were sort of on edge last night.”
He stabbed irritably at his salad. “Fine. It was a little weird. I don’t really see you two together.”
“I knew it.” She sat up straighter. “What do you have against us dating? First you didn’t want to give him my phone number, and now—”
“Calm down—don’t get so defensive. I just mean that you guys are different.”
“How?”
“Jack’s always been sort of easygoing and carefree.”
“And I’m what, uptight and careful?”
“No,” he said with a slight smile. “That’s me.”
Kate blinked. “That’s very . . . self-aware.”
“So which one of those was your word for me? Uptight or careful?”
She laughed. “Oh my God, are you ever going to give up?”
“Never. Quitting’s not my strong suit.” The way he said it, with a slight smile on his lips, had Kate wondering if she’d missed something.
“For real, though, you don’t see Jack and me together?”
He swirled his wine, watched the dark-red liquid swish. “What’s it matter to you what I think of your relationship?”
Touché. She looked back at her plate.
“So,” he said after they’d both taken another bite. “The opera tomorrow.”
Kate shrugged. Truth be told, she was more curious than she was excited. And a little nervous. She let out one of her internal sighs.
“Why nervous?”
“Oh crap.” She wiped her mouth. “I said that out loud?”
“You did. And then you did that thing where you sigh but don’t think anyone notices.”
She blinked. “You know about that?”
He shrugged, as though to say, Obviously.
She glared at the traitorous wine. “But I’ve only had two sips.”
“Maybe you just don’t like self-censoring.”
“Well, that’s true,” she said around a fry.
“So why nervous?”
She sighed, a real one this time, since he was onto her secret ones. “I don’t think I should say.”
“Why not?”
She looked at him, then away. “Because he’s your brother.”
“Ah,” he said lightly. “Romance stuff.”
“Yeah,” she said a little awkwardly. In all of her imaginings over the years of what dinner with Kennedy would be like, she hadn’t thought they’d be discussing another man. Certainly not his brother.
“Well, I’m your best bet for advice,” he said, holding out his hands.
“Um, no offense, but you don’t exactly give off Dear Abby vibes.”
“I don’t know who Abby is, but I’ve known Jack his entire life, and you’re not exactly a stranger.”
“Just because you know when my birthday is and that I like pistachio doesn’t mean you know me.”
He sat forward, his face strangely urgent. “I know you like the ballet over the opera. I know you’re wickedly, dangerously sneaky at chess. Yes, those are recently learned details, but I’ve known for a hell of a long time that you’re the most astute person I’ve ever met, that you never miss a single detail, and that you wouldn’t be nervous without good reason. So spit it out.”
Kate’s breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t accustomed to speeches from this taciturn man, who always chose his words carefully. She wasn’t accustomed to him looking so impassioned. Especially while looking at her.
Trying to hide her discomposure, she reached for her bottle of water. It seemed a safer choice than wine at the moment. “Maybe nervous wasn’t the right word,” she amended. “It’s just . . . Why do I always forget that dating is hard?”
“Is it?”
“Well, maybe not for you.” She waved her hand in his direction. “Not if your primary relationship goal is to be bored.”
His jaw tensed. “I never said my primary goal was to be bored.”
“No, I guess not. But you have to admit, as far as relationships go, you play it safe.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning you don’t date often, and when you do, it’s with women who go with the flow and let you call the shots.”
“Are you calling me a control freak?”
She grinned. “Pretty much.”
He smiled back. “You’re not much better in that department.”
“No,” she admitted. “Guess it’s a good thing we’re not together, then.”
She wai
ted, but he didn’t confirm her assessment. “You’re changing the subject. Why are you anxious about the opera tomorrow?”
“God, you’re relentless,” she muttered, grabbing her glass of wine. “Fine. But remember, you asked for it.” She took a deep breath. “So it’s been a while since I’ve dated. Been even longer since I’ve made it past a first date.”
“Okay . . .”
“I’m kind of rusty at the whole, you know, physical part.”
Kennedy flinched. “Yeah, I did not want to know that.”
