Huge Deal (21 Wall Street Book 3)

by Lauren Layne

  Kate had gotten her MBA, which resulted in a title upgrade from administrative assistant to office administrator, as well as the corresponding pay increase. But more important, she’d felt like a new, changed woman.

  It hadn’t occurred to her that the luster of getting her MBA could ever dull, but here she was again with that same itch. And though a haircut was a poor comparison to a master’s degree, her gut told her a fresh look was exactly what she needed. As a starting point, anyway.

  She met the stylist’s gaze in the mirror. “Can you just make it . . . better?”

  Brianna grinned. “How short are you willing to go?”

  “Eh, don’t go crazy,” Kate said. “I had a very ill-advised pixie cut once. Let’s just say I do not have the bone structure to pull that off.”

  “Oh, I think you do,” Brianna mused, lifting Kate’s hair away from her face and studying her. “But don’t worry, I think we can keep it long and still remove some of the weight. You also booked a color. What are you thinking there?”

  “I’m thinking that I want to stay a brunette, but I’d love if my hair was something other than Hershey’s-bar brown. Especially since it’s not even the Hershey’s Special Dark variety of chocolate,” she said grumpily, glaring at her hair. “It’s like the milk chocolate kind you put on s’mores, because it’s too boring on its own.”

  Brianna patted her shoulder. “Trust me. I know exactly what you want. I’m going to go mix some color. Can I get you a magazine?”

  “Yes please,” Kate said. “Maybe something with a beauty section and makeup tips?”

  If she was going to freshen up her look . . . might as well go all the way.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you called,” Sabrina said, plucking a lipstick tube off the counter, winding it up to study the color, then winding it back down again when she saw it was a violent orange shade. “Nobody knows their way around this city’s cosmetic counters like I do.”

  “You know you can buy all of this stuff online. Free shipping,” Lara said, tapping her nail against a foundation bottle.

  “Which normally I’d do,” Kate said, giving an overwhelmed glance around the cosmetics department. “But I confess, with this stuff, I don’t know where to start.”

  Yes, she’d ended up calling her friends after all. She’d managed just fine on the hair front. Thanks to Brianna’s skill, Kate felt like a whole new woman. Somehow the stylist had managed to leave Kate with her trademark long locks, but her hair was shinier, straighter, and seemed to move with Kate instead of just sort of hanging there. The color, too, was exactly what she’d wanted. There was no crazy change, no too-light streaks, just a little bit of something to make Kate’s natural color look richer.

  But then Kate had hit up the cushy department store for stage two of her mini makeover, with the intent of splurging on high-end lipstick, because . . . how hard could that be?

  Hard, apparently.

  Normally, Kate walked into Sephora and picked up the same beige-pink lipstick she’d been wearing since her very first post-college interview. The brown liner that she sometimes wore, sometimes forgot, was drugstore variety and suited her just fine—when she could remember it.

  Today, though, she’d wanted something different, wanted to change it up.

  Turns out, too much selection was not always a good thing, and she had found herself overwhelmed by all of the options.

  “Okay, what are we thinking?” Sabrina said, surveying the dozens of counters. “Something to go with the new hair, obviously.”

  “Which I can’t get over,” Lara said reverently. “How do you get it to swing like that?”

  “Money,” Kate said, trying not to think too long or hard on how much damage the style had cost her credit card. “And enjoy it while it lasts, because there are no guarantees I’ll ever be able to get it to look this way again.”

  “You could always do a ponytail like I do,” Lara said.

  Kate and Sabrina exchanged a look.

  “Sweetie,” Sabrina said, tugging Lara’s hair. “You realize you can pull off this cheerleader pony because you have seven times more hair than normal, right? The rest of us only wear this style to Pilates or to wash our face because our ponytail looks about like what you probably shed in the shower.”

  “Most disgusting visual ever,” Lara said, and Kate nodded in agreement. “Besides, your hair’s fabulous.”

  “Because I know what works for me,” Sabrina said, touching a hand to the sleek knot of dark hair at the nape of her neck. “And I know exactly what makeup works for Kate. This way, pet.”

