Chapter Two
Sean
Sitting at a round table with my colleagues, I swallow my scotch and let it burn down my throat. As the men circling me talk business and investment strategies regarding Saturday night’s meeting with Cochrane Industries—a multimillion dollar medical supply company that is merging with a U.S. company—my thoughts are too preoccupied with Kennedy Lane, my kid sister’s best friend, to join in the conversation. It’s damn hard to contribute anything intellectual when all the blood has left my brain and settled down south. Yeah, she’d lost weight, ditched the braces and glasses, but I’d bet my ball sack that it was her on the street.
I gesture to the bartender for another drink, my eyes scanning over the pretty girl dancing on the stage. Carleton House isn’t my regular scene, but my company has a corporate membership, and when I’m in London on business, it seems to be the place where my European counterparts like to conduct meetings—among other things.
Kennedy Lane.
What the hell is she doing here in London, following me down the sidewalk and looking like a drowned cat, no less? Last I heard, she was in Chicago working for a museum not too far from Venture Investment, Inc.—headquarters for the New York branch I call home. I’ve visited the main office numerous times, and whenever I’m in Chicago I always find myself looking for Kennedy. Christ, I’ve even wandered around the museum a time or two, though it went against my best interest. When Kennedy hit sixteen and grew into a beautiful woman, I noticed her, but I was nineteen, and a three-year gap at that age might as well have been a chasm, which meant she was hands-off all the way.
I might not be a cradle robber, but she’s not a kid anymore, right? The sexy curves she’s sporting allude to a very grown-up version of Kennedy—one who has my cock hardening in the worst fucking way.
The bartender delivers my drink, and when I once again look at the pretty girl dancing, I find her staring at me like I’m a fresh slab of meat. My cock thickens and presses against my zipper. But it’s not because the brunette is climbing a pole and eye-fucking me. While I might have taken her up on her implied offer any other night, this time my cock is stirring because of Kennedy. Jesus, just knowing she’s in the same hotel as me is enough to make me hard.
How many fucking times did I abuse myself when she slept over at the house with Olivia, taking my bed when I wasn’t home for the night? Jesus, the scent she used to leave on my sheet. I had to ignore her, treat her like a sister, a damn nuisance, so she’d stop talking to me—staring at me when she didn’t think I was aware. Otherwise I would have lost my shit and dragged her into my room so I could do things to her. Dirty things that fill the thoughts of every teenage boy.
Christ, my father was a minister, and if he ever knew I spent my teenage years fantasizing about sweet little Kennedy he would have forced me to devote months to repenting. But, fuck, one glimpse of her tonight and I feel like that hormonal teen again.
“What do you think, Sean?” Dawson, my European colleague, asks, nodding toward the dancer who is still eyeing me. I’m a keen observer, good at reading a person’s body language, and understanding their needs is part of my job, so I get what she wants from me. A big fucking tip like I left last time. I don’t have a problem with that, really. I think the dancers should get a healthy paycheck for putting up with the likes of us dirty, ruthless bastards. “I think she’s looking to get you alone, my friend,” Dawson adds.
I grin and hold up my glass up for a toast. “Maybe so, but I just got into town and think I’ll take the night off.” Okay, so I have a reputation with the ladies. I’m hard-wired for hard work, and sex is how I let off steam, but I’m seriously getting tired of the kind of girls I attract. Most are more interested in what I have in my wallet than in me. And for God’s sake, it’d be nice to have an actual intellectual conversation occasionally.
“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t hurt to show up at the cocktail party tomorrow night with a pretty little thing on your arm. A fiancée would be even better. You know Cochrane is more likely to invest with us if he thinks you’re a family man. He likes a certain level of risk in his portfolio, but is more likely to trust a guy who understands commitment and self-control.” He takes a sip of his bourbon, lets it slide down his throat, then continues. “You know you have to sell yourself before he’ll climb into bed with us. This job is all about building relationships and gaining client confidence, my friend.”
He’s not telling me anything I don’t know. “I have a shit-ton of commitment and self-control,” I say. Well, mostly. Okay, not always. While I’m ruthless in the bedroom and the boardroom, my sex life and inability to commit shouldn’t have anything to do with business deals.
“Listen, pal,” Dawson says, climbing to his feet and putting a beefy hand on my shoulder. “I’m just giving you the heads-up. Cochrane is a hard-assed businessman and can hire any investment banker he wants to handle his overseas merger. Hell, you’re not the only guy trying to woo his company. If you want the job, and the big fucking bonus that comes with it, you damn well better not give him any loopholes.”
Fuck me.
Dawson is giving me good advice, I know it, but Christ, how the hell am I going to come up with a fake fiancée before Saturday night, just forty-eight hours from now? One who won’t just look pretty on my arm but can hold her own against a tough bastard like Cochrane.
Kennedy.
My gaze goes to the dancing brunette as I mull over the plan taking shape in my mind. I could pay the dancer to accompany me Saturday night. Let her know it’s just a business deal.
“Change of heart?” Dawson asks, his gaze leaving mine to take in the dancer.
“Nope, she’s all yours,” I say, still not sure what the fuck I’m going to do. One thing I do know is I’m not up for a private dance. At least, not from the brunette. Which is bat-shit crazy. Hell must be freezing over for me to turn down a woman.
Dawson rolls a shoulder and slips out of his jacket as he gestures to the manager and pulls out his wallet.
My phone pings and I pull it from my pocket to read the text from my sister.
“Hey, big bro.”
I stare at the phone and debate asking Olivia if she knows why Kennedy is in town, but decide against it. I can’t imagine Olivia would like me showing too much interest in one of her best friends. She knows my reputation and wouldn’t want me hooking up with any of the nice girls she associates with. And Kennedy is a nice girl, the kind of girl a guy brings home to meet his parents—not that my mind is going anywhere near that direction.
“What’s up?” I text back, happy that she and Gio have found each other again and she’s living with him in a Tuscan village.
“How’s London?” she asks.
“Fine.” My fingers swipe over the phone. “Just in a business meeting.”
“Carleton House?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure,” I say, even though she doesn’t have to ask. I might have been a bossy jerk when we were kids, but I’m protective of her and will do anything she asks, and she damn well knows it.
“Tomorrow night, nine o’clock. Can you be at the club?”
“Sure, why?”
“I have a friend who just joined and will be looking for a friendly face, someone nice to talk to.”
“What’s his name?”
“Oh, gotta go. Gio is calling.”
I stare at the phone, but no more texts come in. Talk about strange. Who the hell is this friend she wants me to entertain, and how the hell will I even recognize him? I power down my phone and shove it back into my pocket, my gaze going to the exit as the meeting ends. The men excuse themselves from the table, all seeking a private dance, and I slip away.
I step outside and look up and down the streets, searching for signs of Kennedy. When my hunt comes up empty, I walk back to the hotel, letting the rain pour over me. Maybe the cold droplets will help cool my heated skin. Or maybe I could find another way to extinguish the fire raging inside me—like go to Kennedy’s room and show her my thoughts are anything but brotherly.
If only she weren’t my kid sister’s best friend.