stunning, but at thirty-three, she’d decided to “give up the life,” as she put it, and put her time toward “philanthropic endeavors.” Also her words.
He’d had his doubts about her, considering she’d been the result of a blind date set up by his mother, but he had to hand it to his mom. Now he had a beautiful girlfriend who spent most of her time raising money for charity and who, on the clingy scale, was hanging in there at a respectable seven out of ten, with ten being I need my space, damn it.
Though, if Kennedy were brutally honest, and he almost always was, Claudia’s clingy score was increasing lately.
He wasn’t loving her recent penchant for showing up at his office in the middle of the day unannounced. Today was the third time in a week that he’d had to take Claudia to lunch so she’d quit bugging his assistant with God only knows what variety of girl talk . . .
Kennedy slid his chair two inches to the left, a habitual motion that allowed him to see through his open office door to Kate’s desk.
As expected, the familiar sight of the back of Kate’s head greeted him. She’d worn her dark-brown hair in the same straight, basic style as long as he’d known her. He liked that about Kate. She was predictable. Steady. Reliable. At least as it pertained to her job duties.
On a personal level, she was a pain in his ass.
And yet, there was a comfort even in that. Kennedy and Kate may have gotten on each other’s nerves more often than not, but he also knew they were the same. They both liked calm. Order.
And somehow over the past few years, she’d become his calm. She was his order.
Even when she annoyed him. Which was . . . always.
Kennedy glanced at his inbox. There was plenty to contend with, and yet . . .
He stood and walked to his office doorway. He cleared his throat. Kennedy knew Kate heard him, because her fingers paused for a split second before resuming their rapid-fire typing.
“You see my note about George Overby?” he asked. “I need a lunch place for Monday.”
“Done,” she said, her fingers continuing to fly across her keyboard. “It’s on your calendar and confirmed with his assistant.”
Kennedy gave a slight shake of his head in amused irritation. He’d just sent the request not five minutes ago, but then, Kate seemed to delight in staying one step ahead of him. She was one of the few people who could.
He tried again to get under her skin. “Well, I hope it’s someplace that can accommodate—”
“It’s at Augustine. The chef knows he’s coming, and they’ve got a whole gluten-free situation worked out.”
Kennedy lightly rapped his fist against the doorjamb. Damn. She was good. Really good. “Thank you,” he said begrudgingly.
Finally, her fingers left her keyboard, and she spun in her chair toward him, her expression slightly wary. “You’re welcome.”
He nodded toward her computer. “What are you working on?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You really want to know?” She picked up a legal pad, which he knew she used as her running to-do list. Well, that and her iPad. She had some elaborate system that involved “migration,” and color coding, and archiving, and he didn’t know what else, but he was pretty sure it was something a little supernatural. If he believed in such things. Which he did not.
“Not really,” he admitted. “But I’m sorry if Claudia’s interruption today necessitated your working late.”
“I’m not going to tell you what we talked about,” she said, starting to turn back to her computer.
Irritation rippled through him, partially at her assumption that curiosity over her conversation with Claudia was the only reason he’d asked what she was working on, partially at the fact that she was right.
“Besides, I always work late,” she said without looking back at him.
It was true. Not so long ago, they’d all worked late. He, Matt, and Ian had rarely left the office before eight, and none of them ever left before Kate. But things changed after Ian had met Lara and decided to become a one-woman man who preferred dinner—or sex—with his fiancée to late nights in the office. One down. Then Matt had married Sabrina. Two down.
Now it was just Kate and him in the office most nights, an occurrence that was comforting and yet caused some little fissure of unease through Kennedy, and for the life of him, he couldn’t say why.
“You should at least get something