by Jackie Braun
How very efficient of her. If that was all there was to it. The elevator arrived and they stepped in.
“Parking structure?” he asked as his hand hovered over the panel.
She nodded in acknowledgment as the doors closed, sealing them both inside. He hit the button for the fourth floor, which had access to the adjacent garage. Afterward, they took opposite walls. Even so, he swore he could smell the clean scent of her perfume.
“Get everything all squared away with HR?” he asked politely.
“I did. Thanks.”
Her head was tipped back slightly, her gaze locked on the changing floor numbers on the digital display over the doors. When she cleared her throat, Brody’s eye was drawn to the graceful line of her neck. His gaze didn’t stop there, however. It crept lower to the open V of her blouse. Once again he caught himself speculating on what sexy secrets he might discover beneath her primly tailored cotton and gabardine.
“Is something on your mind?” she asked.
“No.” He coughed. “Why do you ask?”
She turned and faced him. “Because you’re staring at me.”
Brody had been doing a hell of a lot more than that. He’d been busy undressing her—and liking a little too much what he imagined he would find.
“Sorry.” The apology was automatic and issued before he could wonder if he was sorry for staring at her or for being caught doing so. But Brody’s mother had detested rudeness and made a point of drumming good manners into all three of her children. The memory of his mom, the recollection of all that he and his sisters had been denied because of Kate’s father’s greed, stoked Brody’s anger almost as much as the undeniable attraction he was feeling. “I’m just hoping I haven’t made a big mistake.”
“Do you mean by hiring me?”
“What else would I mean?”
Her cheeks had been slightly flushed, whether from embarrassment or interest, he couldn’t tell. Nor did it matter, Brody assured himself. But he did experience a twinge of guilt when her face bleached of color.
“You gave me six months to prove myself,” she reminded him stiffly. The elevator doors opened and they both stepped out. “I would appreciate the benefit of the doubt until then.”
She had him there, so he said nothing.
Parking at Douglass was assigned. His black SUV was in the spot that still bore her father’s name. Brody made a mental note to have the sign changed first thing in the morning. Kate was parked one space over. Her choice of vehicles came as a surprise. A meticulously restored old Chevy convertible?
It certainly didn’t go with her otherwise reserved image, and again he found himself wondering: Who was the real Katherine Douglass? The glamorous socialite whose picture graced the society pages and gossip websites? The studious-looking young executive with the impressive résumé and poise under pressure? An elegant woman into vintage automobiles? Or a devious spy on a mission for her father?
He was still puzzling over that when she shouted, “What the— No!”
It took him a moment to see what had caused her distress. The rear tire on the driver’s side was flat. Not merely flat—a four-inch-long gash penetrated the pricey whitewall. Her tire had been slashed. Judging from her expression, she came to the realization at the same time he did.
“It would appear you have an enemy, Kate.”
“Probably more than one,” she muttered.
No one on the management team, Collin included, had struck Brody as being this petty and vindictive. But anything was possible, he supposed, when someone’s livelihood was on the line. And five executives had been given their walking papers today while Kate had secured what amounted to a promotion. He’d report the incident to police, let them review the security footage—after he had.
“Yeah, well,” Kate said, “I’d prefer that they took out their irritation on me rather than my baby.”
Brody couldn’t help it. He chuckled. “Your baby? It’s a car.”
Kate’s gaze swung to his. She looked scandalized. “It’s a 1964 Corvair.”
“I stand corrected.”
She dumped her belongings into the rear seat and stood back to survey the damage.
“I found her at an auction three years ago. She was a complete wreck. The engine was blown, the leather seats trashed, the steering column missing, and the body had more rust than paint.”
“Yet you bought, uh, her?”
“I saw potential.”
It was an interesting statement—an unsettling one, too. While Brody didn’t share her affinity for old cars, he appreciated Kate’s ability to look beyond what was there to see what could be. That was an innate leadership quality, as far as he was concerned. It wasn’t one learned in a college classroom.
“Who did the work?” he asked.
“A body shop just east of downtown. The owner has a reputation for excellent work.”
“I can see why. Got a spare in the trunk? I can change it for you,” he offered.
Kate looked ready to decline his offer, but then she said, “Thanks. I’d appreciate it. It’s a little embarrassing to admit this, but I don’t know how to change a tire.”
Embarrassing? How many wealthy young women would chance ruining their manicures to swap out a flat when they could simply call for road service?
“Watch and learn,” Brody told her as he shrugged out of his suit coat.
While she unlocked the trunk and retrieved the jack, he shed his tie and unfastened his cuffs after removing the gold and diamond links he’d purchased for himself to celebrate his first job. As he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, he glanced over to find her watching him. Her gaze was on the inside of his right forearm. The tattoo there was done in black and not very detailed. It was a far cry from the elaborate Virgo symbol tattooed on his right hip. He hadn’t been drunk at the time he’d gotten this one, either. Or goaded into it by his best friend during a trip to New Orleans. No, the tattoo on his arm was simple, poignant. It was the date of his parents’ deaths followed by “RIP.”
