She was wearing one of her starched white shirts, buttoned all the way to her neck, and a slim dark blue skirt to just beneath her knees. Her hair fell around her shoulders, meticulously arranged, straight and sleek.
Kat was prim, impeccably ironed, all buttoned up. Seeing her like this made me feel like one of those bad kids who go around knocking down other kids’ towers made out of blocks, just to watch them fall. My first instinct was always to reach my hand up her skirt and watch her blush, sweat, and moan. The urge to undo all her careful work, wrinkle her clothes, mess her hair, and leave a hickey on her neck—or on the inside of her thigh—was always there, like a song on repeat in the back of my mind.
Hmm . . . Maybe later.
Adding sunshine to roses, next to the offices of Sharpe and Marks, lawyers extraordinaire, was a Dunks— Dunkin’ Donuts for all the plebeian Starbucks drinkers out there. She finished her makeup in the car while I grabbed my usual, hot coffee with one sugar, and ordered Kat’s the way I knew she liked it.
She took a sip as I held the lobby door open for her, and I grinned when she glanced at me in surprise over her shoulder.
“This is perfect.”
I shrugged, scanning the lobby. “I know.” Three visible exits, one security guard.
She shook her head. “How did you know how I take my coffee?”
“I have my ways.” I shrugged again as we approached the receptionist.
Her eyes narrowed while she tried to frown and failed. “How do you take your coffee?”
I scoffed. “You can’t just ask a person how he takes his coffee, Kit-Kat. That’s a very personal question.”
“I’ll find out.”
“Oh yeah? How’re you going to manage that?”
“I have my ways.” She grinned.
Her grin made me dumb for a minute. All I could do was blink at her and wonder about these ways of hers.
Meanwhile, Kat turned her attention to the guy at the desk. “Hi, Aiken.”
The guy was concentrating on his computer screen. He looked up distractedly and then did a double take. “Ms. Caravel-Tyson,” he said, sounding pleasantly surprised.
Then he stood, smoothing his hand down his tie, and smiled at her in a way that sobered me up real fast. Because it wasn’t just a smile. It was an invitation.
“Can I get you anything? Coffee? We can send someone out to pick something up, anything at all,” he offered as he navigated the big semicircular desk, walking straight for her, still wearing that smile.
The guy tried to get closer to her, like he was planning on pulling her into a hug. He couldn’t. I’d angled my body in front of hers and Kat slipped her hand through my arm.
I didn’t know this guy.
Sure, he didn’t look like a threat—tall, younger than me, from the looks of it he worked out a lot, probably played cricket, or rowed a boat, or something else stupid—but you never can tell just by looking at people.
All I’m saying is, maybe he was a serial killer. Who knows? Just to be safe, I made sure he couldn’t get too close.
After a long, awkward minute of him trying to get at her and me shifting from one side to the other, staying between them, he shot me a furtive look of exasperation.
“No, thank you.” Kat sounded like she was fighting a laugh. “We already have coffee. But if you could take us to Eugene’s office, that would be great.”
“Of course,” he said, his voice going all deep, his eyes dropping to the front of the shirt she was wearing, then coming to me. “Is this person accompanying you, or will we need to find a place for him elsewhere?” There was no invitation in the smile he was sending me.
I blinked at the guy. Not going to lie, his question and tone irritated me, like I was last Thursday’s leftovers from an all-you-can-eat fish and sauerkraut buffet.
I heard Kat take a deep breath before saying, “Darling, this is Aiken. He’s an intern here at the firm. Aiken, this is Mr. O’Malley, my husband.”
Darling. . . Yeah.
I liked that.
Mr. Harvard’s smile slipped, and he blinked like Kat had just thrown a drink in his face.
That plus darling had me smiling, but I didn’t extend my hand. “You wanna lead the way, barney?”
“Of—of course.” His eyes moved between us; it took him a few seconds to find his composure. Eventually he did, pasting on a new grin. “Right this way.”
Smoothing his hand down his tie again, he turned and walked toward the elevators. We followed at a distance since I still wasn’t clear on his serial killer status. He used a key card, then pressed the call button. The doors slid open right away and he gestured for us to enter. We did, Kat standing in the corner, me next to her, him walking in and taking the spot by the buttons.