  Kate and Lara dutifully followed after Sabrina, who walked with the confident side-to-side sashay of a woman who was irresistible and knew it.

  “So what brought this on?” Lara asked casually. Too casually.

  Kate gave her friend a knowing look as Sabrina began rattling off something about warm pinks to a saleswoman at the Chanel counter. “You know that doesn’t work with me.”

  “What?” Lara pushed her glasses up her nose.

  “The I’m just a curious little thing asking harmless questions routine that makes you so good at your job,” Kate said. Lara had recently joined the FBI’s New York white-collar division and was already climbing the ranks at record speed.

  Lara laughed. “Sorry. Habit. Since you’re my friend and not a suspect, I’ll ask straight up. Are you okay? I’m all for self-pampering and feeling gorgeous, but I’ve always known you to be more of a cherry ChapStick kind of gal. I’ve also seen you use a chip clip to tie your hair back.”

  “One time,” Kate said, holding up her finger. “I did that one time. And I washed the clip after.”

  “Fair enough. So you just wanted a change?”

  “Yes, exactly,” Kate said, grateful her friend got it. “I promise if I find myself in some sort of deep-rooted crisis, I’ll tell you, but this really, truly is just me itching to change something up, and my hair and makeup seemed like a good place to start.”

  “And clothes,” Sabrina said, waving a tube of mascara over her shoulder without turning around. “Don’t think I’m not coming along for the wardrobe part of this party!”

  Kate leaned toward Lara. “I did do the right thing asking you guys to join, right?”

  Lara linked arms with her and nudged her toward the counter. “Considering I’ll make sure we go get a glass of wine before Sabrina has her new-clothes way with you, yes. Yes, you did.”

  6

  Saturday, March 30

  “You going to turn that glare on me if I say happy birthday, old man?” Sabrina Cross said, approaching a glowering Kennedy.

  Kennedy moved his eyes to his right without turning his head. “Probably not.”

  “What if I tell you that the ice sculpture is just the spitting image of you? Though I think they overdid it on the biceps . . .”

  Kennedy made an exaggerated show of looking around the crowded rooftop of the Knickerbocker Hotel.

  “Who are you looking for?”

  “Your husband. I don’t want him to see me pushing you off the roof.”

  Sabrina laughed and linked a slender arm with his, lifting her other hand to take a sip of her champagne. “Let’s just stand here for a minute and pretend we’re in a riveting conversation so that we don’t have to make small talk.”

  “You’re good at small talk.”

  “I am,” she agreed. “You’re not, unless it’s one of your clients. Most of whom are in attendance, I noticed.”

  “I think half of Manhattan’s in attendance,” Kennedy said, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

  “There’s the birthday spirit,” she said sarcastically.

  He looked down at her dark head. “Thanks for coming.”

  A smile played on her lips. “Better.”

  She looked up, presenting Kennedy with one of the more objectively beautiful faces he’d ever seen. More important, he actually liked Sabrina and always had. She was a longtime friend of Ian’s, their friendship dat
ing back to their rougher days in Philly, before they’d reconnected in Manhattan at the top of their games—he as a BSD of Wall Street, she as New York City’s most notorious and sought-after fixer, a woman who could make just about any problem go away. For a price.

  But stunning as the woman was, and as much as he enjoyed her company, there’d never been even a spark of anything resembling chemistry between them. Probably because all of the chemistry in the room—any room—had been consumed by Matt and Sabrina until they’d finally given in to the inevitable and hooked up last year, giving everyone in their orbit relief from observational blue balls.

  Sabrina had married Matt this past New Year’s Eve, and though she had opted not to take his name (something about the Sabrina Cross brand being legendary), she’d taken Matt’s heart full stop and given hers right back. It was sort of nice to see, albeit in a slightly nauseating way.

  Sabrina lifted her champagne flute to get someone’s attention, and a moment later, Matt joined them, carrying two Manhattans, one of which he placed in Kennedy’s hand. “Thought you might need this.”

  “Why’s that?” Kennedy said, taking a sip of the whiskey cocktail.

  “Because you’re lurking in the corner of the room at your own party with someone else’s wife.”