“You’re staring at me,” he said, parroting her words from the elevator.
“You have a tattoo.”
“Actually, I have more than one.” When her brows shot up, he added, “The other one’s location is less…visible.”
The afternoon heat was oppressive, but he didn’t think it was responsible for her flushed cheeks. He liked a little too much knowing that he could elicit such a reaction.
He pulled the tire out of the trunk and crouched to position the jack. He’d cranked it a couple of times before she tapped him on the shoulder.
“Do you mind?” She glanced meaningfully at the jack.
“Be my guest.”
It was her turn to peel off her blazer. As he’d suspected, the cut of the blue blouse she wore beneath it was every bit as conservative, but the tailored fit was flattering and the way it nipped in at her waist, tails tucked into the slim skirt, accentuated her femininity.
They traded spots.
“There’s no substitute for hands-on learning,” he told her.
Which was true, but the sight of Kate working the jack had a very disturbing effect on his body.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” she was saying.
“About…?” His gaze was glued to her arms, but his peripheral vision was taking in the up-and-down action of her hips. It was all he could do to hold back his groan.
“That you have a tattoo. All sorts of people do these days.”
“Do you have one?”
“What do you think?” Pump. Pump. Pump.
Brody was a little too preoccupied to think. He glanced away in an attempt to gather his wits.
“No. You’re not the type,” he said at last.
“Yeah?” She stopped pumping and eyed him. “I’m betting you didn’t think I was the type to drive a vintage car, either.”
“Drive one, maybe. But I didn’t have you figured for buying a rust bucket that needed to be fully restored.”
Chapter Four
It was only after she and Brody had managed to change the rear tire that Kate realized the front passenger side one was flat, too. By that time, Brody was already in his Denali and pulling out of the spot that for three decades had belonged to her father.
She grabbed her cell phone from her purse and was just starting to dial for road service when Brody’s SUV pulled back into the space next to hers. The tinted passenger side window rolled down, revealing his handsome face. He was frowning.
“Is something wrong, Kate?”
“It seems that one of the front tires is flat, too.”
“Flat as in slashed?” After she nodded, he said, “Will it make you feel better to know whoever did this to your car also keyed the driver’s side of my Denali?”
“Gee, and I was starting to feel special.” She worked up a smile and tried to keep her voice free of all the frustration she felt. “I guess it’s time to call in the professionals.”
Brody shifted his vehicle into park, clearly planning to stay. As much as she appreciated the gesture, she felt the need to tell him, “You don’t have to stick around. I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t mind.”
When he looked at her that way, neither did she.
“I’m sure you have something better to do with your time than hang out in a parking garage waiting for a tow truck to show up.”
He seemed to mull that over. “You’re right about that.”
She hadn’t expected him to agree so readily. The real shock, however, was the disappointment she felt. She’d enjoyed his company during the past half an hour. Perhaps what she’d really enjoyed was the way he made her feel like an equal, even though technically he was her superior. And while he’d been teaching her how to change a flat, he hadn’t made her feel weak or helpless. Nor had he objected when she’d wanted to take over and do it herself.
Instead of leaving, however, he motioned toward the passenger door. “Put your keys under the mat and get in. I’ll take you home and we can have a garage deal with your tire and deliver the car to your house if need be.”
His offer was tempting. Too tempting to refuse, even if it meant leaving her baby behind. She was tired and hungry and eager to shed her high heels and business attire for something more comfortable. So Kate grabbed her bag and joined him in his vehicle.
The cool air blowing from the vents felt heavenly on her heated skin as she called for road service from her cell. Afterward, she told him where she lived and settled back in the plush leather seat while he maneuvered the Denali out of the parking structure and into the heavy late-afternoon traffic. A sigh escaped before she could corral it.
“Long day?” There was a smile in his voice, although his profile remained impassive, borderline stern.
“Long and eventful. I’ll be happy to get home and unwind.”
“And what is it you do to unwind?”
Was he making idle chitchat or truly interested? She decided it didn’t matter. Either way, her answer would have been the same. “I cook.”
Dark brows winged up in surprise, and his gaze left the road to study at her. Nothing about his scrutiny was idle. “You cook?”
“Yes. Why do you find that so shocking?”
Eyes back on traffic, he shrugged. “I just assumed you had someone who would do that for you.”
Growing up, she had. Her mother had hardly been the domestic sort. These days, her father and stepmother still employed live-in help to prepare all their meals, perform the housekeeping, and maintain the grounds of their sprawling lakefront estate in a well-heeled suburb just outside the city.
“You seem to have a lot of preconceived notions where I’m concerned.” She kept her tone conversational.
“And you seem to run counter to all of them.”
Oddly, he didn’t sound exactly happy about that. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I didn’t learn how to boil water until I was a college freshman.”
“Okay, I feel better. So, why then?”
