Oh, now that wasn’t fair, using an old fantasy against her. She hadn’t dreamed of having a Ferrari since she’d been sixteen years old. She tapped the steering wheel of her extremely old Honda Civic and tried to remember how many third-world countries could be fed on the price of one fancy-schmancy car.

“How’s this,” her father proposed. “A vice president position. You can run things, as you want.”

Treacherously, her heart leaped. Vice president…

“I’ll expect you in one week at our latest acquisition, the San Diego Mallory. We picked it up eighteen months ago. It just reopened after major renovations. You’ll be working with a Mr. Weston Roth. The two of you will run the place together.”

Vice president definitely had a better ring to it than her current position-accounting clerk, level one.

“You and Roth are a partnership made in heaven, trust me.”

“I thought this was your baby,” she said.

“No, no. It’s Weston’s. He’s been acting VP since Milton Stanton retired last year. And now, with your education under your belt and your silly roaming the planet habit out of your system, it’s yours as well.”

She’d “roamed the planet” for six glorious weeks as a travel scout for a travel agency just outside of Los Angeles, and she’d worked her tush off. But while business, and more specifically, numbers, were her thing, organization and travel writing were not. She’d failed horribly. “I don’t think so, Dad. I’m sorry.”

“No, I understand.” Her father’s voice lowered. Sounded sad. “It’s just that you’re an only child. The business is massive. Hotels scattered throughout the West. If something were to happen to me or your mother…”

She flicked off her radio, her chest suddenly tight. “Okay, what’s the matter?”

“It’s…nothing.”

“Is one of you sick?”

“If I pretended to be, would that count?”

She let out a relieved breath. “I know you didn’t have me just so that I’d take over your business.”

“You’re really going to let this multi-million dollar corporation go to your cousin Serena simply because it’s not your thing?”

Serena was deeply entrenched at Mallory Enterprises, working in conference sales and management, and very happy there. She could have the place and Kenna’s new partner, Mr. Weston Roth, as far as Kenna was concerned. Just his name evoked images of an old, stern, hard and unforgiving man.

She hated stern, hard, unforgiving men.

“Please, Kenna. Please do this.”

Wow, he’d hauled out the magic word, which to her recollection, he’d never used before.

“Try it,” he cajoled. “Give me…say, six months.”

Just give up her life in Santa Barbara for six months to work in San Diego, two hundred and fifty miles away. Like that was easy to do. It wasn’t San Diego that was the problem-she loved the exciting beach town nearly as much as she loved Santa Barbara. It was the thought of once again being under his thumb, following his rules…

And yet, something was new here. He was asking her, not telling.

As she’d secretly wanted all her life to please him, please him while still being herself, it made her hesitate. “What happens at the end of the six months?”

“If you’re not cut out for the job, I’ll be man enough to admit it.”

“You mean that?”

“I just said so, didn’t I?”

Yes, shockingly enough, he had, and Kenna had never known him to go back on his word. “I’ll drive you crazy,” she said, and held her breath.

Deny it, she silently wished. Deny it.

“Only if you’re inadequate.”

She let out the breath and resisted banging her hand on the steering wheel. Her gut churned because she’d always yearned to show him exactly how her creative and inventive ways could be channeled into something good, something worthwhile, something that would please them and herself at the same time.

She was insane, but… “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll do it.” What the hell, six months wasn’t a life sentence. And it would be nice to be able to afford good hair products again. “If I can do it my way.”

He hesitated for a long moment. “We’re talking aboveboard, right? All legal-like?”

She rubbed her temples. “Yes, Dad. All legal-like.”

“Well, then. Perfect.”

“And after six months, I’m free to go.”

“Unless you like the job.”

Insanity, that’s what this was, but Kenna couldn’t pass up the chance to show him she could be strong, she could know her own mind and still fit into their world if she chose to.

She just couldn’t believe that she was choosing to.

2

KENNA SPENT the week shifting her life from Santa Barbara to San Diego. It was surprisingly easy, because as it turned out, there were lots of people waiting in line to get her Nordstrom’s job and fabulous employee discount.

She’d been far more expendable than she thought. A bit of a blow to her ego, but that made her more fiercely determined to succeed somewhere else. And that somewhere else might as well be within Mallory Enterprises. For now.

