Huge Deal (21 Wall Street Book 3) Read online

  And then reality slapped her. Hard.

  Five years ago, Kate had inadvertently overheard a conversation among the three guys discussing how undatable she was. Kennedy’s exact words were She’s hardly irresistible, after which he’d suggested they all agree never to date her. Hearing Ian and Matt agree to the pact had stung a little—she was human, after all. But hearing Kennedy’s casual dismissal of her had damn near ripped her heart out.

  And yet . . . she was grateful for it. Really. Truly. It had been exactly what she’d needed to cure her of her childish visions of love. Not to mention, it had given her perfect clarity on what she wanted: someone who did find her irresistible. And he was out there. She just had to . . . wait.

  “I’m hungry,” Matt announced. “You guys hungry?”

  “You just gave Kennedy shit for having lunch at two thirty—” Ian broke off when Matt gave him a look. “Yeah, okay, I could eat. Kate, let’s go eat.”

  “I have work to do,” she said, even as Ian pulled her chair backward, and Matt grabbed her purse.

  In the end, she let them take her to lunch. Not because they were her bosses but because they were her friends. And though they’d never say so, she knew they were trying to make her feel better about the Kennedy/Claudia thing. Which she fully appreciated but was unnecessary. Kate’s heart had gotten over its foolish Kennedy infatuation years ago, and her brain was far too smart to still be in love with her boss.

  Unfortunately, her body was impossibly, irrationally, annoyingly still in lust with the man.

  2

  Tuesday, March 26

  Kennedy glanced at the grandfather clock on his office wall, an antique that his friends never failed to give him shit for. It was half past seven, and he wasn’t even close to being done with work for the day.

  The late lunch with his girlfriend probably hadn’t been the smartest decision. Then again, if he hadn’t taken Claudia to lunch, she’d be planning their dinner date, wondering if he felt like sushi or Italian or whatever new, hip place had just opened in the West Village, where she’d inevitably order a pile of vegetables, regardless of where they ended up.

  Instead, she’d eaten half a Cobb salad at three p.m. and then spent the next fifteen minutes telling him she wouldn’t possibly be hungry for dinner after such a late lunch. One of the unexpected perks of dating a model was that Claudia spent a lot of time deciding when not to eat, which meant he was off the hook from the typical early-courtship routine of having to finagle reservations at every hot spot in NYC.

  And actually, Claudia wasn’t a model—she was a former model, which was even better. She was 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 to eat if you’re going to be here late.”

  “I had a cheeseburger and fries at three with Ian and Matt, and we talked work, so you can spare me the lecture on extended lunch breaks during work hours.”

  Kennedy was torn between wanting to smile at the tart retort and banging his head against the door because they always seemed to come to this. Arguing.

  “Kate.”

  “What?” Tap tap tap.

  She didn’t turn around, but he waited her out, refusing to finish his sentence until she turned.

  Better, he thought once her irritated gaze finally came around to meet his. Much better.

  By the book, he supposed Kate would be considered plain. Her hair was usually parted down the middle or pulled back in a no-nonsense headband thing. If she wore makeup, he didn’t notice it. She was small—shorter than average, with slim shoulders and zero curves.

  And yet he’d always liked looking at her. She was . . . interesting. Not that he’d tell her
that. He may not have the smooth-talking charm of his friends, but even he knew not to tell a woman she was interesting-looking. But Kate was. Her eyes were wide and tilted down at the corners, just as her nose tilted slightly up in an oddly compelling combination. Her mouth was full and slightly sulky, at least when she looked at him . . .

  Kennedy cleared his throat and looked away. Off-limits. Not that he was attracted to Kate. She was too damn antagonistic, too forthright, too . . . much. Not his type at all. But even if she were, she wasn’t for him. Back when he, Matt, and Ian had started at Wolfe and realized they had one hell of an assistant on their hands, they’d made a pact:

  Kate Henley was off-limits on the romantic front.