“I told you!”
“You did.” He picked up his sandwich, then put it down without taking a bite. “Why?”
“Why what?” she asked cautiously, surprised that he wanted to continue the conversation.
“Why are you rusty?”
“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this”—she gestured at herself—“does not exactly set the menfolk on fire.”
“Jack seems plenty interested.”
“Did he tell you he was?” She sat up a little straighter.
Kennedy shook his head. “Yeah, we’re not doing that.”
She slumped down again with another real sigh. “I should have known you’d be no help.”
“I’m not entirely sure what you need help with.”
“Just . . . be a pal and reassure me that guys don’t mind if first kisses are awkward. That it’s not a deal breaker.”
Kennedy went completely still. “You and Jack haven’t kissed yet? Haven’t you been on a few dates?”
She threw up her hands. “You’re making it so much worse!”
“Sorry, sorry.” He took a bite of his sandwich and shook his head. “Poor Jack.”
She threw a fry at him, which he batted away before it left a grease stain on his suit. “Quite the temper, Miss Henley.”
“Yeah, I do have one of those,” she said. “I keep it locked up around the office.”
“Really?” He looked pointedly at the fry on the ground.
“I mean, during the workday. Whatever.” She dunked her sandwich into the jus. It was a little cold now but still delicious. “Did you know that this was Sabrina and Matt’s first fake-relationship meal? Roast beef sandwiches?”
“Why would I know that? How do you know that?”
She shrugged. “I know everything.”
They ate in silence for a moment. Then Kennedy wiped his mouth and looked at her. “It won’t be awkward.”
“What won’t?”
He shifted in his chair, looking as uncomfortable as she’d ever seen him. “The first kiss.”
“It might be. It’s been a while.” She refused to blush as she said it. There was no shame in the fact that it had been a long dry spell for her.
“What do you do, bite the guy?”
She laughed in surprise. She liked this joking version of Kennedy. “Yes. Definitely. Biting is my signature move.”
“Look, just don’t . . .” He blew out a breath. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with my assistant. About my little brother.”
Trust me, it’s even weirder for me.
And yet she didn’t particularly want to stop. It should be weird, and on some level, it was. But somehow . . . it also wasn’t. Perhaps their six years of silently circling each other had built a better foundation of friendship than either of them realized. “What were you going to say?”
He swirled his wine again. Took a sip. “Don’t overthink it.”
“That’s your advice? Don’t overthink it? From the guy who analyzes everything?”
“I do not.”
She gave him a look.
“I’ll grant that I tend to deliberate my words and actions, but even I know that there are some things better left to impulse and instinct.”
“Like sex.”
The hand absently swirling his wine stilled. “How’d you go from kissing to sex?”
“Well, I don’t know that I will, but I guess I’ll find out tomorrow night, won’t I?” She said it lightly, telling herself she was just trying to make him uncomfortable, the way she often delighted in doing. But even as she said it, she wondered if maybe she didn’t have another motive at work.
Wondered if maybe it was a knee-jerk desire to make him jealous, the way she’d been jealous every day for years knowing he went home with other women without ever seeing her.
That she said it didn’t surprise her. He was right: self-censorship had never been her strong suit. It was part of the reason she’d always been so prickly around the guy—a desperate need to keep him at a distance, to keep from blurting out her real feelings.
What did surprise her was the look on Kennedy’s face. She thought she knew all of his faces, but this one was new. Stormy, brooding, and yes . . .
Maybe a little bit jealous.
13
Monday, April 15
Kennedy tried his best not to glare at the curvy blonde sitting in Kate’s chair as he passed by her desk, but by the time he got to Ian’s office on the other side of the floor, his glare was fully developed.
“Where’s Kate?”
Ian glanced up in surprise from his computer. “Good morning. You’re looking sunny as always.”
“What the hell do we pay her for if she can’t make it into the office by ten a.m. on a Monday morning?”
Ian slowly pulled his hands away from his keyboard, his light-blue eyes studying Kennedy carefully. “Kate has a doctor’s appointment this morning. She put it on the calendar a month ago and sent a reminder email last week.”
