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I clear my throat. “So—”
She glances up as she’s slicing the cucumber. “Yes?”
“I was thinking we could watch a movie tonight, after dinner. Like we used to.”
Her expression becomes guarded. “I suppose.”
Kennedy and I had a weekly Friday night date. We’d stay in and put on a movie, usually a rom-com, order a pizza, and snack on popcorn or ice cream. The best part of the evening was the two of us snuggling on the settee. Inevitably, we never finished the movies because we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. “Surely you remember our Friday nights.”
Frowning, she focuses on the cucumber she’s slicing, not making eye contact.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I say quietly.
“You didn’t. It’s just—I try not to think about—”
My phone vibrates loudly on the worktop. I have most of my contacts set to divert, and it’s only the important numbers who can get through to me. I glance at the screen. “Shit. I’m sorry, but I have to take this.” I take the salmon off the heat and turn off the stove before accepting the call. “What is it, Clive?”
“Sorry to bother you, Connor, but I need your approval on the Hastings application. We’re ready to move forward.”
I put my phone on speaker and set it on the worktop so my hands are free to assemble our dinner. “Go ahead, Clive. You’re on speaker, by the way. So, how do they look?”
“Really good, actually. I’ve gone over the numbers as well as their proposed business plan. I don’t see any fault in their business model or earnings projection.”
I begin plating the salmon. “Have they finally gotten a good handle on social media marketing?”
“I’d say so. They gave me their newest pitch yesterday, and I thought it was impressive.”
“All right. If you think they’re ready, then let’s move forward. I trust your judgment.” I dish the baby potatoes onto our plates, then drizzle some of the lemon garlic butter sauce over them.
“Thanks, boss,” Clive says. “I’ll give them the tentative good news. We can meet with them early next week, after you’ve returned to the office.”
“Well done. Forward me your final assessment via e-mail, and I’ll review it before sending back my written approval. And Clive? It’s the weekend. Knock off work and take your wife out to dinner. Somewhere nice. Dinner’s on me.”
“Will do. Thanks, Connor.”
When I end the call, I catch Kennedy staring at me. “What?” I ask her.
She shakes her head, appearing to snap out of whatever trance she was in. “Sorry. I was distracted.”
“By what?” I can’t help feeling flattered. If she’s staring at me, I consider it a good sign.
“By you. You actually sound like you know what you’re doing.”
I laugh. “I’d better know what I’m doing. Mr. Carmichael has put me in control of a lot of money. I’d better know what I’m doing.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just—back then you were a PA. You had no experience evaluating the risk factors of potential investment clients.”
I set our plates on the breakfast bar. “Lunch is served. Why don’t you get the drinks? I’ll take a sparkling water. I think I saw some bottles in the fridge.”
Kennedy grabs two bottles of Perrier, brings them to the counter, and hands me one. Then she sits and takes a bite of her salmon, moaning in appreciation as she chews. “Oh, my god, Connor. This is so good.”
I laugh. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
She slices a baby potato in half, dips it in some of the melted lemon and butter sauce, and pops it into her mouth and chews. She groans. “This is really good.”
“Glad you like it.”
“No, I mean it’sreallygood. Like, five-star restaurant good.” Shaking her head, she smiles. “You’re full of surprises today, aren’t you? Do you have any other new talents I should know about?”
