Hidden Depths(5)

“We do?” Evan dug his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “That’s because you don’t know us that well. We’re a motley crew.” With different mothers and such a dictatorial father, Reynolds family relations were sometimes less than ideal. But maybe they ought to work harder at that. First there was the scare of Samantha’s kidnapping by modern-day pirates and now Michael had been shot. It seemed petty to get so caught up in the politicking of a large family. He loved his brothers and his sister. Hell, he even loved the old man, who, poor guy, looked as if he’d aged a decade from the party to the intensive care unit where his favorite son and heir to the vast Reynolds Industries empire lay.

Evan’s brother Chris came over and put a gentle hand at Vanny’s elbow. “Michael says you were supposed to come back in with Miss Prentiss. I’m ordered to send you back there right away.”

She gave a weak smile. “He’s up to ordering everybody around again. That’s a good sign.”

When she was gone, Chris lingered, smirking at Evan. “So. Hitting on Miss Prentiss, were you?”

Before he could object—which would have been lying, of course—his brother went on. “I’m here to save you some trouble. Don’t bother. She’s cold as ice.”

“How the hell would you know?”

“She’s been Michael’s assistant for years. If you’d ever been to the office in recent memory, you’d know that.”

Chris, his third-oldest brother, had done his stint at Reynolds Industries, as had most of Damien Reynolds’ sons, himself excluded. Chris was working at a private equity firm now, though.

“I know she’s Michael’s assistant.” He knew now anyway. What he didn’t know was whether they had been anything more. “Was there ever any, you know, thing between her and Michael?”

“Hell no! That’s probably how Michael picks his assistants, based on whether they can resist throwing themselves at him.”

Evan’s mouth tightened.

“And this one, Miss Prentiss, is made for the part.”

“I take it you’ve hit on her unsuccessfully.”

“Evan, every guy who’s ever been in that office has hit on her—unsuccessfully.”

He didn’t like the idea of that for some reason. “So she doesn’t date guys who meet with her boss. That’s not such a surprise.”

The fact that she’d sleep with her boss’s brother sort of was, though.

Chris shrugged. “It’s not just that. She probably doesn’t date anybody. Cold, I’m telling you. Gorgeous, but untouchable.”

Evan snorted, a little tempted to tell his big brother how very wrong he was. But of course a gentleman, even Reynolds to Reynolds, never tells. “Just because she shot you down doesn’t mean she’s frigid, you egomaniac.”

“Not just me. Although I admit, that is unusual enough to suggest it.” Chris grinned. “She blows off everybody. I’ve heard her shoot guys down in French, in German, even in Italian and I don’t speak Italian.”

“Maybe she wasn’t shooting that one down, then.”

“Sure she was. It was Carlo Bruscinni, you know, the racecar driver. We went out and got drunk after his meeting with Michael and he couldn’t stop talking about the ‘alluring Miss Prentiss’ who had frozen him out every time he’d tried to get her to go to dinner with him, by which he of course meant hit the sheets.”

“Maybe she’s married.” God, now that was a depressing thought.

“Yeah. To her job. But why so interested?”

Evan shrugged. “You just got through telling me she’s broken the heart of every guy she’s ever met.”

“The balls.”

“Whatever.”

“It’s not like you is all.”

He settled for “She’s…interesting.”

Chris looked down the corridor toward Michael’s room, where Miss Prentiss was presumably taking orders as usual. “Yeah, once I got over my bruised ego, I found I kind of like Miss Prentiss. She’s tough. And smart as all hell. I’ve never seen her lose her temper. And if you had ever worked for Michael, you’d know how unusual that is. She speaks, like, a million languages. She could be running a division, easy.”

“Why isn’t she?”

“I don’t know. Probably because Michael wouldn’t let her. Shit. Everybody knows how hard he is on assistants. He probably pays her more than most of the heads of divisions just to keep her. So don’t even waste your time trying to lure her back to that lighthouse of yours.”

“I was thinking more like my hotel,” he muttered, not sure whether he meant for Chris to hear or not.