“What?”

He pushed up his glasses. “Are you going to deny you took one look at me and lumped me in with every other suit in the building, which, apparently, leaves a bad taste in your mouth?”

“Not a bad taste necessarily.”

“Then a bad attitude.”

She laughed again, and it was an amazing laugh, a contagious one. “Okay, you got me. I lumped you in with all the dark conservative suits. Just tell me this…what’s wrong with color, Wes? Why don’t any of you wear any color for God’s sake?”

He looked down at his black basketball shorts, black basketball shoes and black T-shirt.

She laughed again. “You never even noticed that’s the only color around here, did you?”

“No,” he said truthfully, and had to shake his head. “I swear I own a few things that aren’t black.”

“Yeah? Prove it. Shock me tomorrow. And tightie whities don’t count.”

He blinked.

“Underwear,” she explained. “Plain white Jockey shorts don’t count as color.”

“I don’t wear plain white Jockey shorts.”

He wore plain white knit boxers, because a guy had to have room.

“Whatever you say.”

She was most definitely baiting him, but he absolutely was not going to get into a discussion about underwear. Not at ten o’clock at night, on an empty floor, with no one around save this laughing, sharp-tongued and shockingly attractive woman staring at him.

No way.

She stood up. “So…how about this? I overlook the fact that you look like a Mallory clone, and you overlook the fact that I might appear better suited for wet T-shirt contests than board-room discussions.”

He thought about that. First the wet T-shirt-he couldn’t help that-then her proposal.

She waited for a moment, then said, “Come on. I think that’s an excellent second compromise, if I do say so myself.”

He felt his mouth curve in a smile, his first genuine smile when it came to Kenna. “Deal.”

“Deal,” she repeated and, gathering her things, walked away. “’Night,” she called over her shoulder. “Sleep tight.”

Sleep tight. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be sleeping tight at all, not for a long time to come.

6

THAT NIGHT, Kenna stayed up late, working in her fancy hotel room. From her little foray into the records department, she’d discovered something interesting. The projected analysis on the renovations, salaries, expenses, everything, had been carefully filled out, and yet there’d been no follow-up since adding this hotel to the Mallory fleet. Because of that, no one could see at a glance how things had gone.

Had they overspent on the renovations done so far? Underspent? What? No way to tell.

Employee contracts were up for renewal, but how could management go into negotiations without seeing how the last contracts had benefited them and not benefited them?

So she spent the next two hours burning the midnight oil, working on her little laptop that kept freezing up-the poor thing was so old it could scarcely handle the spreadsheets and reports-working until she came up with articulate and concise thoughts on the matter.

Only then did she get into bed, satisfied that for one day at least, she’d earned her keep.

But one thing Kenna had never been able to do was turn off her brain. She lay there in her frou-frou room with the antique Queen Anne bed, staring at the ornately decorated ceiling painted in elegant cream and thought about what she’d done.

Committed to six months in this place.

Sure, the numbers and accounting would be fun, and so would torturing Serena with her presence, and maybe even a little torture thrown Wes’s way as well, but no doubt, being here would also take its toll.

Although Wes had actually, genuinely made her laugh tonight. Shocking. She’d always had a thing for a guy who could make her laugh, and she had a sinking feeling that beneath Weston Roth’s fancy dark suits beat the heart of a sharp cynic.

Call her sick, but she liked that, too.

Okay, forget sleep. It just wasn’t going to happen. Tossing aside her covers, she looked around, wondering how to amuse herself. For the first time in recent memory she actually had luxury at her fingertips and she was just lying around. What a complete waste of her time.

She drew herself a bubble bath in the decadent bathtub. Sinking into the hot water was heaven, and she lay back, wondering what tomorrow would bring, if people would appreciate her report…

And if Wes was going to wear a color tomorrow.

When she finally tried sleep again, slightly more relaxed now, she fell quickly. Unfortunately, somewhere near dawn, or what felt like it, the phone rang.

“Okay, listen up, cousin,” Serena said when Kenna managed to get the phone to her ear. “We have a few things to discuss.”

She blinked at the clock. Eight. In the morning. “Oh God.” She leapt out of bed. “I’m late.”

“Well, duh.”