By the following Monday morning, she was a little more nervous than she would have liked as she made her way down the ornately decorated hallway of the latest Mallory acquisition, the San Diego Mallory. She supposed that could be directly related to the fact she had never really fit in with her family, so she had no idea what made her feel she could fit in here.

Well, screw ’em. She didn’t need to fit in. She just needed to do her job and do it right. As a mood bolster, she wore her favorite pair of strappy high-heeled shoes with her suit, both in her favorite shade of fuchsia. Not exactly a Mallory corporate color, but she wasn’t a black-suited, sedate sort of girl, so no use pretending.

She moved down the freshly polished floor, taking in the extraordinary antiques from all over the world that lined the walls of Mallory hotels, her watch mocking her-8:07 a.m…

She hated to be late, hated it. Her heels clicked as she picked up her pace, her purse banging her hip as she went. The building’s striking architecture and stature were synonymous with the Old World charm and elegance that would appeal to the discerning business and social elite who made up the clientele of Mallory Enterprises. This hotel would fit right in.

Good for it.

Not wanting to skid into her first meeting, she slowed down and took a deep cleansing breath that didn’t help as much as it should have. She tugged at the skirt that kept creeping upward, given the lack of a slip.

The lack was her mother’s fault. Kenna had come down from Santa Barbara the night before and had stayed in her old bedroom at her parents’ house. She hadn’t lived there since the day she’d graduated from high school, and there’d been a good reason for that-aside from getting cut off financially, that is. Her parents had complete and utter disregard for her privacy. Just this morning while Kenna had been in the shower, her mother had set out a black suit on the bed, complete with nylons. Nylons. Now there was an item of clothing that had not been invented by a woman.

She’d given her mother back the suit and nylons, and the look on her face had made Kenna want to wear underwear with holes in it.

Or a fuchsia suit.

But by then, she’d been running late, and hadn’t spared the time to locate her slip in the mess of her as-yet-unpacked suitcase.

So here she was, at the designated conference room on the second floor of the San Diego Mallory. All she had to do was go in and rattle off her readiness to discuss acquisition and renovation budgets, quarterly forecasts and long-term strategic planning-she’d been boning up, reading such fun and light fare as the corporation’s annual reports and tourism stats for a week now-and she’d be set.

She had no doubts. She could do this. Hell, she’d once cleaned iguana cages at the LA Zoo, with the little buggers still in residence, so really, she could do anything. As she established herself here, she’d lighten up the uptight work atmosphere if she could. And she’d keep her sense of humor firmly in place, no matter what.

In light of that, she’d wow this old Mr. Roth, wow and dazzle…whatever it took. She put her hand on the door handle and noted that her heart had picked up speed and she was feeling a little overheated. Damn the nerves she didn’t want to admit she had. Given that she’d promised herself never to let ’em see her sweat, she peeled off her jacket. Ready now, she opened the door and called out, “Honey, I’m home.” She took a step inside and…went utterly still.

Twelve men wearing conservative dark suits sit ting around a huge conference table stopped talking and turned her way. One of them was her father.

Fabulous. So much for her private meeting with Weston Roth.

Silence reigned for far too long as twelve pairs of eyes stared at her. She was just contemplating how to make a safe retreat when one of the suits stood up.

“I’ll take it from here,” he said, which she resented the hell out of.

No one would take “it” from here, not if they were referring to her.

That man came forward, and gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

“Sure.” She smiled, having no idea who he was, but she could fake banalities as well as anyone. Attitude could come later in private.

He shut the door behind them while Kenna feigned a huge interest in the art on the walls, idly wondering who purchased their art. Did they go to the auctions? Private sales? In either case, no doubt they got ripped off.

The man who’d brought her out here simply watched her, she could feel his eyes boring into her back, so she turned around in order to eye him right back. His broad shoulders propping up the far wall, his long legs casually crossed, he looked for all the world as if he’d just strutted off the glossy pages of GQ magazine. Style, elegance and yes, dammit, the dreaded polish poured off him with ease. Clearly comfortable in his own skin, he smiled, and it wasn’t a particularly nice one.