by Dakota Gray
She catches up to my stride. “Most important question.”
The stair doors slam behind us. I take three steps at a time. “And that is?”
“Why did you invite me?”
I stop and face her. She smacks into my chest. Her breasts cushion the brunt of the impact. My blood turns thick and slow in my veins. I let that sensation sink in and leak into my gaze. “I haven't seen you in three days.”
Her stance relaxes. “Is that so?”
She's not the only one who can play their game straight. “Yes.”
She blushes and breaks my stare. I wait another five seconds to see if she’ll hit me back with something, but she continues to blush like a school girl. I fucking love it.
I turn on my heel and finish making my way out of the building. She trails behind at a slower pace. Not just that, she says nothing more until we're seated at the restaurant.
She's neither in awe of or intimidated by the quiet wealth on display, from the well-preserved 1930s décor to patrons who are wearing sedate jewelry that costs more than her Nissan.
I've always assumed she came from a middle-class upbringing, a basic assumption I make of everyone until they tell me differently. I frown at her. Kennedy has lived in a vacuum. I have no idea about the finer details of her background, and that bothers the shit out of me.
It's too late to ask the Sec to dig up dirt, and I have to be honest, I'm not sure they would. They love Kennedy. I’m definitely not asking Gwen.
I can hire a PI, but that seems extreme given I can ask. “Have you been here before?”
She tugs the napkin free and drapes it over her lap. “No, and the server keeps looking at me like I'm something he needs to scrape off your shoe.”
A quick sweep of the room reveals more than a few people are openly staring at Kennedy. Then me. Then Kennedy. My death glare stops most of the rubbernecking.
I follow Kennedy's lead and grab my napkin. “They're not fans of jeans at this place.”
“Then why did they let me in?”
“Because you're with me.”
She laughs softly. “I'm not sure if that's ego or truth.”
“Both.” I point the menu. “What are you eating?”
She runs her hand over the menu. “Shouldn't we wait for your family?”
I check my phone. Nate and Tarek have sent me what I've needed. “He'll be here in a few minutes.”
She fidgets with her silverware and then meets my eye. “And you plan to...”
“Make him an offer.”
Her mouth quirks up. “That he can't refuse?”
My death stare bounces off her. “I'm starting to believe you have a mobster sex fantasy. Tell me it in detail while we wait.”
She leans forward. Shit, I do too because it was a joke. Or I thought.
“In my fantasy, he—”
“Would you like a mimosa, ma'am?”
I glare at the server who crept up on us. He takes a step back. “Do you need me to come back, Mr. Al—Duke?”
Kennedy straightens. “A mimosa will be fine. I'll also take some pancakes, whatever fruit you have that's fresh and...” She glances at me. “And a big Italian sausage.”
I barely hold back the chuckle. “I have a sudden craving for steak again. Brings back such good memories. Add an omelet. Another guest will arrive soon. For them, lay out a sample platter with your popular brunch items.”
She leans back, her expression turning wary. I wait until the waiter is out of ear shot to focus on Kennedy. “You were saying? Something about your fantasy.”
“I didn't know you were bringing someone,” comes from behind me. Corey sounds exactly like a man who has to talk around the silver spoon in his mouth. “Kennedy, of all people. Haven't seen you since my uncle's funeral.”
I crane my neck and don’t bother to smile. “Hey, Corey. How are you?”
“Kennedy,” he says her name again and goes straight for her. I do my best to not pick up my fork and do harm to him.
Her smile is warm. “Nice to see you again, Corey.”
My cousin wasn’t just toying with me.
Let’s pause.
There's a lot I remember about that day. Some things have been burned into my brain. My mother is one. She went throughout the ordeal with a blank expression, yet tears streamed down her face. It wasn't normal crying.
She'd sit down to eat or greet fellow mourners with a strained smile and tears would leak out as though the grief needed some kind of outlet. I remember the eulogy Corey's father gave. In death, my father became a kind, caring man who loved his wife, son and family. His life's work barely had a mention.