  The last thing they needed was for one of them to seduce her and then have it end badly, leaving them without the best executive assistant on the planet.

  “What?” she said again, finally turning fully to face him.

  “Ah . . .” Crap. He’d forgotten what he was going to say. He scrambled and tried to recover. “Sorry if Claudia’s been bugging you lately.”

  Kate shrugged. “You already said that. She’s fine.” Hardly a ringing endorsement, but then this was Kate. She wasn’t inclined to gushing.

  “What’d she want with you, anyway?”

  Kate’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Maybe she just wants to be my friend.”

  Kennedy tensed. He couldn’t say why the idea of Kate and his girlfriend becoming friends made him nervous, but it did. Which was irrational. Kate was friends with Ian’s fiancée, as well as Matt’s wife. Hell, Kate was going to be a bridesmaid in Ian and Lara’s wedding and had been one of only twenty people present at Matt and Sabrina’s surprise Vegas wedding just a few months earlier.

  Not that Kennedy had plans to marry Claudia. It had been only two months.

  He respected Kate a hell of a lot, even considered her a friend in a cautious, circle-around-each-other kind of way, but they’d always steered clear of each other’s romantic lives. And he did not, for one second, like the idea of his assistant and girlfriend gabbing about him in the conference room.

  “Well, be sure she doesn’t get in the way of your work,” he said, choosing his words poorly, the way he often did around Kate.

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Claudia’s not the one getting in the way of my work tonight.”

  “Sorry,” he snapped. “I’m sure you had riveting plans.”

  It was a low blow. He knew it even before he saw the flicker of hurt in her eyes. She whirled around, turning her back to him.

  Damn it. Kennedy was known for acting with thoughtful precision in all things. Regret was not a particularly familiar or welcome feeling for him.

  Apologizing was even more unfamiliar.

  “Kate—”

  She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a set of headphones. She punched one end into her computer, holding the earbuds out to the side, prolonging the motion so he could see them before tucking the earpieces beneath her hair.

  Conversation over.

  Kennedy sighed. Fair enough. He still needed to apologize, but he’d wait until tomorrow. Probably around ten a.m., when she was at peak caffeine, lowest stress, and when she smiled the most often.

  Not at him, but, well, someday.

  A guy could hope.

  3

  Thursday, March 28

  Mondays were typically the most hectic, hair-pulling days at Wolfe Investments, but this week, Thursday was giving Monday a serious run for its money.

  “Kate Henley,” she said, picking up her fifth call in as many minutes. “Mr. Cannon’s in a meeting right now. May I take a message or connect you to voice mail? Sure, one moment . . .

  “Kate Henley . . . Mr. Bradley’s in a meeting at the moment. May I—Oh, hi, Mrs. Stilner. I’ll let him know you called.

  “Kate Henley,” she said as she scribbled Mary Stilner’s name on her notepad. “Hey, Stacey. Thanks so much for getting back to me. Can I call you in a few? I’m drowning over here . . . Yep, the party’s this Saturday. Perfect, thanks so much.”

  She hung up the phone, her hand hovering over the receiver for a full ten seconds, knowing that for whatever warped reason, phone calls seemed to come in bursts on days like this. When a full thirty seconds passed, Kate slowly pulled her hand away from the receiver, not wanting to jinx the fact that finally she was between bursts.

  “Is it always like that?”

  Kate looked up from her notepad at the interruption, her right hand never pausing in its note-taking. Then she saw the face behind the masculine voice, and her pen slowed to a halt.

  The man looming above her was Kennedy but . . . not. The eyes were hazel instead of brown, the hairline slightly less square, the mouth . . . smiling?

  Grinning, actually. Definitely not Kennedy.

  The man extended a hand down. “I’m—”

  “Jack,” she said before he could introduce himself. “You must be Jack Dawson.”

  “Guilty. And just unlucky enough to be born a few years too early for my parents to realize I’d share a name with Leonardo DiCaprio’s character dying on the Titanic.”