“Shirley, one of the girls on the floor in my dormitory, had a hot plate. One night when we were up late studying for exams, she showed me how to make mac and cheese from a box.” Kate smiled, recalling what, at the time, had seemed like an amazing feat. Recalling, too, the friendship that had bloomed between the two young women. A friendship that remained strong to this day.
“Good old mac and cheese,” Brody murmured. “I’ve made enough of it over the years.”
“A bachelor staple?” she inquired with more than mild curiosity.
While all he had to do was perform an internet search on her name to discover page after page of her personal history, details of his private life were in short supply. She knew his marital status and had a good idea of his age. She knew he was shrewd in business, but what was this man like beyond the boardroom?
He didn’t answer her question. Instead, he asked one of his own. “Are you any good? In the kitchen, I mean,” he clarified with a smile that might have been wicked, although he’d kept his gaze trained on the road, so she couldn’t be sure.
“I’m very good…in the kitchen.” And while it wasn’t like her to brag, she decided to add, “I excel at anything I put my mind to.”
“Really?” He glanced her way, his smile widening not with mirth but with something far more dangerous. Wicked. Definitely wicked.
Back down, she told herself. Back away from the ledge. But she inched forward instead by saying, “If you’re going to do something, do it well. Make sure you’re memorable—for the right reasons. That’s my motto.”
“Are you speaking professionally now?” His gaze, direct and penetrating, flicked back from the road. She remembered this look from the boardroom during takeover talks. Here was a man who could be ruthless as he was handsome. Whatever he went after, he got, whether it be compromises, concessions, or companies. Women? A shiver passed down her spine, the result of feminine interest far more than nerves. Still, she passed it off as a chill from the air conditioning and shifted the direction of the dashboard vent so that it was no longer aimed directly at her.
“Haven’t we been all along?”
“Of course.”
She bit back a smile. “Well, professionally or personally, I don’t see a reason to draw a distinction when it comes to doing my best. Do you?”
“Nothing worse than half-assed.”
“Exactly.”
His lips twitched with the barest hint of that wicked smile she’d spied earlier, but the question that followed was pedestrian. “So, why cooking?”
“Well, as you’ve already guessed, I had people to do that for me while I was growing up. But once I graduated college and was on my own, I didn’t want anyone in my kitchen but me. I like being self-sufficient. I’d grown tired of mac and cheese and other packaged foods by that point, so I took lessons.”
“Lessons?”
“That’s generally how you learn, right? You go to someone who knows what they’re doing and then you pay close attention while they walk you through the basics. You have to learn to walk before you can run.”
…
Brody mulled over Kate’s answer. It made sense, of course. But he hadn’t had that luxury after his parents had died and the care of his young half sisters had been left to him. At twenty-two, he’d had to dive in headfirst and just wing it. Once neighbors, friends, and the few distant relatives the family had in the Chicago area had stopped bringing over meals for him to reheat, canned soups and sandwiches had become dinner staples. Along with the aforementioned mac and cheese. Comfort food, people called it. He’d found it to be nothing of the sort, given the circumstances. These days, he couldn’t stomach the stuff, even the gourmet variety Jenna was c
apable of whipping up. Too many bad memories were tied to it.
He shook off their ghosts now and asked, “What do you like to cook?”
“Do you mean like a favorite food?”
“Sure.” He nodded. “Do you have a specialty?”
“Well, I prefer Italian cuisine, so I seem to make a lot of it.”
“You paid someone to teach you how to make spaghetti from a box and sauce from a jar?” He couldn’t resist needling her.
Sure enough, she snorted delicately in faux insult. “Please. My sauce is from scratch and so is my pasta.”
“You don’t look like you eat a lot of carbs.” He allowed himself a sideways glance. He’d used them sparingly, since looking at Kate was a little too enjoyable. For the first time, he fully understood the saying easy on the eye.
“There’s a lot more to Italian food than bread and noodles, you know.”
“Such as?”
“Well, I love shrimp scampi, and it doesn’t have to be paired with pasta. I put it over a bed of steamed zucchini ribbons.”
“Is that what you plan to make tonight?” Brody told himself it was the thought of succulent shrimp in herbed butter that had his mouth watering.
“Actually, I had that last night. Tonight, I think I’ll make eggplant parmesan.” Pride sneaked into her tone when she added, “My garden is in overdrive right now. I have more fresh vegetables than I can possibly eat. And before you can ask, yes, I garden.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” he lied.
She called him on it. “Yes, you were.” Her laughter filled the car before she went on. “I even pull my own weeds. How’s that for hands-on?”
She held up the hands under discussion. He didn’t need to inspect them now to know that they were neatly manicured and devoid of jewelry, with the exception of a ring on her right middle finger that sported a small, light blue gemstone. An aquamarine, perhaps? He recalled it from the boardroom and had wondered at its significance, since he’d caught her twisting it several times.
Now, he told her, “I have a garden, too. Well, my sister does. She grows her own herbs.”