What I don't recall is Kennedy.
I have so many questions, none I can ask at the moment without sounding...vulnerable. Bad enough I can barely find my breath. She was there? How did I not know? Who did she talk to while there? Why didn't she talk to me?
Like I do with everything, I file it for later.
Then I sit back in my chair and watch Kennedy and Corey exchange pleasantries as he settles across from me. There's an ease between them, but that's not saying much. Kennedy has that effect on anyone she spends more than five minutes with.
His hair is a collection of big, loopy curls. The fucker’s suit costs as much as mine, if not more, and looks it. His eyes are dark and fathomless. I’m barely two years older. We could be brothers. I’m not sure if that annoys me more or less.
Kennedy laughs at something he says that I didn’t catch.
More. Definitely more. I let him have his moment to get comfortable. I even wait for our food to arrive.
“Ordered for me?” Corey asks while digging in.
“You like the best so that's what I ordered for you. How is it?”
“From the looks of things, it's better than your steak. You're not eating.”
People let down their guard when they're eating. I don't plan to do the former. “Kennedy, how is your food?”
She looks between me and Corey. “Too much sausage.”
I smile at the subtle dig. My cousin and I are taking out our proverbial measuring tapes and seeing who is bigger. “Did you know Corey went to Brown?” A smart woman is sitting beside me. I slyly wipe at the tip of my nose, knowing she'll get the joke about him being a brown-nosing piece of shit.
“Excuse me.” She plays off the laugh by coughing. “Don't know where that came from.”
I push her drink closer. “Graduated summa cum lade. Blah, blah, blah. Long list of academic achievements. He's impressive. So much so, my father put him in charge of Alexander and Associates when he died.” I look at Corey. “Are you even thirty?”
“You know how old I am.”
“Growing up, we were often mistaken for brothers. Dark hair, dark eyes.”
“And ruggedly handsome?” she helps.
“I'm taller. He's had his fair share of women. Married though now. How is my beautiful cousin-in-law?”
He cuts into his smoked salmon and takes a bite. Like the ass he is, he takes his time answering. “This catching up is all nice and sweet, but why am I here, Duke? Stop wasting my time. I have a law firm to run.”
Those words are meant to hurt me. I go cold. “Don't be rude. It's unbecoming.”
He visibly shrinks for a moment. Every grandparent has a favorite admonishment. That verbal hand slap comes out of your parent's mouth eventually to land on you like a ton of bricks. This is ours. His gaze goes flat when he realizes what I've done to silence him.
I smile. “You're right. I shouldn't waste your time. My mother wants to go to a board meeting. This is me asking nicely.”
“The firm is no longer your business.” He pushes his plate away. “Or did you forget your father cut you out?”
“My father was a man of his word. He told me that's what he'd do six years ago if I interned for anyone other than Alexander and Associates after passing the bar.” Kennedy gasps, and I do my best to file it the fuck away. “Now will my mother be at the next board m
eeting?”
There's ice in his eyes as he holds my stare. “No.”
That, right there, is why I hate Corey. He’s wanted everything I’ve had without ever considering what I did to get it. He wants it because all our lives people have compared us, and he always falls short. Not my fault. He doesn’t see it that way. Every opportunity he gets to fuck with me he takes it.
“Thought you'd say that.” I tap the screen on my phone. “Alexander and Associates can burn to the ground tomorrow. I won't lose any sleep. My mother would. Not only does she want to preserve her husband's legacy, but the one she built at the firm. She's made personal and financial investments.”
“You expect me to believe you don't care about the firm?”
Kennedy shifts beside me, but I can't look at her. She's finding out more about me in a single conversation. One I’m not even having with her.
“I think what you don't understand is that even though you have the biggest office, you can be bought out. You're so wet behind the ears. No one wants some overeager brown-nosing puppy in charge of their multi-billion dollar business. I'm just talking about the other senior partners.”
