‘Hold it, hold it.’ He ran a hand through his hair and the way it fell over one eye would have made her forget about why she was here if the reason had been a little less important. ‘Don sent you?’
‘You know Don Bachman,’ she said.
‘Of course I know him, he’s my …’ The laser stare they gave each other probably would have been deadly if they hadn’t cancelled each other out. ‘Jesus, Kendra. You’re … You’re not …’
She held his gaze. ‘I’m here to see Tess Delaney.’ She glanced around the room, but there was no one else there. ‘Where is she?’
‘You’re the one Don chose for the job?’ He stepped back and shook his head further mussing his bedroom hair. ‘That can’t be right. That can’t possibly be right. He promised me that the Ryde Agency never failed. He promised me that Ryde had found me just the perfect person for the job. He promised me that –’
Suddenly she felt like the floor was tilting, and her heart raced. ‘Wait a minute, he promised you? You?’ She stepped back and grabbed at the door knob to steady herself. ‘There has to be some mistake.’
Her denial was mirrored by his own. ‘Don said the Ryde Agency was the best. Don said Ryde would send me the perfect person, and then Ryde sends you? Is this a joke, is this the man’s idea of a joke?’
Kendra took a deep breath and stepped forward, using all of her self-control to keep from punching the jerk. ‘I am K. Ryde, you asshole, and you’re a fine one to talk to me about a joke. Now, what the hell is going on and where’s Tess Delaney?’
It was Garrett’s turn to step forward, once again nearly nose to nose with Kendra, his breath hot on her cheek. ‘You’re looking at her, and if you tell anyone, I swear to you I’ll –’
‘No! No fucking way can you be Tess Delaney!’ She pushed past him and paced like a trapped animal in front of his desk. ‘Tess Delaney’s a woman. You’re not.’ He didn’t move, but just stood glaring at her, looking as though his chest were about to explode from his efforts to breath. ‘She writes novels. You don’t do anything.’ She wasn’t sure but what there might be steam coming out his ears. He was furious. Well, so the hell was she. ‘She’s famous because of her work. You’re famous because of your brother.’
She turned on him. ‘What was Tess Delaney’s fourth novel?’
‘Golden Moments,’ he replied instantly. ‘About Terri Sorenson, a woman with a rare form of cancer, and Del Hendricks, the doctor who cures her.’ Before she could respond, he shot back another question. ‘Who’s Turk Bishop?’
‘A washed-up prize fighter who falls in love with his manager’s niece, Andrea Livingston, one of the few successful female boxing managers. From Tess’s seventh book, TKO.’
‘Who was terrified of elevators?’ Garrett said, moving back to the nose-to-nose, Mexican stand-off position.
‘Delilah Benton from High Flyers. She’d been trapped in one alone for 12 hours as a little girl.’ She shoved her hands onto her hips and glared at him. ‘Deke Arnold’s drink of choice?
‘Gin martini made with Bombay Sapphire,’ he said. ‘Sarah Masters’ biggest weakness?’
‘Lapsang Souchang tea and chocolate éclairs from Finnegan’s Bakery.’
‘Jesus!’ They both spoke at the same time, then turned and paced in opposite directions.
‘Why?’ he asked, sounding like she had just murdered his favorite pet.
‘What do you mean, why? Because I admire the woman’s work.’ She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. ‘Admired the woman’s work, and I’m the best in my field. I jumped at the chance to work for her … Well, who I thought she was.’
Their pacing became synchronized.
‘You mean to tell me Kendra Davis, the queen of bad temper, reads romance novels?’
‘You mean to tell me Garrett Thorne, the epitome of ambition-free living, writes romance novels?’
‘And just what did you think you were going to do for me … For Tess? Throw drinks at her? Slap her around? Try to drown her?’
Once again they found themselves nose to nose, and Kendra couldn’t believe the sense of loss she felt, the sense of rage that this man had, in less than five minutes, destroyed her hero. And damn, she was furious! She was actually fighting back tears. How could she have let the bastard reduce her to this? ‘Fuck you.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper. ‘Tell Bachman to find someone else.’ She shrugged her bag up her shoulder, turned on her heels, and headed for the door.