Oh.
“Well, I didn’t hear from her all weekend,” Kennedy grumbled.
Ian looked genuinely confused. “Did you expect to?”
It was a fair question. Though Kate was a regular part of their social circle, none of them generally saw or heard from her after hours unless there was some sort of group gathering. She didn’t give them updates on what she did with her free time, and they didn’t with her.
But that had been before. Before she’d started dating his brother. Before he’d started thinking about her kissing his brother. Before he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, period.
“What’s up with you?” Ian asked as Kennedy prowled around his office.
“Nothing.”
“All right,” Ian said with an easy shrug, turning back to his computer.
“She’s driving me crazy,” Kennedy blurted out.
Ian’s hands slowly moved away from his keyboard once more. “I assume we’re not talking about Claudia.”
“Shit,” Kennedy muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.
Hearing her name spoken by his friend forced Kennedy to deal with an emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time—the second such emotion in a week. Because if hearing Kate’s name brought up an all-consuming surge of jealousy, especially as it pertained to his brother, hearing Claudia’s name brought up a corollary emotion: guilt.
“Trouble in tepid paradise?”
“No. Not really,” Kennedy replied.
Things with Claudia were . . . fine. And that was the problem. Everything he’d thought he always wanted—a stable, unobtrusive relationship—felt boring as hell. He wasn’t into it. Wasn’t into her, and she deserved better. It was past time to end things there, and though he felt like an ass for thinking it, even that felt like an inconvenience.
“Do you think we should force Jack to be part of our pact?” Kennedy asked, glancing over his shoulder at Ian.
“What pact?”
“The one where we agreed not to get romantically involved with Kate.”
Ian stared at him. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”
Kennedy resumed his pacing. “It would make sense. If he breaks Kate’s heart, it’ll be just as much our problem as if one of us did it.”
“For the love of God, would you sit down?” Ian said. “You’re making me dizzy.”
Kennedy sat, but his foot bounced impatiently. This sort of rest
less energy wasn’t like him, and it was irritating as hell.
Ian dragged his hands over his face. “I don’t even know where to start with this.”
“With what?”
Ian’s hands dropped back to his desk, his fingers pounding out a quick rhythm on the surface as he seemed to be considering whether or not to speak.
“Okay, here we go.” Ian sat forward slightly. “The pact. No, we can’t force your brother, who’s been out of the country for the past handful of years and doesn’t work here, to agree not to fall for Kate.”
Kennedy’s stomach lurched at that. Surely Jack wasn’t falling for her. Or her for him. Surely it was just . . . casual. Temporary.
“Second,” Ian continued, “you keep calling it our pact. I guess technically it is, but Dawson, man . . . really, it’s your pact.”
“What are you talking about?”
Ian shrugged. “The pact was your idea. Matt and I went along with it, because we’d had too much of the whiskey the Sams gave us for Christmas and didn’t have any reason not to go along with it. But the truth is, Matt and I have never needed a pact not to hit on Kate. Not that she’s not great,” he rushed to explain. “It just wouldn’t have occurred to us. Kate’s always been like a sister, from the very beginning.”
“That’s . . .” Kennedy shook his head. “Wait, so this whole time you guys have been thinking it’s my pact? Like, I’m the one who can’t keep my hands to myself without some childish oath?”
“I mean, I haven’t lost sleep thinking about it. But yeah, I guess I figured you had your reasons for creating it.”
“I don’t—” Kennedy stopped midsentence, trying to sort his thoughts. Had he had his reasons?
He thought back to that night in his office all of those years ago, when they’d made the pact. Yeah, he’d been the one to bring it up, but he assumed that was just because he was the most rational—and the least hornball—of their trio. He’d figured he hadn’t been the only one who thought just a little too often about Kate’s wide brown eyes or been strangely beguiled by her effortless competence. The only one who’d needed to tell himself that he wasn’t interested, in the hopes that he’d stop thinking about what it would be like to undo those prim buttons . . .
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