  “Leo’s character dies?” Kate asked, letting her chin wobble for just a second.

  Jack’s smile dropped, and Kate laughed. “I’m kidding. I’m Kate Henley, and yes, I’ve seen the movie.” She shook his hand.

  “Ah, Kate . . . as in Winslet.”

  “Wow.” She let her voice take on an awed, hushed tone. “Exactly how much mileage do you typically get out of this Titanic thing?”

  He gave an exaggerated wince. “Too much?”

  “It’s really embarrassing for you,” she teased lightly, even as she marveled that she’d known Kennedy for years and they’d never developed the easy rapport she’d established with his brother in five seconds.

  Even if he and Kennedy hadn’t shared a last name, she’d have known who he was immediately. The family resemblance was strong among all four Dawson brothers, though this was the first time she’d met Jack.

  “I thought you were in London.” She scrolled through her memory, remembering that he was in international business of some sort.

  “Paris, most recently.”

  “Ah. You’re back for the party?” she asked after a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure Kennedy’s door was still closed.

  “Yeah, although I’m also back in New York for good. Well, at least for the foreseeable future.”

  “Oh! I hadn’t heard. Your parents must be thrilled.”

  “Actually . . .” He put his hands in his pockets and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “You’re among the first to know. It just became final yesterday. I was hoping to tell Big Brother Extraordinaire in person. He around?”

  Kate smiled. “Does he know you call him that?”

  Jack lifted one eyebrow. “You’ve met Kennedy, right? He insists upon it.”

  “Let me double-check his calendar,” she said, since Kennedy frequently added meetings without telling her, although unlike Matt, he managed to do so correctly. “Are your other brothers coming to the party as well?”

  “Pretty sure. Fitz lives in the city now, and John’s always back and forth between here and Boston.”

  Kate smiled the way she usually did upon hearing the brothers’ names all at once.

  Kennedy, Jack, John, and Fitzgerald. There was little doubt in Kate’s mind that if Diane and Roger Dawson had had a daughter, she’d have been a Jackie.

  “He doesn’t have anything on the calendar,” Kate said, looking back at Jack, “but he might be on the phone.”

  “But there’s no one in there with him?”

  “No. Though he hates—”

  “Interruptions. I know. I had the room next door to him in our teens.” Jack wiggled his eyebrows, and she laughed again. “Point me to his office,” Jack said, gesturing at the multitude of closed doors behind her. “I promise to tell him you put up a hell of a fight to keep me out, but I just strong-armed past all . . . fourteen poun
ds of you.”

  “Very rude to comment on a lady’s weight,” she said, unable to keep a straight face as she said it.

  “True. Please don’t tell my mother when you see her at the party. You will be there, right?”

  “Yeah, though more as a party planner than a guest,” she said, then hid a wince, hoping Jack wouldn’t notice the slight snip in her voice.

  No luck there. His eyebrows lifted, and he rested a hip on her desk. “Whaaaat? You mean Claudia wasn’t able to plan a party for a hundred people while also juggling four charities? Well, color me shocked.”

  “So you’ve met her,” Kate said with a knowing smile.

  “No.” He stood again. “Haven’t had the pleasure. But we spoke on the phone a couple times, and it was . . . illuminating.”

  “She’s very nice,” Kate said, because it was true. Claudia was nice, which was more than she could say about some of Kennedy’s past girlfriends. They all had the type of pedigree he seemed to find irresistible—old-money bloodlines, family ties to the mayor and governor—but Claudia was neither cool nor snobby.

  Jack tsked. “Now, Kate. Just when I was starting to like you.”

  “Jack!”

  Kate and Jack both turned to see a grinning Matt come toward them. “What the hell, man? I didn’t know you were in town.”

  The two men man-hugged, and Jack caught Matt up on his new status as a New York resident.

  “That’s great. Kennedy know?”

  “Does Kennedy know what?”

  “And there he is,” Jack said, turning to Kennedy, who’d emerged from his office. “I was just about to start banging down doors.”