  “Oh, but we were in riveting conversation,” Sabrina said. “Did it not look riveting?”

  “You looked like you wanted to rip my clothes off, and Kennedy looked like he wanted to throw himself backward over the ledge.”

  “Actually, he was going to push me over the ledge,” Sabrina said.

  Matt nodded. “I could see that.” He gave Kennedy an assessing look. “Are you going to throw me off the roof if I ask where your girlfriend is?”

  “Great question,” Kennedy grumbled. “I should probably go find her.”

  “She did pull out all the stops,” Matt said.

  Understatement.

  Kennedy looked around at his over-the-top surroundings, seeing a bit more clearly now that the irritation—surprise, he meant surprise—of the unexpected party had faded slightly. He supposed he should have seen it coming. Claudia had been jumpy all afternoon. He’d chalked it up to nervousness over introducing her boyfriend to her parents. Had he been paying closer attention, he’d like to think he’d have seen the signs. Maybe then he’d have been at least a little prepared and managed more than an under-the-breath “Jesus” when one hundred of his closest and not-so-close friends had shouted “Surprise!” when he and Claudia had stepped off the elevator into the St. Cloud bar.

  He appreciated the effort. He did. It was just that the Dawsons usually treated birthdays with a quiet, dignified nod to the coming year. A special dinner when they were kids. A nice bottle of scotch when they’d hit drinking age. He thought everyone in his inner circle knew he liked quiet birthdays.

  He didn’t mind getting older, but he sure as hell didn’t want to celebrate another year with ice sculptures and cocktail servers and . . .

  “Are those oysters?” Kennedy asked, finally noticing the elaborate raw bar set up to his left.

  “Your favorite,” Ian said, clamping him on the shoulder as he and Lara joined them. “Maybe you’ll die.”

  Kennedy ignored his friend and bent to kiss the cheek of Ian’s better half.

  “Happy birthday, old man,” Lara said, squeezing his hand.

  “Why do people keep calling me that? I think I liked you better when you were an SEC agent out to put Ian in jail. At least then you were polite to me.”

  “Actually, it’s a good thing when she’s rude to you,” Ian said. “She’s unfailingly polite to people she doesn’t really like.”

  “That isn’t true!” Lara protested, adjusting her glasses and glaring at Ian.

  Ian pointed his Negroni—a bitter red cocktail that was his trademark drink of choice—in the direction of the partygoers. “Really? I think you nearly knocked over Claudia’s parents just now with your eyelash fluttering.”

  “Okay, well, they were snobby,” Lara said. “No offense, Kennedy.”

  “None taken.” Claudia hadn’t been entirely lying about the night involving him meeting her parents. The Palmers were at the party, and Lara was right—they were snobby. Granted, his parents could be labeled as such, too. But his parents had a cool, sort of reserved snobbery that thawed once you got to know them. The Palmers were openly snobby. The sort of name-dropping, gossip-hungry social climbers who Kennedy hated the most.

  “Oh, Kennedy.” Lara tapped his arm with the base of her wineglass. “Before I forget, if you get hungry, there’s a table on the far side of the room with little roast-beef slider things. Since, you know . . .” She waved at the shellfish bar.

  Kennedy nodded, relieved. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, having expected an early dinner with Claudia’s parents. Plus, roast beef was his favorite. Bonus if there was extra-hot horseradish sauce on the side.

  “Thanks,” he said. “Guess that’s what I get for not mentioning to Claudia that I’m allergic to oysters.”

  “Oh, she knew,” Sabrina replied, the slightest edge in her tone.

  “No, I don’t think I ever mentioned it to her,” Kennedy said, feeling the need to defend his girlfriend. “It’s obnoxious when people unnecessarily announce allergies, like those people who essentially introduce themselves as gluten intolerant, as though anyone needs to know that. Just don’t order the damn thing.”

  “Oh no, she definitely knew,” Lara said, backing up Sabrina. “Kate told her.”

  “Why would Kate and Claudia—” Kennedy broke off as he put the pieces together. “That’s why Claudia’s been in the office the past couple weeks.”

