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Six
Clearly, she was being punished.
Sitting at the long, lacquered table in the Kane Foods’ twenty-fifth-floor executive boardroom, Arlie had listened to herself being officially introduced to the leadership team, the room a blur of names and faces she couldn’t possibly remember. All politely nodding to her, offering her warm, welcoming smiles.
All, that is, save one.
Samuel hadn’t so much as looked at her since she’d set foot in the room. He sat hunched over, his attention apparently riveted on the leather padfolio open on the table before him like it contained the secrets to life, the universe and everything.
This should have annoyed her. Instead, she felt a twinge of triumph.
No one at this table, not even Parker Kane himself, knew that less than twelve hours earlier, Samuel Kane’s hand had been up her skirt.
And it hadn’t been the first time.
Following their closet session, his abrupt departure and stony silence had thwarted any hopes she’d had that the kiss would lead to anything more.
Last night’s events had been eerily similar. Samuel had quickly disengaged and bolted without so much as a word, managing to avoid her entirely until the Dolce Vita IV had docked a mere thirty minutes later.
After her solo ride home, Arlie had spent a very long, very lonely, night wrestling the sheets in the bed of the apartment that had been part home, part recovery ward in the days since Gastronomie. Past and present had braided themselves into a vivid tapestry as the versions of herself separated by twelve years and oceans of pain blurred together.
“Miss Banks?”
Arlie quickly snapped out of her reverie. “Yes?”
“I was saying, we have a tradition here at Kane Foods whenever we welcome a new member aboard.” Tanya McKay, vice president of Human Resources, lover of painfully tight ballet buns, cast a nervous glance in Arlie’s direction. “It’s very simple, really. Just a question that we all answer.”
“Of course,” Arlie said, hoping she’d be able to cobble together something halfway intelligent on the spot.
“What would you be willing to do to contribute to the success of Kane Foods?”
Glancing down the length of a table that felt half a football field long and probably cost more than any home she’d ever lived in, Arlie was chagrined by the words that left her lips but powerless to stop them. “Anything short of karaoke?”
The swell of appreciative chuckles suffered a quick death when it reached Parker Kane, who was glowering at the head of the table.
“We’re very much looking forward to your contributions to the team.” Tanya’s dark eyes skipping toward Arlie as she pushed a straying hair back into her bun. “Mason spoke very highly of you.”
Arlie couldn’t help but notice how Samuel tensed at the mention of his brother’s name. Just as he had earlier, when their father had made apologies on Mason’s behalf.
With his long fingers clutching his Montblanc pen, Samuel looked like he wasn’t so much taking notes as he was carving them into the creamy paper of his notepad.
She tried not to think of his surprise when she’d told him that she’d always known it wasn’t Mason in the closet with her.
He hadn’t known that she knew.
“Unless anyone else has any pressing business.” The bodies around the table snapped to attention at the resonant sound of the Kane patriarch’s voice rolling through the room. “We are adjourned.”
All the pompous prick lacked was a gavel.
As everyone filed out of the conference room, Arlie felt a warm hand cup her elbow.
“Congratulations on surviving your first leadership huddle.” She was met by the impish grin of Ericka Cheng, VP of Marketing and Mason’s second in command. “I know you’re probably completely buried in all the brand guidelines I dumped in your lap this morning, but any chance you’d want to go grab coffee?”
With eyeballs still gritty from hours spent fantasizing instead of sleeping, Arlie stole a glance at Samuel quitting the conference room as if the devil himself pursued him with a fiery pitchfork aimed at his perfectly formed ass.
“That’s so nice of you.” Arlie reached down to gather her planner. “Where did you have in mind?”
“The break room. It just so happens that in addition to being a talented novelist, our own Charlotte Westbrook makes the most addictive flat white this side of the Philadelphia River.” Ericka looked toward the end of the table, where a silky redhead in a pencil skirt and high-necked blouse paused in her effort to gather up a stack of papers, her cheeks blooming a rabid scarlet.
“Ericka,” Charlotte hissed. “You promised not to tell anyone.”
“Relax, Charlotte. Arlie is one of us,” Ericka said, winking. “And anyway, word of mouth is still the most effective method of marketing, in case I haven’t mentioned it.”
“You’ve mentioned it a lot.” With a stack of folders and closed laptop hugged against her bosom, Charlotte made her way down the length of the table. From this close vantage, Arlie was free to notice how quietly exquisite the Keeper of Kane Schedules truly was.
Sienna-brown eyes, hair the color of good cabernet piled at the top of her head, lips worthy of print ads, silver cat-shaped earrings swinging from her delicate lobes.
“I would,” Ericka said, “if you let me join.”
“The very last thing I need is for Parker Kane to know I write spicy novels in the hours I don’t spend managing his general existence and otherwise assisting the executive team.” Charlotte shifted on her stiletto heels, shouldering her armful of paperwork.