I offer him my phone. Curiosity gets the best of him. He reads the screen and pales. Everyone has a past and everyone has a weakness. I'm nut punching his.
I keep my voice level. “I understand I've given you a lot to think about. I'm not done. Tap the screen.”
I like to think his finger shakes when he does. Corey swallows and sits back.
I say, “I think we're on the same page. Will my mother be able to attend the board meeting?”
“Yes.”
“Understand I won't be this nice next time if you decide my mother is an inconvenience.” Kennedy choke-coughs beside me. I push her drink closer to her again. “I'll pay for the meal.”
Corey throws his napkin on the table. “Why? Why would you...” He points to my phone.
“You gave my mother a hard time. Why? Because you're an Alexander, and you could. Forget again that I am everything you wish you could be, and I will remind you by destroying your world.”
I finally bring my attention back to the woman beside me. Kennedy's looking at me, and it's not disappointment staring back. Whatever emotion, it is deeper than that. I should be too cold to feel the punch of it.
“Anything else you want to eat?” I keep my voice free from the strain urging me to soften. “I can have them box up any leftovers. Except the salmon and bagels. I'm taking those.”
“I'm...not hungry anymore.”
Her words leave me arctic. I embrace it to survive because we still have to get into a car together.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Have you ever sat in a parked car with a woman who has nothing to say to you? I don't recommend it. She wanted to go home instead of back to work, which I can only guess shows how pissed she is.
I don’t understand why she’s mad at me. I figure she’ll tell me when she wants to. I need to get back to work though. She needs to move it along.
I clear my throat. “Are we sitting here or are we getting out?”
Her golden eyes has a glint to them as she glares at me. “Is that why you really wanted me to go with you? To see you...savage your cousin because he was being a dick to your mother?”
She’s mad that I’m protecting my mother? I don’t get it. “I told you the reason why I wanted you with me. I haven’t seen you in days.”
The thought hadn’t crossed my mind I wouldn’t get fucked afterward because I would piss her off. Had I known…
Beside the fucking point. I open my door to climb out and end this conversation. I'm on her side in time to help her down.
She takes my hand, and the tightness at my nape releases. Yet the moment she's on firm ground, Kennedy pulls away. There's no cold this time, but hot, red anger burning in my veins. I follow her and she blocks me from entering her apartment. It's a subtle move of only cracking open her door, but it’s so damn telling.
I crowd her space and lean against the frame. “You're going to stand there and tell me—”
“Your cousin is a dick. I knew that the moment he offered me his pocket square at the graveside service of your father’s funeral. His wife was comforting your mother and he's being all smarmy in the back with me.”
“Then why are you angry at me?”
She looks up and shakes her head. “Because you're better than him. I don't need to know what dirt you have on him. It doesn't matter. You may have been threatening him for all the right reasons, but you relished hurting him the way you did.”
I was supposed to make him heel nicely? What fucking world does she live in? “I'm not a good guy. I wasn't when you met me. I won't be when I die.”
She leans forward and lifts that chin of hers to stare me down. “You didn’t have to be cruel. You didn't have to rub his jealousy of you in his face. You didn't even have to take him to brunch. You found his Achilles' heel and sucker punched it. It's exactly what he did to you. All I'm saying is you're better than that.”
I don't know the man she sees when she looks at me. I'm really starting to not like him. He sounds fucking sanctimonious. “I sucker punched his weakness because that's the only way to deal with men like Corey who get everything they want. He laughed in my face when I asked him nicely.”
“But you didn’t ask him nicely. You took him to an expensive restaurant, brought an audience, and waited for the right moment to slap him down. The reasonable alternative is a phone call first.”
I take a moment to inhale to keep from yelling or losing any more of my temper. “And what's reasonable about denying my mother a seat at the table?”
