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“With only five American dollars in his pocket and a hand-built cart—” Mason continued, his tone mocking “—Damien Hetherington O’Kane began the business that now clears twenty-six billion in profit annually. Next thing we know, you’ll be whipping out that black-and-white photo of the saltwater taffy lines.” Mason paused to roll his eyes. “Jesus, you sound like Dad.”
This rankled Samuel more than anything else his brother had said.
Parker Kane, patriarch and Chairman Emeritus of Kane Foods International, the man whom Samuel had idolized—and Mason had alternately disobeyed and ignored since their joint arrival on the planet—favored his second son to the point of embarrassment.
Samuel’s mostly. But occasionally the board of directors and the executive team, who both endured his effusive apologies and excuses for Mason’s tardiness and frequent absence.
“I have experience with directional shifts in branding.” For the third time since she’d entered his office, Arlie reached up and tucked a straying pale gold tendril back behind the delicate shell of her ear. The perfect metaphor for the wildness Samuel knew lurked just below her calm surface.
“I’d love to hear more about that.” Mason propped an elbow on his knee and rested his chin on his fist.
If Samuel hadn’t known better, he might suspect that his brother was actually listening.
“At Stride Global, we started as a manufacturer of vitamin packets but transitioned to energy shots and hangover gel packs.”
“That’s quite a conversion,” Mason said before Samuel had the chance.
There had been a period, however brief, that they might have spoken this sentence in unison. These kinds of twin phenomena had evaporated around the time they’d achieved puberty. Right along with his fiercely protective older-twin instinct.
“It was,” she said. “I have to admit that styling is a pretty significant challenge when it comes to little foil packets, but retaining our emphasis on non-GMO ingredients helped.”
Mason nodded, pretending to look thoughtful.
Samuel rose from his chair, pacing around the moat of his desk. “Let me ask you this.”
Arlie Banks flinched.
Interesting.
“Supply Side West is coming up. The biggest health and wellness supplier event of the year.”
“I’ve heard of it.” Arlie’s eyes met his and darted away just as quickly.
Veryinteresting.
“We have a number of important partners coming and could use a solid presence there. Particularly in regard to our booth concept. Is that something you would feel comfortable assisting with?”
“Absolutely,” she answered far too quickly.
“Of course, it’s not all work” Mason said. “I have it on good authority that we’ll be hosting several client appreciation events which would benefit from your attendance.”
“From an artistic angle?” Arlie asked, glancing at Mason below her fringe of dark lashes.
“Let’s call it an energetic angle.” Mason’s broad smile displayed one of the ten thousand reasons they were no longer identical. A small, faint scar at the corner of his mouth that silvered when stretched.
“I would be happy to supply both.” Arlie’s grin matched Mason’s in brightness.
Samuel bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste copper. “Arlie Banks,” he said, hating the pomposity of his own voice at that precise moment, “we would be delighted to offer you the position of senior food stylist.”
The wry expression on his twin’s face suggested he might already be contemplating several other positions he might like to offer her.
Good. Good, but irritating to the point of madness.
Arlie stood and held out her hand. “I accept.”
Mason beat him to the punch, clasping Arlie’s hand and pumping it up and down enthusiastically. “Glad to have you aboard.”
Samuel settled for a curt nod of approval.
He did this because he could summon the feel of her skin on his whenever he wished.
Because the night of their high school graduation, he had pretended to be his brother when he’d kissed Arlie Banks.