“I didn’t want to be late.” She grabbed up the clock radio, which indeed had been set for the proper time, and had indeed gone off, and was at this very moment spilling out soft-rock music.

Too soft-rock, apparently, as it hadn’t come close to waking her. She tossed the thing down and looked around. Clothes. She needed clothes.

“Look, cuz, stay on page with me now. This call is about moi. Okay? So listen up. Stay away from him, he’s mine.”

Kenna eyed a skirt hanging off the back of a chair that probably had seen the eighteenth century. “Stay away from who?”

“Don’t be coy. Wes has the best ass ever. He’s a catch and I already have the catcher’s glove on.”

“Weston Roth?”

“Wake up, would you? Slap yourself, pinch yourself, something.”

“I am awake.” Now, anyway. What to go with the skirt? “You make him sound like a piece of meat.”

“Do I?”

Kenna stopped in the act of stripping. “You’re serious. You’re going after him because he’s got a great ass.”

“Why else?”

Um, because he was smart. Because he had a job.

Okay, because he had a great ass.

But a good ass did not a good man make. Kenna required far more. Her cousin could have him. “How does he feel about this?”

“Oh, please.” Serena scoffed. “If you’d thought of it first, you’d use him, too.”

“I have no desire to use him. Or anyone.”

“God, you are so sanctimonious, you know that? I know damn well-hell, the entire family knows damn well-you have this little secret fantasy of fitting in, of being like the rest of us. Now that chance is being dangled out in front of you like a carrot with this job, so don’t pretend you don’t care. You want Uncle Kenneth to see you, to see the real you, and be proud of that woman. And if Wes turns out to be able to help you with that, you’ll use him in a heartbeat. So. I’m telling you now. Back off.”

“You’re insane.”

“Fine. You don’t want to back off. Then may the best woman win.”

“I’m not going to play that game with you, Serena.”

“Whatever you say. But he’s going to be mine. Good luck today, cuz. Ta-ta.”

When the dial tone rang in her ear, Kenna hung up and shook her head. Good luck? She was going to need it, but not for the reasons Serena thought. Yes, Wes was way too into Mallory Enterprises and all it entailed, but he was entitled to be the man he wanted to be, just as she was entitled to be herself.

This wasn’t personal. She wouldn’t use him, not to fit in, not to do her job, not for anything.

She was going to do this on her own.

Hence the need for good luck.

Hopping around, she shoved her legs one at a time into her skirt, imagining Wes checking his fancy watch. Well, at least she didn’t have to take the time to make her bed, she actually had maid service for that. Her heels were lower today, but not by much, as exceptional height gave her confidence. Her skirt was longer, too, but tighter, making long strides difficult if not a detriment to her health. The blouse, however, she prided herself on. It wasn’t exactly business-like with its sheerness, but the camisole beneath was a definite antique, and soft and creamy against her skin. In the ensemble she felt pretty and sexy, and when she was pretty and sexy she knew she could take on the world.

So world, here she came.

She left her room and got on the elevator, where she watched the glowing numbers descend, until she stepped off on the corporate floor, which opened into a large, fancy reception area decorated as the rest of the hotel was-sophisticated and refined.

The air buzzed with activity. Everywhere she looked, well-dressed, darkly dressed employees went about their day doing…actually, she still wasn’t clear on that part because she hadn’t studied the organizational charts and job descriptions yet. But she would be.

Her cousin Serena, looking extremely Mallory in her perfectly fitted navy-blue business suit, stood next to one of the front desks. It was occupied by a man in his early twenties whipping his fingers across a keyboard.

“So what, you’re swamped,” Serena said to him, practically hanging over his shoulder. “This is your job, Josh, and my uncle-”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know who the uncle is.” He shot her an annoyed look. “Now, if you’d quit downloading porn from the Internet, maybe you’ll stop freezing your computer up.”

“It’s not porn. All I wanted was that firefighter calendar.”

“How can you tell they’re firefighters?” Josh clicked a few keys and a full body shot of an almost-naked hunk filled the screen. “The only equipment he’s got is his-”

“Just fix it, computer boy.”

“Right.” Josh’s tie was loose, his sleeves shoved past his elbows. With his lean body, hunching shoulders and frowning features, he looked quite tense but then Serena tended to do that to a person.