“Not my point. Did you enjoy hurting him? Giving him your phone and watching him go pale?”
Yes. I was winning. I ball my hands and glare down at her. “Why were you at my father's funeral? Why didn't you say anything to me about it?”
She pulls a hand through her hair. “I don't know what we are, Duke. I've never known, but I wanted to be there for you. You didn't need—no, you didn’t want anyone to show you a shred of sympathy. You made that perfectly clear to everyone who tried to talk to you that day. So I...” Her eyes are wide when she whispers, “Have you cried yet? Have you once grieved for your father?”
When I think of my father being gone and never seeing him again there’s nothing but a black pit. Some days there’s anger. Too many there’s indifference. Do I want to feel something other than the bleak cold? I don’t know. I can’t...I won’t tell her that. “You can't miss something you've never had, and I've never had a father.”
“All the more reason to grieve.”
My temper slips through my fingers. “What do you want from me, Kennedy? To curl into the fetal position? To cry over the fact my father didn't hug me enough? No. Hug me, period. Apologize to my cousin for making him eat crow? What? What the fuck do you want?”
“For you to stop lying to yourself.” Her tone is soft, warm, and my stomach knots at the tenderness she’s showing me. Fucking Kennedy.
I press my finger nails into my palms to court pain, to feel anything but the brush of her words.
Except she keeps talking. “Stop believing you're this heartless man, but you can't let go of that. You might actually get hurt if you let your guard down for one second.”
Huh. You really do see red when you're enraged. The anger works its way down from my vision and squeezes my throat. “Like I did three years ago?” The words barely get above a whisper.
She straightens away from me like I’ve hit her. “What?”
I'm not fucking repeating myself. “I have to go back to work.”
She grabs my tie. “Say it.”
“How about 'fuck this?'” I offer instead. “Take me or leave me. I'm going on a trip this weekend. Camping. You're welcome to come. Be at my house at six in the morning Saturday. If you're not there...whatever.”
She wraps her hand around my tie and tugs me closer. “You've never let your guard down
with me.”
“Neither have you.” I release the knot on my tie and leave her with it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I vote for office coffee instead of a bottle of Jack Friday morning. I slept like shit. My mood is on par. Unfortunately the assholes I work with didn't make another pot so I have to wait in the break room until I can get my dose of civility.
Did I mention the Sec is there at their favorite table exchanging donuts, bagels and granola bars? I greeted them, they nodded and smiled, and then the whispers commenced. No one approached me to slyly ask me about what I did when I left with Kennedy, but when has truth ever stood in the way of gossip?
A few seconds later Gwen sidles her way into my peripheral vision. I watch the slow drip of coffee as I wait for the inevitable nosy conversation she's going to launch my way. With an avid audience.
“Morning, Duke.”
“Gwen.”
She blinks. “You don't speak to me until you've had two cups. Kennedy must have left you in a good mood.”
I frown at that. “Nope.”
“What did you do?”
There's enough in the pot for a cup and half. “Nothing.”
“Duke.”
I almost chuckle at her exasperated tone. She thinks I’m self-centered, spoiled—sometimes she believes I’m The Institution. I can’t fault her too much for that view of me. I’m not warm and fuzzy with her. “You see Lenore over there in the corner, acting like she's not watching us?”
She laughs softly. “I noticed.”
“About two and half years ago, her mother died from breast cancer.” I pour a cup then shove the glass back under the drip. “Before that Kennedy set up a schedule with the Sec to bring her family food, pick up her kids, and clean the house, so the time she spent with her mother was worry free.”
“I remember that. I pitched in.”
“There's Carmen, who at the moment is trying to drop two donuts in her purse while she thinks no one is paying attention.”
Gwen whips her head around and Carmen scratches at the back of her head like she's guilty of nothing.
I add, “They were calendar girls together. For two years, Kennedy helped her study to get her paralegal certificate. When Carmen graduated, Kennedy threw a party here.”