to the door.
“What are you going to do?” Ian asked.
“I don’t know. At the very least, I need to let Claudia find someone who’s not thinking about another woman constantly.”
“And what about that other woman?” Ian said.
Kennedy sighed as his hand found the doorknob. “You said my window with Kate closed. When?”
Ian took his time responding. “I don’t know. A long time ago. Early on, her breath would catch every time you walked by, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. And then it just . . . stopped. I thought maybe the window might have opened again with the MBA thing, but for reasons I still don’t understand, you put that all on me.”
“I didn’t want her to know.”
“Why the hell not?” Ian said, exasperated.
“Because what if she’d said no?” Kennedy shouted before he could think to filter the words. “What if she’d said no and rejected it?” Rejected me?
“Why would she have done that?” Ian asked, his voice quiet.
Kennedy shrugged. It sounded irrational now that it was out there, but there was no more dodging the fact that he cared about Kate. Had maybe cared about Kate for a very long time and was terrified about what that meant.
Still, Kennedy forced himself to look Ian straight in the eye and ask the question he didn’t want the answer to. “Does she still?”
“Still what?”
“Care about me,” Kennedy said, forcing the vulnerable words out.
“Sure,” Ian said carefully. “She cares about all of us.”
“Don’t,” Kennedy said sharply. “I mean . . . does she . . . ?”
“No, dude,” Ian said, his tone kind as he delivered the blow. “She’s moved on. And I’m pretty sure she’s got a thing for your brother.”
14
Monday, April 15
Kate had just shoved a mouthful of turkey club in her mouth when the flowers arrived.
Her morning gyno appointment had put her behind on nearly everything, and it was close to two by the time she managed to find a moment to shovel in lunch at her desk.
Cheeks still full, she waved thanks at the delivery guy. She dug around in the enormous bouquet of yellow roses for the card. Working for three dudes, flowers weren’t a particularly common delivery around here. Usually the guys received booze, gourmet gift baskets of pears, or meat-of-the-month-club type stuff. But every now and then some vendor sent an obscene flower display with the hope of getting noticed and remembered the next time Wolfe was in the market for new software or office decor.
She found the card and pulled it out, muttering a curse as a thorn grazed the side of her thumb. Kate stopped chewing for a moment when she saw the name on the card. Kate Winslet.
She swallowed, then smiled, already knowing who the flowers were from.
Jack.
She was both pleased and . . . a little surprised.
She hadn’t really known what to think after their date Saturday. The dinner? Excellent. The opera? Fabulous. Maybe not something she was dying to do again, but she’d thrilled in the novelty of it, even if that particular art form wasn’t her passion.
The kiss, though—yes, she’d kissed Jack Dawson—had been fine.
That’s it. Just . . . fine.
She pulled the card out of the envelope.
Dinner this weekend?
Huh.
She flicked the card thoughtfully, trying to figure out how she felt about the fact that Jack was still interested, though she could have sworn he’d found their first kiss a little meh as well.
Kate reached for her cell phone, intending to ask Lara and Sabrina for their opinion on her next move, when she saw Kennedy headed her way. He looked as though he wanted to continue to his office, but at the last minute he detoured to her desk, his eyes on the bouquet.
“Hey!” she said. “How was your lunch with Claudia?”
“I’ve had better.” He nodded at the flowers. “What’s the story there?”
She hesitated only a moment before handing him the card. Instead of taking it, he snagged her wrist.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Oh. Yeah. Hazard of roses.” She smiled, but he didn’t smile back, his eyes on the thin line of red running along her thumb.
He looked up. “You got a Band-Aid?”
“There’s a first aid box in the kitchen, but it’s fine. A Band-Aid will annoy me.” She forced herself to take steady breaths, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the way her body seemed to come alive at his touch.
He looked back at her hand, finally registering the card it was holding. His gaze darkened slightly, and she knew he knew who it was from. Kennedy’s