  “Took you long enough,” Matt said into his drink.

  “What did you think she and Kate were doing in the conference room all of those times?” Ian asked. “We thought for sure you’d figure it out.”

  He should have. How had he not connected his upcoming birthday with Claudia’s repeated visits to the office with that little notebook in hand?

  Kennedy ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman’s used Kate to try to get the inside track on us.”

  “I never did,” Sabrina protested.

  “That’s because it’s your job to know everything about everyone,” Lara said. “I totally did.”

  Ian glanced down in surprise. “You did?”

  “Try to get the scoop on you, your romantic status, your entire life history from Kate? Hell yeah, I did,” Lara said without repentance.

  “Did she spill?”

  Lara shrugged. “She told me what I needed to know. Just like she told Claudia what she needed to know.”

  “Yes, and look how well Claudia listened,” Matt said cheerfully, pointing at the elaborate display of shellfish.

  “It’s not a big deal,” Kennedy said.

  And it wasn’t a big deal, truly. Sure, it was a little odd. Crab cakes and shrimp cocktail, he could understand. He didn’t expect people to forgo all seafood just because he was allergic to shellfish. However, he saw his friends’ point. The raw bar was clearly the focus of the evening’s food options.

  But he couldn’t really bring himself to care, because . . .

  “Where is she?”

  Sabrina pointed. “Two o’clock. Talking with the Sams.”

  He followed Sabrina’s gesture, then winced, not only because the sight of his newish girlfriend chatting it up with his bosses was a little unnerving but because he hadn’t been talking about Claudia. And he saw from the way Matt and Ian exchanged a look that they knew it.

  Kennedy knew it wasn’t fair to be annoyed, and certainly not to feel hurt, that Kate wasn’t here. But when he stepped off that elevator and had been barraged by the shouts of surprise, and happy birthday, and drunken did you see his face? proclamations, he’d scanned the room for the one person who centered him. Instinctively, he’d sought Kate out, because Kate was steady in a world that was so often ridiculous. Bu
t she hadn’t been there.

  Because she wasn’t here.

  Ian glanced down at Lara. “What time did you say Kate was getting here?”

  Kennedy’s gaze snapped to Ian, both irritated and relieved his friend had read his mind.

  Lara tilted Ian’s watch face toward her. “It should be any minute now. She said she needed to run home to change, but that shouldn’t have taken this long.”

  “Change from what?”

  “Poor thing was here at, like, ten a.m. setting everything up,” Sabrina chimed in. “She couldn’t very well be overseeing your girlfriend’s oyster feast in cocktail attire, so she had to go home and change. We ladies don’t wake up like this, you know.”

  “So true,” Matt said. “You should see this one.” He mimed a cloud around his head and mouthed, Huge.

  Sabrina shrugged and pointed to her sleek dark hair. “It’s true. The miracle of heat tools, ladies and gentlemen.”

  Sabrina may be one of his good friends, but he didn’t give a crap about her hair. He wanted to know why the hell his assistant had wasted her Saturday setting up his birthday party.

  “This isn’t part of Kate’s job,” he said. “It’s not what we pay her for. What the hell was she thinking?”

  “Kennedy,” Lara warned quietly, just as Matt said, “Moron,” a little less quietly.

  “What? I just mean—”

  “Dude.” Ian interrupted Kennedy sharply and jerked his head for Kennedy to turn around.

  He stilled, knowing even before he turned who he’d find standing there. Kate. Kennedy turned to face her, ready to explain that he hadn’t meant it like that. That he didn’t expect—didn’t want—her being his girlfriend’s unpaid assistant . . .

  The explanation died on his lips.

  “Damn, girl,” Sabrina said as she went to hug Kate.

  Kennedy couldn’t have said it better himself. Kate looked . . . different. He gave her a once-over, trying to put his finger on what had changed, but it seemed to be a little of everything. Her dress was hardly scandalous. It showed off toned shoulders and was cut diagonally, revealing plenty of her right thigh. She was still short, but the stiletto heels gave her a few inches he wasn’t accustomed to, the silver shoes wrapping around trim ankles that were . . .