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“You what?”
“I talked to Bran.” She dismissed the topic with a hand, like news of the hug wasn’t a bombshell shaking the walls of Royce’s skull. “Addison saw us and I don’t think she liked it.”
Well. That made two of them.
“I think she likes him, but he’s too thickheaded to notice.”
“Why were you hugging Brannon at all?” The question came out like a thunderclap. He rolled his shoulders and fingered his bow tie, trying to calm down.
“Because Brannon’s my friend?” She looked at him like he’d gone crazy, and hell, maybe he had. She’d hugged Brannon before. She’d hugged Royce before—he thought. He seemed to remember a few stiff-armed side squeezes over the years. But if Addison was jealous...
“That must’ve been some kind of hug.”
She watched him carefully. A little too carefully.
“I have a lot to go over here—” he gestured to his tablet “—if you don’t mind.”
Still skewering him with a look, she reached up to finger the button on her blouse, drawing his attention to the silk shirt that touched her body like a caress.
He imagined undoing each of those pearl buttons and sliding the blouse from her skin while covering every revealed inch with his mouth...
“Thanks for the signature,” was all she said.
He blinked, snapping his eyes to hers. In a voice of steel, he said, “No problem.”
She left and he sagged in his chair. Categorizing Taylor as his coworker and family friend wasn’t working. Especially when she was impassioned. Worked up over Lowell or insisting Addison like her again—both made her more tempting.
Royce couldn’t allow himself to be tempted. He had to work—and focus on the company’s naming a new CEO. Turned out after his lecture about being responsible, Taylor had taken his advice and smoothed out the issue with Bran. He should be glad.
So why wasn’t he?
Royce left the office earlier than his usual six o’clock. His father, Jack, had requested he join him at Rust and Boar, a steakhouse known for its elitist lounge. Fine by Royce. He couldn’t concentrate on a damn thing anyway.
Usually over cigars or brandy, or both, Jack Knox made the deals he’d become famous for—the same ones that’d made ThomKnox billions. Jack wasn’t one for cigar smoking, though. That’d been Taylor’s father Charles’s passion more than Jack’s. Jack held tight to tradition, however, and liked that even in California, where it rained granola, they could still discuss business over a slab of meat and a stiff drink.
Royce smiled to himself as he recalled the last business meeting that went down in Rust and Boar, mainly because Taylor had come in her father’s place. She’d done her father proud. ThomKnox was not and never would be a boys’ club. Taylor was as respected—if not more respected—than any man in the company.
He frowned when he thought of how much he liked that about her. How it made her tantalizing in a way other than physically. A woman he should be admiring from afar for her stellar work ethics had somehow worked her way under his skin. It didn’t match his ethos and that was possibly more disturbing than anything. Royce was always in control. For Taylor to pop him at the seams... It made no sense.
Stress.He could blame stress. The possibility of being named CEO was a big deal. Brannon and Royce not getting along for a few days was a big deal. Lowell Olsen was a thorn in their sides.
Yes. Blaming stress would work fine.
Not calling himself on his own BS, he stepped inside the restaurant. He spotted his father at the bar, white head tossed back and laughing heartily with the woman next to him. The woman was a very big part of ThomKnox’s success and Royce’s first love: his mother, Macy.
“Royce!” She threw her arms up when she saw him.
He came close and kissed her cheek. “You’re looking beautiful this evening.” Then he turned to shake his father’s hand. “Dad. Good to see you.”
“Our table is being prepared.” Jack grinned, his smile bright and genuine. Brannon definitely had that side of Jack—the lighter, more infectious side. Royce had inherited his dad’s cunning instincts and head for business.
Can’t win ’em all.Besides. Royce was better at rigid and unapproachable. Call it an art.
“Mr. and Mrs. Knox, your room is ready.” A suited man, black leather menu boards in the crook of one arm, turned to lead them from the bar to a private window-filled room. Nicknamed “the sun room,” the upstairs private room actually belonged to ThomKnox and was often used for special occasions. Royce assumed it’d be where they held his father’s retirement party. If Jack ever got around to announcing it.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked his parents once they were seated by the window, a breathtaking view of mountains and blue skies in the backdrop. It was rare to have dinner just the three of them. Usually Bran, Gia and, when they were married, Jayson Cooper, were present as well.
“Wine first. Then we’ll discuss.” Decree made, Jack took his time tasting different vintages before settling on a bottle for the table. They ordered the chef’s special of almond-crusted rainbow trout with wilted greens and were halfway through their dinners when Jack was suddenly ready to talk.
